Study and Halachic Rulings – Lesson 16
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
- [0:03] The connection between reasons and bottom-line rulings
- [1:58] The France-Spain dispute over sanctifying God's name
- [3:57] The context of the Crusades and its influence
- [5:22] The yeshiva world’s ignoring of context
- [8:01] The academic approach versus the traditional one
- [9:56] Discovery versus justification in philosophy of science
- [13:27] Applying the distinction to Jewish law and self-sacrifice
- [18:34] The connection between academic research and halakhic ruling
- [20:14] Ruling as justification, not influence
- [28:58] The influence of circumstances on Sabbath laws
- [30:24] Reactions to Professor Gilat’s book
- [33:22] The difference between distress and Reform-style adaptation
- [35:38] Tosafot and the connection to the social situation
- [37:25] Maimonides’ dispute about monetary damages
- [38:42] A scribal error in Maimonides and the Maggid Mishneh’s explanation
- [45:47] Awareness of biases and the importance of precedents
- [49:28] Religious experiences from a psychological point of view
- [55:58] Separating reasons from sources and influences
- [57:43] The bottom line determines—not the rationale
- [59:59] Definition and reason—the example of sitting in the sukkah
- [1:07:00] First-order ruling versus autonomous ruling
- [1:08:10] Eybeschutz and the kibbutz—when to follow the majority
- [1:14:15] The Maharal’s autonomous argument
- [1:17:09] Coping with narrativity and postmodernism
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In the previous lecture I spoke about the relationship between reasons and bottom-line rulings, and about harmonism, actually—the fact that reasons from all directions are valid reasons, at least when there’s a dispute among Torah scholars. So the reasons are valid from all directions, and what has to be done in order to decide Jewish law is simply to weigh them—that is, to determine which reasons carry more weight. I said a bit about spurious correlations and why each reason has to be discussed separately, and only afterward should you weigh everything together. I just want to add one more point regarding the question of reasons. This is really a kind of large parenthesis that I’m opening now, and then we’ll continue. When we talk about the issue of reasons, there’s room here for hesitation. I spoke about the relationship between reasons and source—that is, there are sources and there are reasons, and those are not the same thing, even though people tend to mix them together. A similar distinction, which also seems important to me, is the distinction between the question of the formation or development of a halakhic ruling and the question of its essential reason. In the column I posted today I elaborated a bit on this point; here I’ll just mention it relatively briefly. The example I often use to illustrate the matter is a dispute between the sages of France and the sages of Spain on the question of sanctifying God’s name in the laws of self-sacrifice—not preservation of life, but sanctifying God’s name. The sages of Spain, led by Maimonides, are generally more lenient in several issues than the sages of France. If a person wants to give up his life for something other than the three severe transgressions, Tosafot say he may—he doesn’t have to, but he may. Maimonides says it is forbidden; one who does so is liable for his own life. Yes, that’s Maimonides’ well-known expression: if you kill yourself where you’re forbidden to do so, then you are liable for your own life. In any case, that’s one example; there are several others. It’s well known that the sages of Spain were more lenient in matters of preserving life, or leaned more in the direction of preserving life than in the direction of sanctifying God’s name, and so on. Though with regard to what exactly counts as lenient here, that’s not entirely clear. The sages of France allow me to give up my life for other transgressions besides the three, and Maimonides forbids it. So who is lenient here and who is stringent? If they permit something and Maimonides forbids it, then Maimonides is the stringent one, not they. But of course what they permit is giving up one’s life, and what Maimonides forbids is giving up one’s life. So we’re usually used to viewing this as a leniency of Maimonides, not a leniency of Tosafot. The leniency is that it is forbidden to give up one’s life, not that it is permitted to give up one’s life. Fine. That’s an interesting question touching on the issue of leniency and stringency; maybe at some point I’ll deal with that too—we discussed it in one of the series in the past. In any case, this is a known characteristic distinguishing the sages of France from the sages of Spain. The question is where it comes from. In the research world it is customary to attribute it to circumstances. That is, the sages of France were operating in the circumstances of the Crusades, and as you know, the Crusades involved the killing of Jewish communities; they faced very, very difficult challenges there. And therefore the sages who were in that place and at that time thought it proper to raise the walls higher. Meaning: not to let people start compromising, because then we might lose the whole battle. And therefore they were stringent and said: no compromises, no concessions, one must give up one’s life, there are no compromises, no leniencies, nothing. The sages of Spain lived in a relatively calmer region—not always the height of our aspirations either, but calmer than that environment of the Crusades—and therefore their stance regarding sanctifying God’s name and preserving life tended more in favor of preserving life, at the expense of the obligations of sanctifying God’s name. So this is basically a contextual explanation. There is an explanation here that the different positions of the halakhic decisors are the result of context, of the circumstances within which they operated and ruled, and so on. Now, in the yeshiva world they ignore this kind of analysis. They don’t deal with context. In the yeshiva world, and among standard halakhic decisors—most of them, at least—they deal with the dispute between Maimonides and Tosafot, discuss passages here and there, Sephardim, Ashkenazim, I don’t know, each one and his methods of ruling, but they discuss it as though there is a dispute here between two sides and one has to decide who is right or whose view Jewish law follows. Nobody takes into account the context within which these things were said. Including, of course, checking manuscripts and so on—there are other fairly similar differences between traditional study and ruling and academic research or academic analysis in learning. And in the yeshiva world they ignore this. Now, in the research world they often criticize the traditional learners and decisors for the fact that they’re basically ignoring context. They can’t ignore context—things were said within a certain setting, under certain circumstances, you can’t completely ignore that. We ignore the question of who the speaker’s teachers were, how they influenced him, the whole setting within which he operated. For us, like the well-known joke, for us Maimonides is not a person, he’s a book. Mishneh Torah—that’s called Maimonides. We don’t mean Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, which is what the initials stand for—that’s some person nobody’s interested in. Meaning, he created this book, and right now Maimonides is a book, not a person. And that’s in the yeshiva world. In the research world, in the academic world, Maimonides was first of all a person who created books, and through the books you need to know what the person thought, and through what the person thought you also interpret the books. So in the research world, in the academic world, they deal a lot with context, and in the traditional world, no—they don’t deal with context. Now, very often, ironically enough, there is agreement between the two sides that you really have to choose. That is, if the traditional analysis is correct, then there is no context, so the research is nonsense, it’s wrong. In yeshivot it’s commonly said that they were all heavenly seraphs; they weren’t influenced at all by their environment, they didn’t deal with circumstances or anything, they simply contemplated Torah in some abstract ideas and arrived at the conclusion of what their opinion was. That’s it—without any external influences, without anything—seraphs. Okay, in the academic world they claim that traditional learning or traditional halakhic ruling is incorrect—they ignore context. You need to take context into account in order to understand the outcome. Not just context—I’m also saying manuscripts and everything—but right now I’m talking about context. Now, what exactly do these two opposing positions have in common? What they have in common is that both of them see the game as a zero-sum game. That is, if academic research is right, then traditional analysis is wrong, and vice versa. If traditional analysis is right, then academic research is wrong. You have to decide: either you accept this or you accept that. But the truth is that on this issue I think both are wrong. Not only I think that—I think in recent years this has become much more widespread—but still, in the hardcore camp of both sides it is still perceived as alternatives that exclude one another, as exclusive. You have to decide: if this one is right then the other isn’t, and vice versa. But the truth is that this is not correct. That is, there is room to discuss the question of what the context was within which these things were written or ruled, and one can also discuss the question of the product—that is, what does the product say? What is the reasoning of Tosafot regarding sanctifying God’s name? Their motivation to raise the walls higher is the result of historical analysis, and that may be completely correct. Whether yes or no, if the research was done properly, there is no reason not to accept its conclusions. And still, that does not obligate the yeshiva learner and decisor to relate to that context when he is trying to clarify the topic and arrive at a halakhic ruling, because from the perspective of that learner, the context belongs to what, in philosophy of science, they call the distinction between the context of discovery and the context of justification. The context of discovery is the way I discover the theory—who discovered the theory, and in what way he discovered it. The context of justification is the examination of whether the theory is correct or not. Philosophers of science, beginning in the twentieth century, some of them pointed out that these two contexts must be separated; there is no dependence between them. That is, a person can come and propose a theory that was revealed to him in a dream by his grandmother. His grandmother appeared to him in a dream and proposed quantum theory to him. And that’s it—he presents this theory to us and thinks it’s a correct theory. So am I supposed to reject that theory because it was revealed to him in a dream by his grandmother? The claim is no. In order to examine that theory and form a position about it, we have to test it experimentally, the way every scientific theory is tested. The question of how so-and-so discovered the theory has nothing to do with the question of whether the theory is justified. There is the context of discovery—I examine how it was discovered—and there is the context of justification—I examine whether it is justified, whether it stands up to empirical testing, in comparison to parallel theories, in its fit with other theories, and so on. In other words, in the ways science operates. Therefore the question of how a theory was discovered is basically not science’s concern. It’s not interesting. What its sources of inspiration were—a person can come and say, I read a poem and suddenly the penny dropped. The source of inspiration for this theory was some poem I read. Fine—but now the question is whether this theory holds water or not. I’m not interested in where you got it from or what influenced you when you formulated it. There are many writings trying to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity, and also quantum theory, against the background of the culture and philosophy of that period. But if it belongs to the culture and philosophy of that period, then that’s philosophy, not science. Science is supposed to stand up to empirical tests, not to fit this philosophy or that philosophy. And therefore there is, implicitly, an apparent claim here that empties scientific theory of content. It basically says it is a function of fashions, a function of cultural attitudes. And in science we are used to thinking in terms of whether it fits the facts or doesn’t fit the facts, not in terms of fashions and the like. Now, one cannot deny the fact that fashions do have an influence. That is, the relativity that broke through in Einstein’s time—very likely it also influenced the way he saw things. But the claim is that this relativity, the context within which the thing was created, is the context of discovery. Those circumstances are the reason why, how Einstein suddenly latched onto this kind of perspective. But now, when we want to form a position regarding this way of looking at things, we simply need to test it in the lab and see whether it is justified, whether it stands up to empirical tests. Therefore I’m not interested in what philosophy it came from and what influenced Einstein—that interests historians, it interests archaeologists. But as a scientist, what interests me is whether the theory is correct or not. And once I want to test whether it is correct or not, I’m not interested in its source. I’m not interested in Einstein’s source of inspiration, where he drew it from, how he discovered it. That’s the context of discovery. What interests me is the context of justification. And I want to make the same claim with regard to Jewish law. Also with regard to Jewish law, when I want to examine what my position is on the issue of giving up one’s life for sanctifying God’s name, I’m not interested in whether Tosafot—or how Tosafot—arrived at the halakhic position they arrived at. It may very well be that it is the result of a desire to raise the walls higher, the Crusades, the difficult challenges they faced. All of that may be true. So what? In the end there is a halakhic thesis here. I have to check whether it seems right to me, whether it fits the passages in the Talmud, whether it is more or less reasonable than Maimonides’ proposal in light of the Talmud, in light of the reasoning, in light of how we examine halakhic topics. And I will decide who is right simply according to the question of who seems more plausible to me according to the rules of halakhic ruling, or according to principles of halakhic ruling, and so on.
[Speaker B] Rabbi, and why isn’t that like what the yeshivot say?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I can’t hear.
[Speaker B] And why isn’t that like what the yeshivot say—the historical perspective?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I can’t hear well, it sounds with… maybe you can get closer to the microphone or something? I can’t…
[Speaker B] I’m just in the study hall… no, can I ask in the chat?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay. In any case, in the meantime I’ll just say that apparently, basically, the claim regarding Jewish law is the same claim. I’m not interested in the context of discovery—how they discovered the… What interests me is the justification of that position in itself. From my point of view, Maimonides and Tosafot sat around a round table in the same context, in the same place, proposed different positions, and those positions need to be examined on their own terms according to what they are—which is more plausible, which fits the passages better—and that’s how one decides Jewish law. And it really doesn’t matter how those positions came into being. There’s a difference between the question of how something was formed and the question of what its justification is. It’s not the same question. I’ll formulate it—just a second, I’ll get to the question in the chat—but I’ll formulate it perhaps in a somewhat more extreme way. If we adopt the academic perspective, then it basically comes out that there are no halakhic disputes. There are no disputes at all. Tosafot’s position is basically an outgrowth of the environment in which they operated. On the principled level, if Maimonides had lived in that same environment, in that same period, he would probably have reached the same result. Therefore if Maimonides writes something different from Tosafot, that merely means he sat in a different context, under different circumstances, and the circumstances generate the halakhic position. And if that’s so, if I take this all the way to the end—of course it’s extreme, but that is basically what emerges from this academic conception—then if I want to know today how I should behave regarding sanctifying God’s name, what I need to examine is whether the circumstances in which I operate are similar to the circumstances in which Tosafot operated, or whether they are similar to those in which Maimonides operated. If they resemble Tosafot, I’ll rule like them; if they resemble Maimonides, I’ll rule like him. And what that basically means is that there are no halakhic disputes at all. There aren’t different positions. A different position is simply the result of the fact that you operate under different circumstances. And therefore, basically, the circumstances determine Jewish law. And if you want to know what Jewish law is, compare your circumstances to those of the various halakhic decisors and then you’ll know whom to follow. And as I said earlier, this is essentially a completely different conception from the yeshiva conception, which is entirely diachronic. Actually, not diachronic—it’s synchronic, you might say. That is, they perceive all these positions as completely detached from context. As if everyone is sitting in the same place, at the same time, uninfluenced by anything, around a round table, offering different proposals for interpretation and ruling, and so on. And you too sit around that table and examine who is right, what the proofs are on this side and on that side, and form a position. Therefore it’s no wonder that, on the face of it, each side perceives the other as mistaken, or as though these are alternatives that exclude one another. But the truth is that’s not correct, as I said before. These are simply two ways of looking. The claim is that a person is basically everything he thinks plus the circumstances within which he acts plus the influences upon him and so on—that is the person. And when a person approaches a passage to interpret it, he comes with his whole package and arrives at a certain interpretation of the passage. Another person arrives at another interpretation. So of course the circumstances and the context influence his interpretation. But when I discuss his interpretation, I’m not interested in how it was formed and from what circumstances it came. What interests me is whether it is justified, whether it is correct, or what seems more plausible to me. Therefore I ignore the context in which it was formed. And so I don’t need to say that the researchers are wrong in order not to take their findings or analyses into account when I come to rule Jewish law. I can completely accept what they say and still argue that it is speaking on a different plane, and that plane does not touch the plane on which I rule Jewish law. I rule Jewish law detached from the contexts in which they operate—and, by the way, also detached from the context in which I operate. Because that context of course influences me. Because I am nothing but the sum of the influences upon me and the context and my positions, and all of that together is the “I.” But I do not take my circumstances as a factor I explicitly consider. Rather, I look and say: what makes sense to me, what seems right to me. Of course what seems right to me is also a function of the circumstances. The circumstances will affect the conclusion I reach. But I won’t say, wait, I live in this kind of environment, we need to raise the walls higher, so I’ll interpret like Tosafot. No. I’ll interpret like Tosafot because that really seems to me to be correct. Afterward, the researcher looking from the side will come and say: wait a second, why does it seem to him like Tosafot and not like Maimonides? So he’ll explain that I lived under circumstances perhaps similar to those under which Tosafot operated. That is the explanation of the researcher looking from the side, and that explanation may be right. But I will never put into my halakhic deliberation the circumstances under which I operate and whether they are similar or not similar to the circumstances of Tosafot or of Maimonides. That is not relevant to halakhic ruling. It is another plane of reference—and not because it is incorrect. That’s what I want to claim. It may be completely correct, but it deals not with the question of justification but with the question of discovery. And halakhic ruling deals with the question of justification, not with the question of discovery. Now, let me take a look for a second. Rabbi, can I?
[Speaker C] I also wanted to ask two points.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There was a question here—there was a question here, why is this different from what the yeshivot say about those views—about what? The academic views?
[Speaker B] No, about what you want to propose—why is it different from what you said about how the yeshivot understand the dispute?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Meaning that they look at it as
[Speaker D] a book or something?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] On the contrary—I view it exactly like the yeshivot. Okay. I’m only saying that if I view it like the yeshivot, I don’t necessarily have to reject the academic analysis or say it is wrong, and say that the medieval authorities (Rishonim) were heavenly seraphs not influenced by their surroundings. I can completely accept the academic analysis, just not take it into account in halakhic ruling, because halakhic ruling and interpretation are on a different plane of discussion—the plane of justification and not the plane of discovery. Okay? There was another question here.
[Speaker E] Rabbi, can I formulate something? When I hear these analyses, many times when you present some university scholar with some explanation of one of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), after all we’re always talking in the end about values, about a scale of values, about concepts that we live with and that we’ve learned over the generations. And when we use those concepts, that value system, to interpret one of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), or never mind, even one of the patriarchs, then you come to the scholar and he says that’s complete anachronism. What are you talking to me about—authenticity? It’s not… all kinds of concepts from today are not relevant. Now, I think the academic world, the academic approach, has some built-in assumption that basically deeply belittles the potential of what once was. After all, if that same scholar—a scholar in Jewish studies, say, or in the humanities—studies some work of art, then he has no problem. When he sits before some artwork from four hundred, five hundred, six hundred years ago, he can give you a wonderful interpretation of it and accept it enthusiastically, because there it is obvious that eternal layers are hidden there. But when you come to one of the Tannaim, one of the Amoraim, or one of the patriarchs—no, no, he speaks only to his own time; he said something fixed and absolute that you can’t formulate in the advanced language of the twenty-first century. I think hidden in their approach is some kind of deep contempt for our mode of learning. There’s something there.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think you’re mixing together two forms of perspective. Even in the academic world of the humanities—not in a Talmudic context but in the context of poetry and works of art—there too there is a difference between a critic and interpreter of works of art and an academic researcher of some art, some artistic genre, or some artist. That’s something entirely different.
[Speaker E] In principle, yes, but an art scholar who sits before a Mozart piece and starts analyzing it and says this is a development—obviously that’s true, but obviously it misses the main point. After all, no one is moved because of his analysis; that’s not the reason it survives for centuries.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The question is what it means today. He doesn’t care about the emotional response. He’s doing research: what was Mozart’s actual tendency, what influenced him, in what way he worked, all kinds of things like that. The fact that it doesn’t interest me—that’s exactly the distinction I’m making here.
[Speaker E] But what they do is basically autopsies. What they do is autopsies. To stand before the work, analyze it, say the painter wrote this because of some influence from that—and you haven’t touched anything.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s not contempt. I agree that it’s autopsies. But there’s no contempt here, and there’s not necessarily any difference between the humanities and Jewish studies. It’s the same thing. And in both cases it isn’t contempt; it’s simply two modes of perspective, which are the same two I spoke about here. Also in the context of poetry, the poetry consumer will say: leave me alone with the dry articles on poetics. That doesn’t interest me. I want to enjoy the poem, and I want to see how good it is, how much it affects me, how beautiful it is. And they will ask what the genre is, how he built the poem, the meters and whatever else, and whether it resembles that work or this work. Nobody is belittling the other. These are simply two planes of reference, and if one wants to discuss them, each has to be discussed separately. Not that one has to—but whoever wants to discuss them has to discuss each one separately. That’s the claim. And I don’t think either side is supposed to be dismissive. Maybe in practice he is dismissive, but it does not follow from the fact that he deals with one plane that he is contemptuous of the other. When someone comes and says, look, I want to investigate historically what Maimonides meant, then the anachronistic explanations I insert into Maimonides—he is right to dismiss them, because it isn’t likely that Maimonides really meant that. But if I ask myself what Mishneh Torah means for me, then that anachronism is entirely logical and reasonable. So this is not a question of contempt; it’s a question of what you are looking for. If you are looking for the… if you are an archaeologist, as you defined it earlier, and you want to know what was in Maimonides’ head, that is one discussion, and there you need to use certain tools because you are looking for a certain thing. If you are asking yourself, what does Mishneh Torah—not the person Maimonides or Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, but what does Mishneh Torah say for me—that is another question, almost independent. Therefore the mode of reference will be different. I won’t refer specifically to Maimonides’ circumstances, and I have no principled problem with anachronisms, because after all…
[Speaker E] The Rabbi once gave us a nice example with Seridei Esh and Rabbi Hutner, I think.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, exactly. About Rabbi Chaim and Maimonides, right?
[Speaker E] And I think the Rabbi didn’t agree with Seridei Esh, right?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I didn’t agree with Seridei Esh in the sense that he claimed Rabbi Chaim does not really describe the meaning of Maimonides’ words. And I say that he does describe the meaning of Maimonides’ words—Rabbi Yehoshua Hutner is right—but I agree that he is not uncovering what passed through Maimonides’ conscious mind. On that I agree with Seridei Esh: Maimonides did not think in the Brisker language and conceptual system. I do think that in that specific language, when you want to present Maimonides’ position, you present it that way, even though Maimonides himself perhaps would not recognize it. And still, it may very well be that you are right, and that this is indeed the meaning of Maimonides when it is presented in our system of concepts and principles and our way of thinking today.
[Speaker E] So when you come to an academic scholar, he doesn’t want to accept that. He won’t…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean? No, no, he can accept that approach too. It’s just that he is asking the historical question—what was in Maimonides’ mind there, then, in the twelfth century? And for that question there is indeed no point in using anachronisms, because it makes no sense to load Maimonides with things he did not know. But if you ask what Maimonides’ words mean for me in my language today, and I claim—yes, this is the meaning of Maimonides’ words themselves, it’s not an invention, I’m not relating to it as a creation, I’m relating to it as an uncovering—but it’s not uncovering what was in Maimonides’ mind, at least not consciously. It is, however, an uncovering of what the meaning is of what Maimonides wrote, when that meaning is formulated in my conceptual system and principles and mode of thought today.
[Speaker E] So that requires an a priori intuition, an a priori assumption of deep respect for Maimonides—that there are layers there such that if you told Maimonides himself, he’d say, what are you talking about, I didn’t think of that, and we say yes yes, but within your words there are depths and eternal things that are relevant…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There is some kind of disrespect toward Maimonides here, because I’m explaining to Maimonides what he himself thought. Fine, you can argue about how to define such a thing, but yes, that’s what I mean.
[Speaker C] Rabbi, I wanted to go back to what you said—that when discussing a theory or a ruling, it’s not the context of discovery that matters but the context of justification. But the example you gave regarding sanctifying God’s name and… okay, fine, maybe you can say it’s not only the circumstances that explain the ruling of Maimonides and of the sages of France and Ashkenaz. But throughout the huge realm of Orach Chayim and Yoreh De’ah you see that there really is a tougher approach on the part of the sages of Ashkenaz and France in comparison to the sages of Spain. So necessarily the circumstances do have an effect—the circumstances do affect. Meaning… okay, so you can’t conclude that if I want to say that they affect even things that are not dependent on the atmosphere of the Crusades in France, which Maimonides didn’t know or hardly knew, then that explains the differences in rulings. But even when there were no such different circumstances, there is still a very different approach that you can feel throughout all of their learning, throughout all of their halakhic rulings.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That can absolutely be a function of the circumstances; I’m not denying that at all.
[Speaker C] But why would they disagree about Sabbath laws? What does that have to do with circumstances?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No—it could be that the circumstances are not specifically the Crusades. A form of thinking, such influences, other influences, I don’t know. The very strictness itself may be some legal conception that prevailed in Ashkenaz and not in Spain—more positivist, more rigid in its way of thinking, I don’t know. There may be all kinds of things that have an effect; it’s not only the Crusades. The Crusades are specific to sanctifying God’s name, but…
[Speaker C] Fine, so you’re saying that unlike what they say in the yeshivot, where they ignore it completely and say they lived in some totally protected thing with no influence at all—so the influence does explain the…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, no. I want to claim again: in the yeshivot, the common excuse is that they were heavenly seraphs and there were… no, no, no. I want to claim again: in the yeshivot, the common excuse is that they were heavenly seraphs and had no influences on them whatsoever. And I want to claim that you can work with the yeshiva method without needing to say that the research is wrong, that there were no influences on those people, that they were seraphs. No. There were influences on them, and still I do not take those influences into account when I rule Jewish law and when I interpret the Talmudic topic. Those are two different things. Maybe I’ll give an even clearer example. Look, there’s also this—I mentioned this once before—there was a book, or maybe there still is, called Chapters in the Development of Jewish Law by Professor Yitzhak Gilat, of blessed memory—he passed away. And when that book came out—I was in Bnei Brak then—when that book came out, yes, there was a huge uproar in the heavens—well, what do I mean in the heavens, on earth. People were very, very upset, angry; there were articles in the newspapers about what an apikores he was, what a heretic, and so on. The man was, I mean, a graduate of Hebron Yeshiva who became a professor, an academic researcher of the Talmud. And he basically argued that Jewish law develops and is influenced by circumstances, and so on and so on—which very much sharpened the issue we’re dealing with here. And yes, the entire Haredi press, and not only the Haredi press, came out against him furiously. It was really a red flag, complete consensus against those ideas. There was a very strong expression there of this confrontation between the traditional perspective and the academic perspective. And I really looked into it—obviously the moment all the noise started I bought the book, because I understood there must be interesting things there. So I read that book, and for example I’ll give one example that everyone cited; there are many such examples there. He argues that following the destruction of the Temple, an economic crisis developed, people fell into hardship, and therefore the sages decided to be lenient and say that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic. And since it is rabbinic, one can be more lenient. That’s his claim. He showed this from Talmudic passages, that in the earlier passages there is no trace of the view that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic, and suddenly in the later passages it appears. Okay, so he showed this; he argued that it was somehow connected to the destruction and the hardship that followed it, and that this is how that view emerged. Now here there is a subtle point, but a very, very critical and important one. If what he is really claiming is that because of the hardship the sages invented the rule that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic in order to be lenient—that is a Reform statement. Because in the Reform world, hardship or need—as I explained in other series—hardship or need is itself a reason. Once there is hardship or need, that’s a sign that this is not the Jewish law and the law needs to be changed. In the Orthodox world you can do something very similar, but on the essential level it is completely different. You can say that the hardship or the need is the motivation to look for a halakhic solution. But after I search, if I don’t find a solution, I won’t change the law. If I do find a solution, then I’ll change the law. And that does not mean that the hardship and the circumstances and the constraints were not the trigger or the cause, the motivation for me to conduct that search. Now when you read Gilat’s book, chapter after chapter he says the second thesis, not the first. He says, essentially, that after the sages sat down to deliberate—after the destruction there was hardship, the sages decided to sit down and see whether it was possible to find a halakhic solution that would allow leniency in the laws of the Sabbatical year. They didn’t say: because there is hardship, okay, let’s invent that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic. That’s not serious. What did they say? They said: we have motivation to search; let’s see. Maybe indeed when there is no Temple, the Sabbatical year is not Torah-level but rabbinic. Let’s look in the verses, in the traditions, in the midrashim, let’s search and examine. Now they found that indeed this depends on whether there is a Temple or there is no Temple, and that the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic—that’s what they found. Now once they found that, then the justification for why the Sabbatical year in our time is rabbinic is not the hardship. The hardship was only the trigger that caused me to search for a halakhic mechanism, a halakhic interpretation. But once I found a halakhic interpretation, then that position is based on the interpretation I found. The motivation to search for such an interpretation was the constraints and the circumstances. To say such a thing is entirely Orthodox. Among halakhic decisors it is obvious that when they deliberate and there are constraints, there are hardships, then they will look for some kind of solution. The difference between them and the Reform is that the Reform won’t look for a solution—they will simply declare that the law is not relevant because there is hardship and one has to act differently. The Orthodox decisor will say: there is hardship, so I will search—maybe I’ll find a mechanism. If there had been no hardship, he would not have searched for it, and then he would not have discovered that mechanism, even though the mechanism was valid even without the hardship. He just would not have found it, because he had no motivation to search.
[Speaker D] Rabbi, that makes sense in matters of looking for a halakhic leniency or something like that. But in the matter the Rabbi mentioned at the beginning regarding sanctifying God’s name, that dispute there—where they say that Tosafot specifically leaned toward that opinion because of the hardships they were in—there that really is a distortion in ruling, to lean that way because of it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly the same thing. Exactly the same thing. My claim is that because Tosafot were in distress and lived in such a charged and challenging environment, when they approached the passages they saw them differently. But when they analyzed the passages, they did not say, okay, we need to be stringent because there are problems. Rather, that was something that influenced them. But now, in the end, they thought that this really was the correct interpretation of the passages. As a researcher looking from the side, I can say that this perspective was apparently influenced by the environment in which they lived. But that’s the researcher from the side. They themselves looked at the passages, and that is what seemed to them the correct interpretation. They had a different interpretation.
[Speaker D] So it’s not because of the tendency—it’s not because these are narrative tendencies and things like that that they ruled this way.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly what I’m saying. So I claim that the traditional approach is right: in the interpretive and halakhic-ruling context, you don’t need to get into the context—but not because the context had no influence. It does influence. But that’s not what matters. The context was only what led me to look at a passage in a certain way, but once I looked at it that way, that is now a possible way to look at the passage. It’s a way that holds water. Tosafot didn’t see a contradiction to that way of looking at it, right? They understood the passage that way, so that means this is a possible understanding of the passage. Maybe they wouldn’t have arrived at it if constraints hadn’t influenced them. So the constraints influenced them, and that’s how they discovered that perspective. And Maimonides discovered a different perspective. But once they discovered those two perspectives, I now have two perspectives, both of which are possible within the passage, and now I need to examine them and see which seems more plausible to me, and decide according to what seems more plausible.
I gave a more extreme example of this. There is a Maimonides in the Laws of Monetary Damages, chapter 4. Maimonides rules there in a way that is against the Talmud. The Talmud says that if someone deposits an animal with a guardian and the animal gets out and causes damage while under the guardian’s care, then of course the guardian has to pay. What happens if the guardian guarded it properly? Then he is exempt, and of course the owner is certainly exempt, because he handed it over to a guardian, the guardian watched it properly, so the owner did his duty—just as if the animal had gone out and caused damage while with the owner, and the owner had guarded it properly, then he would be exempt from paying. So if he appointed a guardian and the guardian did his job and watched it properly, then of course both the owner and the guardian are exempt. Once the owner hands it over to the guardian, the owner leaves the picture. The whole discussion is only whether the guardian is liable or exempt. That’s what is written in the Talmud.
But in Maimonides it says that if the guardian watched it properly, then the guardian is exempt and they collect from the owner—which is in direct contradiction to the Talmud. Okay? So the Maggid Mishneh already comments on this and suggests a way to reconcile it with the Talmud after all. There are other suggestions too; Rabbi Chaim of Brisk also suggested an approach like that, a different approach. In the Kesef Mishneh next to this Maimonides, he quotes a letter from Rabbi Avraham ben HaRambam, who writes in the name of his father that this ruling is a scribal error. A mistake happened. They simply copied it incorrectly. Maimonides ruled like the Talmud, not against the Talmud. There was a copying error. Maimonides himself says this, and Rabbi Avraham ben HaRambam, his son, also brings it in his name. And it’s quoted in the Kesef Mishneh next to Maimonides.
So the Maggid Mishneh, who was earlier, maybe hadn’t seen this yet, so he explained Maimonides. But Rabbi Chaim lived in the twentieth century, five hundred years—four hundred and fifty years—after the Kesef Mishneh. I assume he knew the Kesef Mishneh, which is printed in all editions of Maimonides. So why is he looking for explanations for this Maimonides if it’s a scribal error? The claim is that once the Maggid Mishneh found an explanation for this ruling of Maimonides and argued that it can be reconciled with the Talmud, that means there is a way to interpret the Talmud in that manner. So true, he would never have proposed such a suggestion if a scribal error hadn’t occurred in the manuscripts of Maimonides. It would never have occurred to him to make those kinds of distinctions. But once that error occurred, it caused the Maggid Mishneh to sit and work the issue through, and he found an explanation that apparently satisfied him, one he was willing to stand behind. So in effect we have now discovered an additional new perspective on the Talmudic passage, one that we would never have discovered without the mistake in Maimonides. But that perspective holds water; the Maggid Mishneh is willing to stand behind it.
So now, true, this is not Maimonides’ view, because Maimonides said it’s a scribal error, just a copying mistake. It’s the Maggid Mishneh’s view—so what’s wrong with that? The Maggid Mishneh was a Jew too. So this is the Maggid Mishneh’s way of interpreting the passage, and now we have another approach in this halakhic topic. But that approach would never have been born without that scribal error in Maimonides’ ruling. So does that invalidate the Maggid Mishneh’s ruling? Does that mean there is no such halakhic approach? Of course not. If that approach holds water, and the Maggid Mishneh was willing to stand behind it, and it did not seem to him to contradict the Talmud—he has explanations, everything is fine, it settles his mind—then it is an approach, an approach of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) in interpreting the passage in every respect. And it was discovered by means of a mistake. So what? And without the mistake it wouldn’t have happened; we would not have had such an approach without the mistake; no one would have thought to look for distinctions like these in the Talmud. Fine.
So very often all kinds of constraints and failures and mistakes and just the influence of circumstances and challenges and hardships and distress and the like affect me and make me see the Talmud in a certain way. But after all those influences, at the end of the day, when I look at the Talmud I offer an interpretation, and I am willing to stand behind that interpretation; it is coherent. So if that is the case, then we have a legitimate interpretation of the Talmud here, and now it stands on its own, regardless of what brought me to look at it that way. Now I need to check whether the interpretation—someone else can now come and examine whether this interpretation seems right to him or not. But this is my interpretation of the passage. The fact that all kinds of things caused me to arrive at this kind of perspective—so what? Bottom line, this is how I now look at it, and this is my approach to understanding the passage. I brought in that column I uploaded today—there is.
[Speaker E] Rabbi, Rabbi, Rabbi—so supposedly that same story, that when someone is appointed to the Sanhedrin, they check whether he has a hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing pure—did they want to document those reasons, and do they have weight?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They wrote down the Oral Torah; I assume they would have written that too, I don’t know. Everything that came up in the study hall they wrote. But for most of the period, the Oral Torah was not written down.
[Speaker E] I didn’t mean historically, I meant conceptually.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, absolutely, of course. That’s why, after a heavenly voice came forth and ruled like Beit Hillel, nobody thought to erase Beit Shammai from the Mishnah or from the Talmud. They remain there, even though Jewish law does not follow them. Yes—why were Rabbi Meir’s words taught? The Mishnah in… where is it? In Eduyot? I don’t remember—where? Why were Rabbi Meir’s words taught when Jewish law does not follow him? Or why were the minority opinions taught, those according to which Jewish law was not ruled? Why were they taught in the Mishnah? So that if a source comes before you, you’ll know to whom to attribute it, and so on. And the medieval authorities (Rishonim) added another reason as well: so that you know there is also such a way of looking at the passage, even though it was not ruled that way in practice.
[Speaker D] The Rabbi once brought something somewhat similar, I think in a dispute about settling the Land of Israel, where the Rabbi said that there each one came with his… between the Chazon Ish and Rabbi Goren, I think, each one came with his begged assumption, where he says you can fulfill settling the Land of Israel even here, and built on Rabbi Shach’s narrative. Rabbi Shach, yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, he said that settling the Land of Israel can also be in Bnei Brak; you don’t have to get to Ariel for that.
[Speaker D] So there the Rabbi did criticize it, saying that supposedly it was because they think…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I didn’t criticize it. I only said that for some reason all those who hold Rabbi Shach’s worldview also agree with him in the way he looks at the topic of settling the Land of Israel. And that seems strange to me. If he had looked transparently at the commandment of settling the Land of Israel, and his worldview had led him to look at it that way and that had been his conclusion, fine. But when it divides so hermetically between the two sides, that means there is also a lack of honesty here. That’s what I think. But yes, clearly, a person is shaped by the landscape of his birthplace. Meaning, the influences on a person are influences that determine—or greatly affect—how he will study passages and how he will rule and how he will interpret. We all know that there are certain halakhic decisors whose tendency in many passages you can more or less predict. And other halakhic decisors will have a different tendency in those same passages, and many times I can even know that in advance. And that does not invalidate it; that does not mean it is bias; it does not mean it is improper that they have an agenda, yes, like Gavison. That they have an agenda—no, it has nothing to do with agendas. Every person is under all sorts of influences, and that’s fine. People are people; the Torah was not given to ministering angels. Torah was given to human beings.
[Speaker D] Yes, but if you’re aware of it—if you’re aware that it affects you, and you know there is another side and that the explanatory reasons are not enough to tip the scale
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] toward this side, then in my eyes that isn’t honest.
[Speaker D] So yes, that isn’t honest.
[Speaker E] Why exactly isn’t that honest?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] One of the reasons, in my opinion—one of the reasons that in our generation there is such a strong tendency to rely on precedents—is that the halakhic decisors of our generation are part of this generation, and this generation has reflexivity; it is aware of its biases. And once you are aware of your biases, once you are already aware that you have an agenda, you cast doubt—and justifiably—on the honesty of your own ruling, and therefore you prefer to cling to precedents. The sages of previous generations were also influenced no less than the sages of this generation, but they were not aware of it, because this awareness is a very modern matter, the awareness of circumstances that affect me.
[Speaker E] But why is it not legitimate? After all, when you come to a real dispute—not about facts—then in the end it is a value dispute, and a value dispute really has no justification for either side; you have to come with some voluntary act of decision on your part. Clearly your voluntary decision is influenced by who you are. What does “who you are” mean? What you want. And what you want—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then why do you justify it at all? What are you talking about? What are you talking about? Aren’t there discussions and reasonings and all that about value matters? Of course there are.
[Speaker E] About justification—about values—how can you justify them?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course. What do you mean?
[Speaker E] How can an “ought” come from an “is”?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Not from the “is”—from the “ought” comes the “ought.” I have reasonings about what ought to be, and you have different reasonings about what ought to be. So now how do we argue? Sometimes we can argue, sometimes we can’t argue,
[Speaker E] but each person has his own position.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And if it’s not reasoned? After all, if you don’t have a position, you don’t reach a conclusion about what is and what ought to be, and about this halakhic topic, and you choose it only because that is your ideological tendency or I don’t know exactly what—that isn’t honest. You need to proceed here according to the laws of doubt if you don’t have a position. If you do have a position, and clearly the position is influenced by your agendas—because that’s you—that’s fine; this is what I am, this is how I look at it. But at the end of the day, I really think this is the more correct interpretation. And if I am aware that it is not the more correct interpretation and I use it tendentiously, then in my opinion that is not honest. In a time of need, maybe yes. I said: Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied upon in a time of pressure, so in a time of pressure you can choose a view even though you have an evenly balanced doubt about it, or even a minority view in a major time of pressure. But that is in a time of pressure. To just choose according to this agenda or that agenda—that, in my eyes, is interpretive dishonesty.
[Speaker E] I didn’t mean when you don’t really think that opinion, but when you truly believe such an opinion and afterward someone gives you some kind of reflection and says, listen, it’s obvious that this fits very well with your whole worldview and what you’re aiming at, then you don’t necessarily have to say, wait, so now I no longer believe what I decided. If you really never decided, you’re just standing on the side, then indeed that’s not honest. Agreed.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m telling you: your researcher comes to you and says, listen, you actually rule this way—look consistently—and it’s clear that what influences you is something that belongs to this or that school, or you have this or that worldview. No problem at all. I’ll tell him, more power to you, write an article about it. No, it doesn’t bother me at all. As long as this is really what I think and this is really how I see the passages, then this is really how I see the passages. Of course, of course. I know I’m influenced and there are various influences on me, or yes, the circumstances tilt me this way or that. And that’s perfectly fine. I just don’t investigate what those biases are and what the circumstances are doing and all sorts of things like that. I simply take all that whole gross package as “me,” and how I see the passage is what I rule. And if a researcher comes and reveals to me that within that “me” there sit such agendas and such values and so on, fine, maybe he’s right—so what? It won’t change anything for me. Agreed.
[Speaker E] So I started to say—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In that column I uploaded today I brought something there from William James’ book The Varieties of Religious Experience, relevant to the topic. In the first lecture he talks about the materialistic criticism or something like that, the materialistic doctors—I don’t remember. “Materialistic” there means materialists, it’s an old translation of that book. And he says that very often people accuse religious people—religious people—of this being the result of a mental structure, maybe even some kind of neurosis, melancholy, manic depression, whatever, all kinds of such-and-such mental defects. And William James’ claim—he was a philosopher and also a psychologist—is that the religious people and also their secular critics are both mistaken in thinking that if you accept this analysis, then your view—not you, your view—is emptied of value, of meaning. No. Very often the fact that I am neurotic or that I have some mental defect or another is precisely what enables me to encounter certain dimensions in the psyche, in reality, that mentally healthy people cannot encounter.
Sometimes it could be that a person, because of some organic defect, sees better than others or remembers better than others. I brought there an article I saw not long ago about a unit in military intelligence with guys on the autistic spectrum, Asperger’s and the like, and they have some kind of perfect visual memory, really pathological, and they use it—I don’t know—in Lebanon there, they keep in their heads all the information about what’s happening in Lebanon, and apparently they manage to get things out of themselves that a normal person can’t produce. So the fact that it comes from some organic or mental defect or whatever—so what? Sometimes the organic or mental defect is exactly what allows you to encounter or arrive at insights that ordinary people cannot reach. And therefore, once again, hanging everything on the sources that create the insight says nothing about the value of the insight itself—whether it is good or bad, whether it is true or false. The fact that it came out by some crooked route or by a different route or however you want to call it—so what? That’s the psychologist’s concern; the philosopher’s concern or the scientist’s concern is to see whether he is right.
If this person has Asperger’s, then I don’t know, maybe he needs psychological treatment, but that doesn’t mean that the information he is now holding, which a healthy person cannot hold, is false. The information must be checked on its own merits: is it right or not? And it may very well be that precisely his defect enables him to grasp things that we cannot grasp. Therefore the question of source and the factual question—yes, regarding what the source of things is, what caused them, what influenced them—and the question of value are two independent questions. You have to answer each one separately. That’s his claim.
And he says that, for example, religious experiences, special religious charisma, encounters with revelations, religious visions and the like, require a somewhat psychopathic personality—well, not psychopathic in the way we call psychopathy today, but what he called there, I don’t know why he called it that, something neurotic-psychopathic, whatever—and only that way can you manage to encounter those mystical religious dimensions, which somehow are blocked off from ordinary people. That does not invalidate those visions because they emerge from some unstable or different mental structure or however we want to call it. These are two independent questions: the psychological question and the question of the value of the product, the thing itself. They are two different questions; they need to be separated.
Yes, the Nazis invalidated the theory of relativity because they said it was Jewish physics. Right—Einstein invented it, Jewish physics. Suppose they were right, that it’s Jewish physics—so what? The question is whether it is correct physics, not whether it is Jewish physics. The fact that its source is a Jewish person is the question of source. And now the question is whether it’s true or not—what does the source have to do with that? Even say you think Jews are evil and plotting all kinds of schemes—fine, all true—but their physics can still be correct. By the way, that was one of the great strokes of luck in World War II, because once they related to relativity that way, they lagged behind in the race for the bomb. Oppenheimer. Relativity was illegal for a long period until they realized that apparently it still had to be used, and thanks to that the Americans probably got ahead of them.
[Speaker E] So how can we understand that Talmudic statement, that you should study Torah from a rabbi only if he is like an angel of God in your eyes? Why should I care? I’m studying—take the truth from whoever says it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So in the series of columns I finished not long ago, I discussed this, and I…
[Speaker D] There’s also Rabbi Meir: “He ate the inside and threw away the peel.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. I argued that Torah is transmitted orally, and you need to rely on your rabbi. On the level of reliability—if he is not an honest person, you can’t rely on him. But if the Torah is written and now we have interpretive discussions, and he raises possibilities and I raise possibilities, and afterward we can weigh who is right, then there is no problem at all—learn from whomever you want. It really, really doesn’t matter. And that was the revolution at Yavneh, right? Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Eliezer, who had a traditionalist approach—a view that says that whoever is not inwardly like his outward appearance should not enter the study hall—they were removed, and Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah came in their place, and increased three hundred or three thousand—I don’t remember—benches in the study hall. Everyone came in. He did not check who was inwardly like his outward appearance. Why? Because for him everything was a matter of discussion: present your arguments, and we’ll see whether you’re right or not right. I wrote about this at length in that series about tradition, yes, the series on tradition.
In any case, what I want to claim, to summarize, is that when we talk about the reasons for Jewish law, we need to talk about the substantive reasons for Jewish law. What really are the reasons that explain the halakhic ruling. The question of what sources or circumstances produced this perspective—that is not what I call the reasons for Jewish law. Just as I drew a distinction between reasons and sources in the previous lesson, now I’m drawing a distinction between the reasons and the sources on the one hand, and the influences, constraints, circumstances—which are also, in effect, some kind of cause of the interpretive or halakhic product—on the other. That too needs to be separated from the discussion of the matter itself. Such a discussion is a discussion of the person rather than of the matter; it is what in logic is called the ad hominem fallacy, when you cling to arguments about the person rather than arguments about the matter itself.
In column 257 on my site, where I spoke about the relation between the reasons and the bottom line—the topic of the previous lesson—I also pointed out there that the authority we accepted upon ourselves regarding the Talmud, the authority of the Talmud, is authority over the bottom lines; it is not authority over the reasons. And this is where that gap really enters, between the reasons and the bottom lines. What do I mean? I’m speaking now about substantive reasons, not circumstances. For example, if sages in the Talmud disagree, and say one of them reached a certain conclusion because he was socialist in outlook, and the other was capitalist in outlook and reached a different conclusion, and say the passage ruled like the capitalist, then I claim that what obligates me is that halakhic ruling over which they disagreed—but I am not obligated to become a capitalist. In other words, the fact that capitalism was the justification for that ruling over which they debated—I am bound by the bottom lines, by the halakhic rulings. But justifications, value-based worldviews, and the like, which were not themselves ruled as Jewish law, are not binding.
And this continues what I said in the previous lesson, that there is a gap between the justifications and the bottom lines. We saw that we follow the majority in a court and ignore the fact that the opinions often rely on different reasons. If they rely on different sources, then Rashi said no. If they rely on different reasons, then it doesn’t matter. A majority based on different reasons is still a majority. Meaning, from our perspective what determines things is the bottom line. As for reasons, each person can choose his own reasons. With respect to reasons, there is no authority; with respect to reasons, they do not combine. Each person reaches the bottom line by the route he sees fit, by means of the reasons that seem right to him, but that is his own business. In the end, what determines things is basically the bottom lines.
[Speaker D] Even in the reasons for Jewish law themselves? What? The Rabbi says this even about the reasons for Jewish law themselves? Meaning? The way the sages understood the reason for the law?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s what I’m talking about.
[Speaker D] Meaning also, yes, but also how they understood acquisition, how they understood things that are kind of abstract, but that’s what causes the law to be determined.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Here you need to distinguish between the definition and the reason. And again, the line is not sharp and I don’t know how to give a clear definition of the difference, but in yeshivot they always say, no, no, that’s not a reason, that’s a definition. They always say, you’re deriving the reason of the verse—no, no, that’s not a reason, that’s a definition. What does that mean? You need to define the law as the sages said, and that definition is binding. But the cause, the reason that led to that conception—that is not binding. There is—there is the rabbi of Ma’ale Adumim, Rabbi Shilat, in his book about Rabbi Gedaliah—he brings there an example from Rabbi Gedaliah of the difference between a reason and a definition, if I remember correctly.
[Speaker D] “For seven days you shall dwell in booths.” Booth, exactly.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So he brings there the example of dwelling in a sukkah. He said that the sages determined that the definition of dwelling in a sukkah is “you shall dwell as you normally live,” and we are supposed to sit in the sukkah as we live in the house. And that is the definition of the commandment of dwelling in a sukkah. But the reason for the commandment of dwelling in a sukkah is something entirely different: “so that your generations may know that I caused the children of Israel to dwell in booths.” We do not derive the reason of the verse, even though the Bach actually did derive it there, but in principle we do not. But the definition of the law is clear—that is the law. The law is the definition we arrived at through the determinations of the sages. That, yes, clearly the definition is binding. But the reasons on which they built that definition are not binding. The Talmud presents the worldview of the Amoraim even if they were capitalists or socialists. I still need to adopt the halakhic instructions they established on that basis.
[Speaker D] Only why they arrived at that reason, why they arrived at that definition—but that’s not to say you think the definition is wrong.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, I’m saying the definition I am bound by.
[Speaker D] The definition you’re bound by, but you’re bound by it while also understanding that it has to be—it’s a bit paradoxical if you don’t believe the justification for the thing.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s not that I don’t believe. If I had to rule myself, I would rule differently. But what can I do—I’m bound, because the Talmud is binding. So I rule as the Talmud rules. Not because the Talmud is right. I rule because it is binding, because we accepted its authority upon ourselves. Therefore, if I ruled like the Talmud because it is right, then it would be very natural also to adopt the reasons, because those are the reasons why it ruled as it ruled. But if I rule like it because I am bound by the Talmud’s ruling, because it has authority, then I am bound by its ruling, not by its justifications. And if I disagree with the justifications, then I disagree—then I’m a socialist.
[Speaker D] So the Rabbi is saying basically that even if the Talmud—even if in your opinion the Talmud is mistaken—you are still completely bound, even if you think it is entirely mistaken.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Correct. A mistake in Jewish law, not a mistake in fact.
[Speaker D] Yes, a mistake in Jewish law.
[Speaker F] But why, when they accepted the rulings of the Talmud, why didn’t they also accept the reasons?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because I assume that the reasons are something much more a matter of interpretation, and who knows what the reason is, and to say that the reasons are binding is almost a dead letter. I can always interpret it in different ways, and it’s hard to establish fixed principles in that matter. It’s not part of the law. They wanted to establish some halakhic framework. Nobody wants to dictate your world of images and your world of thoughts and your world of values. They want to dictate the law—what you are to do in practice. Here there needs to be some level of uniformity, some level of shared discourse, and therefore that is what they decided to fix. Not because it is right. That’s why I say: if it were because it is right, then it would have been reasonable to accept the reasons too, because the reasons are the basis of the ruling. But if I accept the ruling not because it is right, but because that is what the Talmud decided and I accept the authority of the Talmud, then I am not saying that it is right; I am saying that this is what binds me, and therefore I will do it. If you ask me, though, what seems right to me, I’m a socialist.
[Speaker E] That opens a big door to freer interpretation. True.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But you know, that opening exists whether I admit it or not. I’m just putting it on the table. Others do the same interpretive tricks, they just will never say that they are deviating from what is really written in the Talmud. They’ll say that this is really the Talmud. And I think honesty requires admitting that no. But in practice I don’t think I do things, at least because of this point, in a way that is very different from what standard halakhic decisors do. They do it too; they just don’t admit it. Exactly.
So that is regarding the reasons and the bottom line. Basically the point is that this takes us back to first-order ruling, because first-order ruling basically says that you are not supposed to play with bottom lines and adopt things from precedents or take a majority among halakhic decisors. You need to go into the level of reasons, formulate a position, and reach your own conclusion. Someone else will go into the level of reasons and reach his conclusion—maybe your conclusion for different reasons, maybe a different conclusion. It doesn’t matter. On the contrary, precisely because I am not bound by the reasons that came up in precedents, even in binding precedents like the Talmud—in the medieval authorities (Rishonim) I am not bound even by the bottom line, but in the Talmud the bottom line is binding, though not the reasons—so I’m saying that once that is the case, that is exactly what allows a halakhic decisor to be a first-order decisor. And that basically means that the decisor is now not bound by what the precedents determined to be the correct reasons. He is bound by the bottom lines, in authoritative sources like the Talmud. But as for the reasons, he needs to enter into the reasons and formulate a position on his own. Precisely because there is no canonization there, because it is not part of the binding framework, that is exactly what allows me to be a first-order decisor, to enter the arguments and arrive at my own conclusions. So this approach actually allows for—or strengthens—first-order ruling.
Now I want to move on to the next point, and I’ll only begin it, and that is the question of autonomous ruling. Because first-order ruling—part of it, by the way, not the whole matter of first order, I discussed that in previous lessons—but part of it is to be an autonomous decisor. An autonomous decisor means a decisor who does not rule because such-and-such precedents said so and he took a majority among them or some rule of ruling or another, but rather a decisor who enters into the reasons and the justifications, weighs the arguments in all directions, and in the end reaches his own decision. That is an autonomous decisor. And that is part of the meaning of first-order ruling.
So you can be, for example, an autonomous second-order decisor in principle. How? You can say there is a dispute between Maimonides and Rashba. I am not a first-order decisor; I’m not going into the reasons and checking which of them sounds more plausible to me. But I can, for example, say: okay, but Maimonides was a more important decisor, and therefore I rule like Maimonides. That is my decision, autonomously. There is no rule that in disputes between Maimonides and Rashba Jewish law follows Maimonides. I am an autonomous decisor, but not first-order. It’s not first-order because I’m not entering into the reasons and justifications. Therefore I say: there is a connection between first-order ruling and entering into autonomous ruling, but it’s not exactly the same thing. There is some gap between those concepts.
So I want to get a bit into this topic of autonomous ruling. And basically my fundamental claim is this: when I come to rule in Jewish law, I am supposed to enter the passage—as we saw from the Maharal in Netiv HaTorah, and I also discussed this in one of the previous lessons—I am supposed to enter into the reasons of the passage, formulate a position on my own, and arrive at my own conclusion. Autonomously, even if that goes against the majority of precedents, even if it goes against precedents from major halakhic authorities, and so on. I need to rule autonomously.
And the value of autonomy—we saw this in the Maharal—the value of autonomy is not connected to my being more right than Maimonides. If there is a dispute between Maimonides and Rashba and I rule according to my own view, it is not because I am right, but because there is value in ruling autonomously. That is the point, and that is what the Maharal was talking about there. We read parts of that chapter, chapter 15 in Netiv HaTorah, and this is that claim, this approach of autonomous ruling. And the claim is basically the following.
Maybe I mentioned this story—one of the thousands of stories told about Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz. A priest came to him and said, why don’t you rule like us? After all, we Christians are the majority. It says in the Torah, “follow the majority.” Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz told him: I follow the majority in a place where I am in doubt. If I am not in doubt, I don’t need to follow the majority. Now usually people tell this as a joke, but it’s not a joke. It’s a completely serious answer. A completely correct answer. It is exactly the correct answer to his question. It’s not a joke at all.
Meaning, if there is a piece of meat that I find in a city—yes, this is the example that always comes to mind for me in this context—a piece of meat that I find in a city where nine stores sell non-kosher meat and one store is kosher. In principle I am supposed to follow the majority of stores, so in principle I assume that this piece of meat is non-kosher; it is forbidden to eat it. But what if the piece of meat I found has a premium kosher seal on it? Will I still say it is non-kosher because most of the stores in the city are non-kosher? No. Why not? Because regarding this piece of meat I have no doubt; I know that it is kosher. When do I follow the majority of stores? When I don’t know what this piece of meat is, when I have a doubt. Then they tell me: follow the majority. It is a rule of decision in situations of doubt. But if I am not in doubt, there is no reason for me to follow the majority.
The same is true of the majority of halakhic decisors. The same is true of all rules of ruling. All rules of ruling are rules meant to guide me as to what I should do when I do not have my own position. But if I do have my own position, then I do not need rules of ruling. Then I do what I understand. And in that sense, this is basically the principled basis for this view of autonomous ruling. In this context I want to bring several citations, from halakhic decisors too, so that you’ll see that precisely on this issue I really am not some unusual or overly radical view. This was a very widespread approach among halakhic decisors, one that somehow in recent generations lost some of its popularity. But in earlier generations it was a very common approach, and I’ll bring you quotations from major halakhic decisors who hold this way.
[Speaker E] Rabbi, can you say it again? I didn’t fully understand, really. I identify very much with this Maharal, but to understand him more fully: if a thousand halakhic decisors, the greatest Torah scholars in the world, all together ruled A, and I autonomously think and arrive at B—I have no choice, in purity of heart that’s where I arrived. But a thousand geniuses of the generation throughout the generations thought A. So if they ask me objectively what is more likely, where the truth probably lies, they are probably right. Even so, the Maharal says: sorry, you need to go according to what you think autonomously. What is the logic in that?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The logic is that autonomy has value. Autonomy is not a tool to reach the truth. In this case autonomy does not lead you to the truth, but there is value in acting autonomously. That is a value in itself. Why?
[Speaker D] Because the Maharal writes it there—it is more desirable before God.
[Speaker E] Why? But why?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean why? I don’t know. How do you explain values? We were given intellect in order to use it.
[Speaker E] But if we are repairing the eternity-within-splendor in some way, and the true eternity-within-splendor is A—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Only in a place where I do it out of my own autonomous decision. That’s what I think I brought from the homilies of Ran. The homilies of Ran ask: how can one demand that a sage obey the Sanhedrin, or not rule against the Sanhedrin, otherwise he is a rebellious elder? We are talking about an elder fit to rule, who is on the level of the sages of the Sanhedrin. So they are basically expecting him to make a halakhic mistake that will damage his soul, the world, I don’t know what, just because of the commandment to heed the voice of the sages. And what Ran answers there is that if he does not heed the voice of the sages, that too damages the eternity-within-splendor. Meaning, because you need to heed the voice of the sages; there is “do not turn aside.” Now here I’m making a similar move but in the opposite direction—not the obedient direction, but the autonomous direction.
What this means is that if autonomy has value, then acting autonomously also repairs the world—even at the price that you did something incorrect, which really can cause damage. One could ask the same question: why did the Holy One create us with free choice? Once He created us with free choice, that opened the door to our sinning, doing wrong things, things that damage. He could have created us as deterministic machines and programmed us always to do the right thing. Why didn’t He do that? Apparently because the repair He expects us to perform depends not only on what we do, but also on our choosing to do it. And if we did that thing but not out of our own choice, then apparently it doesn’t really do the job, or not all the job in the optimal way. There is value in my actually choosing to do the act, despite the price that if I am given free choice I will sometimes choose bad things as well. I claim the same thing for autonomy. The repair contained in a correct halakhic act exists only if it is done out of my own autonomous decision. If it is not done out of my autonomous decision, then maybe I did the right act, but the right act in itself does not bring the repair, or at least not the optimal repair, unless I do it out of my autonomous decision. Autonomy has significance in the repair effected by Jewish law—not only what you do, but also how you did it, whether from your own decision or in a compliant second-order way. That’s what the Maharal claims.
[Speaker D] Rabbi, what the Rabbi is saying, what the Rabbi brought—does the Rabbi agree with this, that basically at the root, sometimes at the root of a person’s reasoning, stand the environment and all these things, all these narratives? Isn’t that kind of an argument in favor of postmodernism, this thing? Because basically it says that there really isn’t—like, you can’t really get to any truth.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, on the contrary, that’s an argument against postmodernism. The postmodern claim says that if everyone acts within his own narrative, then there is no truth. There is no truth and also no dispute. Because each person has his own narrative; they are not making objective claims such that you can say there is a dispute between them. And that is exactly what I argued against. I want to say: true, each person has the influences that lead him in certain directions. But still, you need to examine the product and reach a conclusion as to what the truth is. I reject the claim that narrativity prevents you from the possibility of reaching truth.
[Speaker D] Yes, but how do you examine the product? Because the examination with which you examine the product—aren’t your reasonings there according to narratives and so on?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course they are. My narratives. Not those of the different opinions. I am shaped by the landscape of my birthplace, but fine—that’s the human being. And from my way of looking, in my way of looking, I arrive at this conclusion. And if someone looks at me from the side—yes, I too am probably influenced by all kinds of things. But fine, that’s me.
[Speaker D] Yes, so I didn’t understand—are you opening the door to pluralism? Like, he according to his subjectivity and he according to his subjectivity. Not pluralism.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If I think Tosafot were mistaken, then as far as I’m concerned, whoever acts like them is mistaken.
[Speaker D] Yes, but you still admit that if you were in Tosafot’s narrative, you would probably reach the same conclusions.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Maybe. Maybe I would, and maybe I wouldn’t.
[Speaker D] But the narratives—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I am not claiming that narratives determine what I say in a deterministic way. I definitely try to overcome that. I do try to look at what seems right to me. I understand that there are things inside me that I probably won’t manage to get rid of, and it may be that they influence me, and therefore I am not certain of what I say. But that does not mean I am in an evenly balanced doubt among all the possibilities. Not being certain about what I think and being in an evenly balanced doubt are not the same thing. Postmodernism claims that everything is an evenly balanced doubt. There is nothing more correct than anything else.
[Speaker D] And also regarding what the Rabbi said about the reasons—that I’m not bound by the reasons—so every time, basically, the Rabbi brings examples, say, that Jewish law is monistic and not pluralistic and so on, so basically that doesn’t obligate anything.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It may be. Not binding—but in this case I also happen to think so.
[Speaker D] Yes, the Rabbi is only saying that this is how Jewish law thought, but it basically doesn’t obligate anything.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think so too. Right, that’s a good comment.
[Speaker D] Yes, thank you very much, Rabbi. All the best.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Any other comment or question?
[Speaker B] Or maybe something not so connected to the lesson? Yes, yes. I heard today about Maimonides' explanation that the persistence of the soul is בעצם the philosophical truths that one arrives at. I didn’t understand? That there isn’t really a soul or spirit, some kind of spiritual thing inside a person. Rather? Rather, it’s the connection to philosophical truth, or learned philosophical thought, which is basically eternal truths that you connect to, and that’s what remains after a person dies.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And these truths will be in the Garden of Eden and enjoy the abundant good reserved for the righteous.
[Speaker B] So that’s just it—not exactly. But they’ll simply remain, meaning probably in the world.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] When Maimonides talks about the World to Come, what is he talking about? The truths?
[Speaker B] So that’s the question.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I have no idea; I’m not familiar with that Maimonides, but if he says such a thing, then there’s a contradiction in Maimonides.
[Speaker C] He discusses this at length in the Guide, right? He says that the persistence of the soul is the opinions and philosophical truths.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And there’s no object that remains?
[Speaker C] That’s what he says.
[Speaker B] Apparently. Like, your soul connects to those truths and that’s kind of it, but he still says there is a soul, which is also a contradiction, because there still is a soul and that’s what remains.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s what I’m saying. If he says there’s no entity and only the truths remain—yes, their words are their memorial—then you’re basically saying that nothing remains. Their words remain, fine, they also remain in their books, but that’s not the persistence of the soul.
[Speaker E] What’s so terrible about that? Why is it so important to us that this object, this subject, keeps floating around somewhere? Why is that so important to us?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Nothing is terrible and nothing is important; the only question is what Maimonides writes. If he says that in one place, then it contradicts what he writes in other places.
[Speaker B] Elsewhere—he’s not consistent. But there was a debate on Channel 14 just now about the soul; in my opinion the atheist won this time. It’s the same atheist who was up against you, by the way.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? I didn’t understand.
[Speaker B] There was a debate about whether the soul exists or not. Okay.
[Speaker E] And in my opinion, this time the atheist really did win.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What, some kind of debate?
[Speaker B] Yes, yes, something nice with someone—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That he had a debate with—Bloj, Bloj. Fine, that’s not serious.
[Speaker B] It’s not serious at all, at all. But the atheist did bring good proofs, in that, for example, he said there was a surgery where the hemispheres of the brain were separated, and then each hemisphere produced a distinct and opposite personality. Now Bloj tried to argue that there’s a soul and it’s responsible for the personality, but he told him no—it’s all a result of the brain.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I wrote a book about this, about these topics. It’s called The Science of Freedom, and I dealt with these issues there at length. There isn’t a shred of evidence here; it’s all a mistake.
[Speaker B] What’s a mistake?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] These proofs. Really?
[Speaker B] Clearly, from A—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] To Z.
[Speaker B] Too bad they didn’t bring you. It’s a misunderstanding. They should have brought the Rabbi. With God’s help, Rabbi, go back there, bring us honor.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, this isn’t a gladiator match, it’s not…
[Speaker B] I got to know you from there, by the way, I’m not…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine,
[Speaker F] So thank God, thank you.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, friends, good,
[Speaker F] Good night and goodbye.