Intention in the Commandments – Lesson 3

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It doesn’t matter; you still don’t need intention. Yes, if it stands designated for its commandment, but the circumstances don’t show that I had an intention for its own sake. Say, in Zevachim, the offerings stand designated for their commandment, as the Talmud says, right? Now I’m offering it without specific intent. Now suppose the situation is like blowing the shofar just as music: I’m offering it because I want to demonstrate slaughtering to others. Okay? According to Tosafot that won’t work, because if I want to demonstrate slaughtering to others, you can’t say there’s an assessment here that I really had an intention for its own sake, even though the offering stands designated for its commandment and I’m doing it according to the rules and in the proper place and according to all the laws. Okay? But according to Rashi it could be that this would help, because according to Rashi, with offerings, by virtue of the fact that they stand designated for their commandment, you don’t need an intention for its own sake. So why should I care that the circumstances don’t show there was an intention for its own sake? You don’t need it. Okay? Right. No, before you came in I mentioned some point—we talked about this—that’s the difference between “for its own sake” and intention. And I made another comment: what happens with a bill of divorce? Suppose women did stand designated for divorce. The Talmud says that because women are not generally designated for divorce, an unspecified act is not for its own sake, right? What would happen if women were generally designated for divorce? After all, the scribe isn’t writing the bill of divorce for this particular woman; he’s writing standard divorce forms—that’s the case there, right? In the final analysis, what does “unspecified counts as for its own sake” mean? Someone who writes standard divorce forms and also wrote the man’s name and the woman’s name—he prepares it so that if a man with that name and a woman with that name come, he’ll sell them the bill of divorce. And that will depend on the question whether an unspecified act counts as for its own sake or not. And the Talmud says that because women are not generally designated for divorce, it doesn’t help. That implies that if they were generally designated for divorce, it would help. Is there really any proof here that he intends it for its own sake? Exactly—that’s what I’m asking. Does that prove that when he wrote the bill of divorce, he wrote it for the sake of that woman? He didn’t even know about her yet. So why should it matter to me that women are generally designated for divorce? That’s why this approach—which is seemingly the more accepted approach, that there is some general implicit assessment like this—is a very difficult approach. Even the topic of unspecified counting as for its own sake in itself is a difficult approach, but the fact is that… Tosafot says it. And if Tosafot says it—Rashi really doesn’t say that, and maybe that’s the reason. But Tosafot, who apparently did learn that way, may understand that if women are generally designated for divorce and you wrote the bill of divorce for a particular woman and this is her husband’s name and this is the woman’s name, then yes—I write this for that woman, the one with that name, and that’s her husband. Right? Even though she isn’t standing before me at the moment. And if all women are generally designated for divorce, then maybe—at least it’s like retroactive clarification. Right? Then after the husband comes to me, it will become clarified retroactively that I wrote it for them. Okay? And then it could be that according to Tosafot this would count as proof that there was an intention for its own sake here. But that’s a bit difficult. Okay, in any case, there are such views, so apparently that’s how we have to explain them if we understand divorce this way. Now let’s look at the second Tosafot there in Zevachim. Good. Yes. Great. I’m a technology guy. So here is the second Tosafot. “An ordinary woman is not generally designated for divorce.” There—good? “An ordinary woman is not generally designated for divorce.” Tosafot says: “And even if she committed adultery under her husband, nevertheless she is not designated to be divorced with this bill of divorce. And also, if the husband does not want to, he will not divorce her, but simply not have relations with her.” Tosafot says: if the Talmud says that an ordinary woman is not generally designated for divorce—right?—that’s not true, because there are women who are designated for divorce. If she committed adultery, he is obligated to divorce her; she is designated for divorce. In such a woman, would it help to write the bill of divorce without specific intent? Because that woman is designated for divorce. Tosafot says it would not help. First, he assumes that it presumably should not help even for such a woman. In principle I would say, fine, so maybe for such a woman it would help. Who says not? Somehow Tosafot assumes that the law regarding an unspecified act in divorce is a general law, and it applies even to cases where one is obligated to divorce the woman. To my mind that’s already not a necessary assumption. But that’s what he assumes. So why, even here, does the unspecified act still not help? Two explanations. First, she is not designated to be divorced with this bill of divorce. That somewhat recalls the previous question I asked, right? At the end of the day, even if the woman is designated for divorce, if the bill of divorce was written before I even know her at all, how does that help make the writing of the bill of divorce into writing for its own sake? Okay? And second, he says: “And also, if the husband does not want to, he will not divorce her, but simply not have relations with her.” He can refrain from marital relations with her, but he won’t divorce her. Okay? Therefore, even a woman who committed adultery is not necessarily designated for divorce. That’s Tosafot’s second answer. What is Tosafot assuming in the subtext? Tosafot is assuming in the subtext that the rule that an ordinary woman is not designated for divorce does not speak about just any woman; it speaks about the woman under discussion here. And if the woman we are speaking about here, the one I want to divorce, is indeed designated for divorce, Tosafot says that then an unspecified act would help for her. That’s why he wants to say: fine, but even such a woman is not designated for divorce, right? In other words, if this specific woman were designated for divorce, then an unspecified act would help. Do you understand what Tosafot is assuming? Tosafot assumes that “unspecified counts as for its own sake” means that I am basically, implicitly, intending for the sake of this woman. So if she is designated for divorce, I intended her. According to Rashi, this question doesn’t arise. Because according to Rashi, even if this woman is designated for divorce, my question is not about this woman. My question is whether women in general are designated for divorce, and why? Because that affects the question whether writing a bill of divorce requires an intention for its own sake, or whether an unspecified act is also okay. But this is a general law in writing a bill of divorce; it’s not a question about this specific woman. If women were generally designated for divorce, then writing divorce documents would not require an intention for its own sake. Right? That’s what Rashi says. Now, the fact that a particular woman is designated for divorce—so what? I’m not dealing with that woman. I’m dealing with the question whether writing a bill of divorce needs to be done for her sake. And if ordinary women, women in general, are not designated for divorce, then even if this specific woman is designated for divorce, you still need to write the bill of divorce for her sake. Therefore this whole difficulty of Tosafot probably arises because what I inferred in the previous class is indeed correct. Tosafot does not learn like Rashi. Tosafot understands that “unspecified counts as for its own sake” means that there is an intention for its own sake here for this specific woman. Implicitly. With all the strain I mentioned earlier, but that’s apparently what Tosafot understands. And then he wants to say: fine, if that’s so, then when there is a woman who is designated for divorce, with respect to her you don’t need to write it for its own sake. Because then the unspecified act counts as for its own sake, just like in offerings. Tosafot says: true, but even a woman who committed adultery is not designated for divorce. Okay? Then the question really arises—Rabbi Akiva Eger here, for example, comments, and several later authorities comment—the main point of their words is that from the standpoint of the religious court they do not compel him. Meaning, the religious court does not force him to divorce her. Really, it is preferable that he divorce her. And since the religious court does not force him, that is not called that she is designated for divorce. And that is what they wrote: “if he does not want to, he will not divorce her”—their intent is not that he does not want to satisfy her wish, because that would not fit the continuation of their words. Rather, “but simply not have relations with her”—for with respect to that, her claim is not that he should not have relations with her. Rather, their intent is that certainly the religious court tells him that he should divorce her. But if the husband does not want to, separation suffices and he will not divorce her. Meaning, they will not force him to divorce; they will force them not to have relations, not to have marital relations, but they will not force him to divorce if he does not want to have relations. Even though they tell him to divorce. But the fact that they tell him to divorce is not enough to make the woman one who is designated for divorce, okay? The religious court has to compel him. And therefore she is not generally considered designated for divorce, since the religious court does not compel him as long as she has not sued him in religious court to release her with a bill of divorce. For even if she does sue, since it is possible that she may be appeased without a divorce and the religious court does not compel him, it is not called ordinary. It could be that if she sues to be divorced because they can no longer have marital relations—and if they cannot have marital relations, she no longer wants to remain—then she will sue to be divorced. In such a case, it could be that the religious court would indeed compel him to divorce. And if so, then once again she is designated for divorce and perhaps the unspecified act would help. So he says no: it could be that even if she sues, she may be appeased without a divorce, or the religious court still does not compel him, and then in any case the woman is not designated for divorce. And with this it would be resolved that, seemingly, there is a difficulty: what did Tosafot gain by this? After all, we still do find cases that are ordinarily designated for divorce—for example, the wife of a priest who was raped, and similarly all those cases listed in the Mishnah at the end of the chapter HaMadir where they compel him to divorce. There are women there where they do compel him to divorce. For a woman who committed adultery they don’t compel him, they only tell him to divorce. But with other women that Tosafot mentions—no, in those other women it explicitly says they compel him to divorce. So they are designated for divorce; would an unspecified act help there? What? No, he didn’t say not about this specific woman. That’s Rashi. “Not designated to be divorced with this bill of divorce.” Yes, so he’s asking on Tosafot’s second answer. Tosafot’s first answer would cover that too. “And with this it would be resolved that, seemingly, there is a difficulty: what did Tosafot gain by this? After all, we still find cases ordinarily designated for divorce, such as the wife of a priest who was raped and all those others.” And according to what we said, it is resolved, because even in all those cases the coercion is only from her side, if she demands the bill of divorce; and if she is appeased, that is enough for us. Therefore it is not called ordinarily designated for divorce. But it is still not fully resolved, because we find in the case of a man who married a pregnant woman who was carrying another man’s child that they compel him to divorce her and separation does not help. And likewise in the case where he waited ten years and she did not give birth. Yes, there too they compel him to divorce her. There too one has to discuss why they compel him to divorce her: so that he marry another woman in addition to her. To fulfill “be fruitful and multiply,” after all she is not commanded in “be fruitful and multiply.” Let him marry another woman in addition to her and fulfill “be fruitful and multiply” with her. I don’t know—he assumes that they compel him to divorce her. In any case, according to his view this still requires analysis, because there are nevertheless some women there for whom they do compel divorce. You see that his whole discussion proceeds, following Tosafot—and this isn’t his own invention. The whole discussion really is about this specific woman. It is not a question about women in general—whether they are designated for divorce or not. According to Rashi, this whole discussion doesn’t begin at all. It isn’t relevant. Even if you find some woman who is designated for divorce, so what? An ordinary woman is not designated for divorce, so someone writing standard divorce forms cannot write them in advance. Okay? It doesn’t matter if in the end I choose to divorce with it a woman who is designated for divorce. That’s not interesting. I’m talking about the commandment, not about the woman. Is the commandment in such women who are designated for divorce or not? Another point, as I noted earlier: I don’t know why Tosafot, and after that Rabbi Akiva Eger, insist that this has to apply to each and every woman. So really it could be that according to Tosafot, if there are certain women who are indeed designated for divorce, then yes indeed, an unspecified writing there would help. Who says not? An ordinary woman is not designated for divorce, but a particular woman who is designated—for her, yes indeed, the unspecified act would help there. What’s the problem? Okay, so it isn’t clear to me why that is necessary. In Tosafot it really sounds like he saw some necessity, because otherwise why did he get into this whole topic in the first place? But Rabbi Akiva Eger takes it into a corner altogether and says that even if we find some one woman who is designated for divorce, then Tosafot requires further analysis. Why does it require further analysis? Then with regard to that woman Tosafot would say yes, and the unspecified act helps.

[Speaker G] What’s the problem? The question—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why. It seems so—I agree, I’m just asking why. No, the conclusion—

[Speaker G] No.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] An ordinary woman is not presumed to be standing for divorce. Just an ordinary woman. Is a woman who committed adultery, or a woman pregnant by another man, or one who hasn’t given birth for ten years—then yes, she is standing for divorce. What’s the problem? Specifically an ordinary woman, not a particular woman. So at this point it could be that an ordinary woman would indeed be considered as standing for divorce. Not divorced women, but women standing for divorce. Right, I want there to be other situations. Also in Meromei Sadeh, the Netziv—yes, the Netziv’s novellae on the Talmudic text—there really are situations where one is obligated to divorce, like if he stayed with her ten years and she didn’t give birth, as Rabbi Akiva Eiger says. And it says in Ketubot 77 that even if he says, “I’ll live with her in the presence of witnesses,” we do not allow it. Meaning, it’s explicit there that one must not leave her with him. In any case, this will fit Rashi’s explanation in Yevamot 64a, in the Mishnah, under the heading “he is not permitted to refrain,” where he writes: either he divorces her or he marries another alongside her. And it is clear that if he married another, we do not force him to divorce. What I said before. Okay? Also in Yad David: an ordinary woman, by default, is not standing for divorce. From here Nachmanides, Rashba, and Ran brought proof that writing a bill of divorce does not require agency. Because otherwise, what does the Talmud answer when it says she is not standing for divorce? It implies that if she were standing for divorce, then a document written without specification would be valid. But if agency were required, and you are writing standard forms of bills of divorce with no agency from the husband at all, then it should be invalid because you are not the husband’s agent, regardless of the law of “without specification.” So it’s proven from here that agency is not required. The writer does not have to be the husband’s agent. What? No, that part is specifically required. He wrote it for her sake, but he does not have to be the husband’s agent. Different things. What? Yes, yes, I’m only saying that the claim is basically that if I want to argue that according to Rashi there is no such necessity. According to Rashi, let’s say agency is required. We are dealing with agency. There was agency. He is writing standard forms of bills of divorce; there was agency. And still, if ordinary women are not standing for divorce, it will still be invalid. So according to Rashi, that inference is not necessary. According to Tosafot, that inference is necessary. Okay? That’s basically what I want to claim.

Now look, just to finish, look at the links people make to the question of whether commandments require intention. I found this—there’s this kind of collection in Havruta. There’s such a collection. Yes, you’ll forgive me for quoting Hasidic sources here. It’s just what I found there. It seems to me just illustrative; I’ll try not to repeat this mistake. In Imrei Emet of the holy Admor of Gur, of blessed memory, in the name of his venerable grandfather: according to the view that commandments do not require intention, the reason is that the Jewish people are always attached to the Holy One, blessed be He, and by default they stand “for its own sake.” A nice Hasidic line like that—they are attached to the Holy One, blessed be He, and therefore by default it is for its own sake. How do you understand that? It’s like the understanding that “by default”—first of all, he connects “by default for its own sake” to intention, right? That’s first. Second, fine, he’s a Hasid, so that doesn’t prove anything. Second, even if you connect “default” to intention, which sense of “default” are you talking about? How do you understand “by default for its own sake”? Is there actual mental intention? Is there implicit intention for its own sake? Or is intention for its own sake not required at all? That there is intention for its own sake. It’s an interesting question. I don’t know—I really get the sense that he means that, but for that you really have to be a Hasid. Because saying that Israel is attached to the Holy One, blessed be He, is very nice. What does that mean? That inwardly he really intends it for its own sake because he is attached to the Holy One, blessed be He? That’s some kind of metaphysical statement; what does that have to do with what he is thinking? It’s not really an indication that inside he is truly doing it for that reason. It’s some kind of metaphysical statement.

So fine, if you were to say that this is like women who are standing for divorce—that’s a kind of general statement, the way Rashi understands it, yes? If women are standing for divorce, then you don’t need intention for its own sake. So maybe he can say the same thing regarding intention: that all commandments basically stand to be for their own sake, and therefore one doesn’t really need intention. Okay? But first, he explains this only according to the view that commandments do not require intention. He doesn’t say this according to everyone. It’s within the view that commandments do not require intention, and whoever says that commandments do require intention disagrees with this. Okay? Second, as I said before, this is really difficult. It’s hard to connect “for its own sake” to intention, because in “for its own sake” it may be that the law concerns preparing the object for its commandment, and if it is prepared, you don’t need to prepare it. Intention is not preparing an object for its commandment; intention is a law in the performance of the commandment. Who says that a law in the performance of a commandment can exist without thought, just because Israel is attached to the Holy One, blessed be He? So what?

Letter 285, in another year there, the reason commandments do not require intention—it’s from an earlier year for some reason, I don’t know why it’s brought later—the reason commandments do not require intention is that every Jew accepts upon himself the yoke of Torah and commandments and does not need a special intention in every act, because by default he stands for its own sake. That is clearly an assessment of his intention, right? Here the wording is clear. “Attached to the Holy One, blessed be He” actually sounds more like the second possibility. Okay? Fine, in any case they bring proof from the Hasidim. In Bi’ur Halakhah he brings from the book Beit Aharon. He says: what about someone tanning hides? We don’t say that by default he intends them for their own sake—tanning hides for a Torah scroll, yes? Or tefillin. So he says: we do not say that by default he intends them for their own sake; he has to tan them explicitly for their own sake. That’s his claim. Nevertheless, nowadays, in our time, when most parchment is used only for Torah scrolls—this connects to your comment—what happens with “by default for its own sake” in other commandments, not in divorce and not in offerings? Right? But nowadays, when most parchment is used only for Torah scrolls—today people don’t write on parchment, they write, right? When do you write on parchment? Only sacred writing, only commandment-writing; people don’t use hides for ordinary writing. When you tan the hides, it is basically obvious that this is intended for sacred writing, right? So in that situation, “by default it stands for its own sake,” because the parchment stands for that. Okay? What does that mean? Here, I think, you can understand it in both ways, right? You can understand it as: why are you doing this? Clearly you are doing it for the commandment. What else are you doing it for? You’re not doing it so you’ll have scrap paper. Right? So in terms of assessing his intention, there is certainly an assessment of intention here. And you can also understand it in the second way: since at present all processed parchments are in fact standing for sacred writing, standing for a commandment, then one doesn’t need specific sacred-writing intention. Okay? What? Ah, I don’t know, but according to his view clearly it doesn’t matter, because otherwise there would be no room to say what he says, right? Otherwise, what proof do you have that it’s for a Torah scroll—maybe it’s for a mezuzah? So who says “for its own sake” helps? If he says this, apparently he understands “for its own sake” as meaning for the sake of sacred writing, no matter what—scrolls, tefillin, and mezuzot, yes? Any of those three.

Noda B’Yehuda questioned the practice of saying “for the sake of unification” before performing a commandment. Yes, that was asked in the previous lecture. And he brought the words of those who say that one must necessarily say “for the sake of unification” in order to verbally express the intention in the kabbalistic sense. Notice here: the discussion is about whether commandments require intention, not about intention “for its own sake.” “For the sake of unification” is something we say before a commandment, not before building a sukkah. And he brought the words of those who say it is indeed necessary so that one performs the intention in the kabbalistic manner, and he brought proof from the beginning of Zevachim that in a bill of divorce one must explicitly say that he is doing it for the sake of divorce, and he rejected their words. And this is his language: “And I say that from the very place from which he brought proof, it is actually a refutation. For there the distinction is made between a woman and holy offerings: a woman, by default, is not standing for divorce, and therefore he must say it verbally. But holy offerings, on the other hand, are valid by default, since by default they stand for their own designation. And if so, our commandments are like holy offerings—they are sanctities of the Most High, and by default they stand for their designation.” What is he saying? He brings proof from the sugya of “by default for its own sake” to the sugya of whether commandments require intention, from Noda B’Yehuda. Right? And in “by default for its own sake,” what do we see? A woman is not standing for the sake of divorce. So in that case, actual thought is required; default is not enough. But not only is actual thought required—it also has to be verbalized. There is proof from the Talmud there that one also needs to say it; thought alone is not enough. Okay?

But he says: maybe the reason one has to say it is only because a woman is not standing for that, so one must say it. But if something did stand for that, then maybe one would not need to say it. Yes, but if something did stand for that, then maybe one wouldn’t even need to think it. After all, you want to say that even if thought is needed, speech is not. What proof do you have? If something does not stand for it, then of course thought is required—and not only thought, but even speech—because it does not stand for that, and there maximal requirements apply. But something that does stand for it, like in Zevachim, where one doesn’t even have to think it—then certainly speech would not be needed. Now what about cases where one does need to think? Do you have proof that speech is also required? Not necessarily. If there were something similar to offerings in the sense that—sorry—similar to divorce in the sense that thought is required, but not similar to divorce in the sense that it does stand for its commandment, then perhaps there it would be enough to think, and speech would not be necessary. Right? All I am saying is that the need for speech exists only because it does not stand for that, and if it does stand for that then perhaps thought alone is enough. And in the background we need to remember that you can’t simply transfer from “for its own sake” to intention, because with commandments that require intention, even if the object stands for the commandment—take a lulav, say. A lulav—I don’t know—today people really don’t use it for anything else, okay? So the lulav stands for the commandment; what else does a lulav stand for? And still, in the matter of whether commandments require intention, according to the one who says commandments require intention, it may still require intention, because you can’t derive that from the rule of “by default for its own sake.” Do I need to say it aloud? There’s no proof, in my opinion. Noda B’Yehuda is not right. Huh? No, the blessing is something else; I’m talking about “for the sake of unification.” Fine, if I didn’t make the blessing, I transgressed the rabbinic law and didn’t bless. Fine? But I did intend properly, so I fulfilled only the Torah-level commandment and not the rabbinic one. Now the question is: if I intended but did not speak, do I have to speak? Not necessarily. Since on the one hand intention is required because commandments require intention, but on the other hand the lulav stands for its commandment, then speech should not be required. Meaning, he didn’t notice that there is a difference here, and especially if you distinguish between the law of “for its own sake” and the law of intention, then certainly you cannot learn from one to the other. And he is talking about intention. In the sugya in Zevachim the discussion is about “for its own sake.” He brings proof from the sugya in Zevachim to the law of intention. And I say that the sugya in Zevachim proves nothing. Okay?

Then he says: “And the holy gaon, the author of Be’er Mayim Chayim, in a responsum printed at the end of his book, elaborated in refuting the words of Noda B’Yehuda—that we do not compare commandments to holy offerings in this matter, and we do not say of them that by default they stand for their designation. And the distinction between them is clear, because in holy offerings there was already intention and verbalization for their own sake at the time of designation, when he says, ‘This is a burnt offering,’ or ‘a sin offering,’ and the like, and for that purpose he brought them to the Temple to offer them. Therefore, at the time of offering, even when they are offered without specification, we say that presumably he offered them for that purpose. But not so in the performance of commandments, where their designation is not upon them beforehand; therefore default does not help in any way, and it is exactly comparable to divorce.” In other words, I think he is speaking in terms of assessment. And he says that what happens with offerings is that when I designated the offering, I already designated it for sacrifice. So in fact the “default” is already there—not that no default is required. When we say that offerings stand for sacrifice, it’s not because when offerings stand for sacrifice you don’t need a thought of designation, as Rashi says. No. Rather, why do they stand for sacrifice? Because when I designated them, I designated them for sacrifice. So if they stand for sacrifice, that means I already performed the “for its own sake.” So I don’t need to think “for its own sake” again at the stage of offering, because I already thought it at the stage of designation. And thought that precedes the act is also fine; the main thing is that from the outset I directed that what I am doing, I am doing for its own sake. Okay? That is basically what he says.

So it’s pretty clear that he means assessment, like Tosafot, right? Assessment in the sense that the whole context indicates that you are thinking for its own sake. And what happens with commandments? With commandments, he says, there was no prior stage of consecration or designation in which I set the lulav aside for its commandment. There he says there’s no problem—there, one has to think, speak, and whatever else you want. Right, but the lulav’s only use is for this—yet there was no prior verbal statement. Meaning, on the one hand he says that “by default for its own sake” is assessment, and on the other hand he does not accept that assessment with commandments. The commandments—even though there is an assessment, as you say: with a lulav there is an assessment—what else am I taking this lulav for? But no, because even with offerings he does not accept it as mere assessment, but rather because it was actually stated in practice—not because the context shows that I am doing it for the sake of the offering, but because I actually said that I am doing it for the sake of the offering. It’s not that the context shows it; that is a more radical approach. Meaning, “by default for its own sake” does not mean that the context shows there is an intention for its own sake, but simply that there actually was an intention for its own sake one moment earlier, that’s all. And that did exist in offerings. But the fact that the context shows that this is what you are doing it for—that according to him is not enough. Okay? Yes, it is more extreme in Tosafot’s direction, yes.

Okay, so with that I’m finishing the connection between default status and intention. Now I want to enter the sugya—the sugya, so what? We have the Mishnah, first of all on 27, continuing onto side b; our passage is on side b. “And likewise one who was passing behind a synagogue, or whose house was adjacent to a synagogue, and heard the sound of the shofar or the sound of the Megillah: if he directed his heart, he fulfilled his obligation; and if not, he did not fulfill his obligation. Although this one heard and that one heard, this one directed his heart and that one did not direct his heart.” Okay? It could be that both are doing the same thing, both are hearing, and still the one who directed his heart fulfilled his obligation, both with the Megillah and with the shofar, and the one who did not direct his heart did not fulfill his obligation. Do you connect this to the law of whether commandments require intention? Again? With the shofar—in this case I intend to hear a sound, but it could also be not for the sake of the commandment, the intention, right? And with the reading of the Megillah too—I can read it as a fascinating story that interests me, just like one who blows for music; what’s the difference? Same thing. What do you say? Is what is written here basically that commandments require intention?

Well, first of all, it doesn’t actually say what “directed his heart” means. Does “directed his heart” mean excluding one who is merely occupied accidentally—meaning, he understands that he is now hearing the sound of a shofar? Or does “directed his heart” mean intending to fulfill his obligation? And another thing—what? Not in the sense of agency, but to fulfill the obligation. Meaning, the intention of the listener, yes, “one who hears is like one who responds.” It could be that this has nothing to do with the law of whether commandments require intention at all. The question is: when you hear and someone else blows, perhaps you need to intend in order to fulfill your obligation through his blowing. So your intention is needed not because commandments require intention—maybe even according to the view that commandments do not require intention. Your intention is needed simply because otherwise he fulfilled his own obligation, but why should you fulfill yours? In order for him to fulfill it on your behalf, he must intend to fulfill your obligation, and you must intend to fulfill it through him. But that too would be according to the view that commandments do not require intention; it’s just that when someone else performs a commandment for me, I need to intend to fulfill it, because otherwise it is ineffective. Not because commandments require intention. If I myself were the blower, then perhaps I would not need to intend—at least not to fulfill my own obligation; maybe to fulfill someone else’s, but not to fulfill my own. Okay? Therefore, from the standpoint of the Mishnah, the law of whether commandments require intention or not remains open. It may be yes, it may be no.

We’ll see later that there are those who connect the question of whether the listener needs intention in order to fulfill his obligation through “one who hears is like one who responds” to the law of whether commandments require intention—which on the face of it is a strange connection—but in the Talmud itself, at least on the face of it, we’ll see that the Gemara does make this connection. Or—it will depend on the question, and we’ll still get into these things, I hope—it may depend on what the commandment actually is. If the commandment is to hear, then he does not need to fulfill my obligation in any special way; I hear and I fulfill my obligation. In that case, the intention mentioned in the Mishnah really is ordinary commandment-intention; nothing else is needed. But if he blows and I hear, and I need to intend that he should fulfill my obligation through his blowing because without that I do not fulfill it, then it could be that this is not about intention to fulfill one’s obligation in the general sense but about the listener’s intention so that “one who hears is like one who responds” applies. Okay? The question is whether, in the law of shofar blowing, we need the rule of “one who hears is like one who responds,” or whether I fulfill my obligation even without that rule. If so, then in a blessing, for example, if someone says the blessing on my behalf and I answer amen and intend that he should fulfill my obligation—Kiddush, whatever—then we need the rule of “one who hears is like one who responds.” Because the commandment is to bless; the commandment is not to hear a blessing, the commandment is to bless. The listener is considered as if he blessed by virtue of “one who hears is like one who responds,” and it may be that this rule requires me to intend to fulfill my obligation and him to intend to fulfill it on my behalf. With the shofar, that will depend on how we define the commandment. Is the commandment to hear, or is the commandment to blow? I’ll say that there is disagreement about this. But if the commandment is to hear, then apparently what appears in the Mishnah really is the ordinary law of intention. Because otherwise, why would one need to intend? Unless it is talking about intention to exclude mere accidental involvement, not intention to fulfill one’s obligation. In that case there is no problem.

And we’ll see in the Gemara—in the Gemara it seems plainly that commandments do not require intention. We’ll see that in a moment. And then the question immediately arises: wait, but there is a Mishnah here. What do we do with the Mishnah? We’ll see later in the Gemara, but on the face of it one could have said either that the Mishnah really is talking about intention to fulfill one’s obligation through the blower, intention of “one who hears is like one who responds,” or that the Mishnah is talking about intention so that one not be merely accidentally involved, not intention to fulfill one’s obligation. Two possibilities. Okay?

Fine, so let’s look at the Gemara. Gemara 28a: they sent to the father of Shmuel: “If one was coerced and ate matzah, he fulfilled his obligation.” Coerced by whom? Right? He fulfills his obligation if he was forced to eat matzah. Who forced him? If you say a demon forced him—and didn’t we learn in a baraita: “At times he is sane, at times insane; when he is sane, he is like a competent person in all respects; when he is insane, he is like an insane person in all respects.” Meaning, if a demon forced him, then even if a moment ago he was sane and now he is under the demon’s influence, at the moment he is insane in all respects—how can he fulfill his obligation? He can’t perform commandments in such a state. So it can’t be that a demon forced him. There are other reasons too why it can’t be that a demon forced him, but those are different reasons. Rav Ashi said: “It means that Persians forced him.” Okay? Meaning, non-Jews came and forced him. Persians of today, more or less. Well, there are still Persians today too. Ah, you’re saying the Persians are demons as well. Okay, fine. Good, you’re Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev; we’re continuing on the Hasidic track here, judging the Gemara favorably. Fine.

So now, the Gemara says: Persians forced him. Okay? So if Persians forced him, it says: “If one was coerced and ate matzah, he fulfilled his obligation.” If Persians forced him and he ate matzah, he fulfilled his obligation. Rava said: that means that one who blows the shofar for music fulfills his obligation. Why “that means”? Because it follows that intention is not required. Yes, apparently, because it means that intention is not required. If Persians forced him and he fulfilled his obligation, then he did it without intention and still fulfilled it. So we see that intention is not required. And so too, one who blows for music fulfills his obligation. It’s not so simple, right? In the case of forced sale, as we’ll soon see—if the intention is opposite, that’s another whole story. But in the case of “they hung him until he sold,” why is the sale valid? After all, if one does not intend to sell, the sale should not be valid. In the end, he did sell and took the money. True, he did it under threat, but in the end he sold under threat. If he sold, then he sold, right? Now what happens here? Here he blew the shofar under threat. Let’s make the analogy. If he blew the shofar under threat, then obviously he blew the shofar. But did he also intend to fulfill his obligation? Obviously not, right? He did not intend to fulfill it. Meaning, you can’t compare Persians forcing him to eat matzah to “they hung him until he sold.” In a sale, in the end he really sold. The whole question is whether he sold or not. Here the question is whether he intended. If Persians forced him, he did not intend. Right? So unlike “they hung him until he sold,” this law could hold even according to the view that commandments require intention. Right? Because there there was intention—intention under threat—but practically speaking, he did it. But when Persians forced him, was there intention or not? I don’t know. On the face of it, he did it in order to appease them; he blew the shofar. It’s only if you assume that once they forced him, he also really intended. But it doesn’t seem that way. Okay? And then it follows that if Persians forced him and he still fulfilled his obligation, says Rava, the straightforward reading is that he did not intend to fulfill his obligation. So we see that commandments do not require intention. In “they hung him until he sold,” I could not have proven that. Because in “they hung him until he sold,” there was intention to sell—true, under threat, but there was intention to sell. But here we are talking about intention to fulfill an obligation, not intention to sell. Here he intended to perform the act of blowing; he is not merely accidentally occupied. But was there intention to fulfill an obligation here? Of course not. Therefore the Gemara infers from here: that means that one who blows for music fulfills his obligation.

Of course, one could say that after the Persians forced him, he also intended to fulfill his obligation. After all, it was Rosh Hashanah, so why not assume that he also intended to fulfill his obligation? So what if the Persians forced him? There are sugyot in Ketubot about modest women and promiscuous women—what happens when someone performs an act under compulsion but would have done it anyway? He intended to do it anyway. But someone put a gun to his head and threatened him to do it or else he’d be killed, while in any case I intended to do it—am I considered coerced or not coerced? Eating matzah on Passover eve—you’re obligated anyway. What again? Eating matzah on Passover eve. Yes. No, but there there is no coercion; I’m talking about coercion. If someone coerced me to do something that I would have done anyway, is that called coercion or not? There are long discussions about that. If they really coerced me, and I also intend to fulfill my obligation along with it, then this would be the place to say that commandments do require intention and I did in fact intend. Maybe he did intend. It says “Persians forced him” because otherwise he would not have blown, so they forced him—somehow the Persians are righteous people, I don’t know exactly why—they forced him to blow, and then it seems he did not intend to fulfill his obligation; he is doing it because the Persians forced him. That is some kind of interpretive move, not a necessary one, some kind of forced reading. In any case, Rava learns from here that one who blows for music fulfills his obligation.

Another point: one who blows for music is, seemingly, a case of opposite intention. He does not intend the commandment of shofar; he intends music. Yes. In contrast, when Persians forced him, that is not opposite intention; he does it because they forced him, but does he intend the commandment or not? Maybe yes, maybe no, I don’t know, it’s open. With Persians forcing him it really is just unspecified, at least if you have no other indication. But with one who blows for music, it isn’t unspecified—it’s the opposite; there is a different intention. What? Yes, I already explained that: I said why Persians forcing him is different from “they hung him until he sold,” and therefore from Persians forcing him one can really infer that commandments do not require intention. Of course, you have to assume that there isn’t double intention here and so on. But now there is the problem of opposite intention. One who blows for music apparently has a different intention, not for the commandment, so perhaps there everyone would agree that he does not fulfill his obligation. The view of Rashbam—I’m jumping ahead—there is a parallel in Pesachim to this sugya about whether commandments require intention, and there Rashbam says that if there is opposite intention, then everyone agrees one does not fulfill his obligation, even according to the view that commandments do not require intention. Now one who blows for music is seemingly a case of opposite intention. It’s not unspecified, it’s not simply without intention at all.

It reminds me: in Arukh HaShulchan there is a Ran—Ran on the laws of muktzeh on the Sabbath, in chapter 17 I think. Ran writes there, regarding the decree about vessels—the Gemara discusses there a vessel whose primary use is for prohibited labor, a vessel whose primary use is even for prohibited labor, a vessel whose primary use is for permitted labor, what was prohibited as muktzeh due to financial loss, all the historical stages of the prohibitions of muktzeh. In the end, a vessel whose primary use is for permitted labor is not muktzeh. But Ran says that even a vessel whose primary use is for permitted labor, if you move it for no need at all, that is prohibited. But for its own use or for the use of its place, it is permitted, unlike a vessel whose primary use is for prohibited labor. But a vessel whose primary use is for permitted labor—if this is “for no need at all,” Arukh HaShulchan asks: what is “for no need at all”? Why is he moving it? What does “for no need at all” mean? Obviously, if he moved it, he must have had some reason, some reason, I don’t know what. What is “for no need at all”? I think Arukh HaShulchan notes this. So he wants to say that it means not for the sake of the Sabbath—usually they explain it as for some need of tomorrow. But not for something he needs on this Sabbath, even from sun to shade, whatever, but something that pertains to right now. There is no such thing as “for no need at all.”

Back to us: what is “unspecified”? What is a commandment done without intention? There is always an opposite intention. If he did it with no intention at all—without any reason? Then why did he do it? He always did it for some reason, either for the commandment or for something else, right? It cannot be that he simply does something for no reason. If he does something for no reason, that is mere accidental involvement—that is without intention. Mere accidental involvement is certainly invalid. So how can there be such a thing as commandments not requiring intention, so that you fulfill your obligation, but this is not opposite intention? Because if opposite intention means you do not fulfill your obligation, then what is “unspecified”? Why did he do it? It is always opposite intention. In short, “one who blows for music” is the example for “commandments do not require intention”; there is no other example. So I think what needs to be understood from here is that there is a difference between one who blows for music and opposite intention. Opposite intention means: right now I intend not to fulfill my obligation. Not merely that I do not intend to fulfill my obligation positively, but that I positively intend not to fulfill my obligation. That is opposite intention. But if he blows for music—true, he is not doing it for the commandment, but he does not have a positive intention not to fulfill his obligation. He has another goal for this act. But in principle, if you ask whether he wants to fulfill his obligation—maybe yes, maybe no, I don’t know. He is doing it for another purpose. To provoke or not to provoke, whatever. It could be not. Not necessarily to provoke. He may intend not to fulfill his obligation because afterward he wants to blow for himself and fulfill it in a more preferable way. Often people give that advice: intend not to fulfill your obligation because you want to fulfill it in a more preferable way. Fine, that is also possible. To say it—or at least to think it—that already depends on the question whether intentions must be verbalized. No one else knows; he knows. What difference does it make? Yes.

So the question is whether, with intentions, one has to say it aloud or whether it is enough to think it. But it seems to me that when people speak about opposite intention, they mean a positive intention not to fulfill one’s obligation—not merely absence of intention or some other goal for the act. And again, this very sharply highlights the difference between commandments requiring intention—which means intention to fulfill one’s obligation—and awareness of the act or the purpose of the act itself. Good. And proof for that claim: what the Gemara here comes to tell you. It’s not just that he doesn’t intend the commandment. Fine, let’s see here. Give me an example. Think of an example. If there were such an example, I’d say that it’s like opposite intention. But one who blows for music is not that. Fine, so it’s pretty clear. According to Rashbam at least, it’s clear, because Rashbam is the father of the view that opposite intention can uproot the commandment. According to that view, it is clear that one who blows for music is not called opposite intention. According to the views that disagree with Rashbam, there is no difference between opposite intention and no intention, so it doesn’t matter how one categorizes one who blows for music. Okay? And it could be that Tosafot also says something, I don’t know, but Rashbam was generally among the early Tosafists. So… what? We said that this is a rabbinic prohibition. Right, we said that, so he is committing a rabbinic violation. No, the opposite—if it is for the commandment, then there is no violation. If he does it for the commandment, there is no violation. But he doesn’t want to—so what if he doesn’t want to? He is still performing a commandment. If he is performing a commandment, then he is not violating a rabbinic prohibition by blowing. In any case, this would not be a commandment fulfilled through a transgression. If there is a commandment here, then there is no transgression here. If there is a transgression here, then there is no commandment here even without invoking “a commandment fulfilled through a transgression.” So you don’t need to get to that principle. Opposite intention is a positive intention not to fulfill one’s obligation. Yes. Whereas one who blows for music has another purpose for my act of blowing, but I am not relating to the question whether I am fulfilling my obligation or not. I leave that unspecified. So if he doesn’t know that today is Rosh Hashanah, then maybe that would count as mere accidental involvement. We discussed that in the first lecture. Like the prayer of a secular person, like someone who doesn’t know at all about shofar. We’ll see later—maybe he hears the sound of a donkey and not a shofar at all. So if he doesn’t know it’s a shofar at all, that is accidental involvement. And even according to the view that commandments do not require intention, he does not fulfill his obligation. Meaning, we’ll see that later in the Gemara. And the Gemara—“obviously, this is that.” Yes. Not only does the Gemara make the comparison, but the Gemara considers that comparison obvious. Persians forcing him and one who blows for music are the same thing. What’s the difference? Strange.

In any case: “You might have said that there, with matzah, the Merciful One said ‘and he shall eat,’ and he did eat. But here it says ‘a remembrance of blowing,’ and this one is merely accidentally occupied. Therefore it teaches us otherwise.” You might have thought that Rava’s statement is not superfluous. It was necessary to learn from Persians forcing him that commandments do not require intention. Why? Because one might have said that when Persians forced him to eat matzah, then he fulfilled his obligation. Why? Because in the end he ate. But with shofar blowing there is a special law, since it says “a remembrance of blowing.” One must think about the blowing, and there is some type of necessary intention. And if he did it for music, then he is not doing it for “remembrance of blowing.” So therefore he would not fulfill his obligation—therefore it teaches us that he does. What? We’ll soon see about accidental involvement. I haven’t spoken about accidental involvement at all yet; this is not accidental involvement. In any case, it should not be accidental involvement. Right, according to how I explained it now, it’s not accidental involvement. Soon we’ll see that Rashi and Ran and Ritva and other medieval authorities bring this into the category of accidental involvement, but for now I read the Gemara as I would read it straightforwardly. Most of the medieval authorities did not read it that way. And that is how I would read the Gemara straightforwardly.

Remember for a moment the Bach that we saw in the first lecture. Bach there mentioned three commandments—tzitzit. These special intentions are part of the act of the commandment itself. If intention is lacking, then you simply did not perform the act of the commandment. It’s not a problem of whether intention is indispensable. Whether intention is indispensable or not—that applies when intention is something external: you did the act of the commandment in any case, and the question is whether there was intention or not, which is an external question. Then the question is whether that external thing is indispensable. But if the commandment itself is to intend, and you did not intend, then this has nothing to do with whether commandments require intention; you simply did not perform the commandment. The act of the commandment is lacking—not that a missing intention invalidates it, but the act of the commandment does not exist here. If you did not intend, then you did not perform the commandment.

Now, when I read the Gemara here, I would say that this is basically like what the Bach says. Because shofar blowing is one of the commandments—not just three, there are four—shofar blowing too is such a commandment, where the Torah adds the intention of “remembrance of blowing.” And therefore if you blow for music, you have not fulfilled your obligation. Not because one must intend to fulfill one’s obligation—you don’t have to—but because one must intend it as “remembrance of blowing.” And if you didn’t intend that, then the act of the commandment itself is lacking, just as the Bach said. But here there is a problem: then what is the conclusion? All this is only the initial assumption. It teaches us otherwise. It teaches us that even with shofar blowing, one who blows for music fulfills his obligation, despite the verse saying “remembrance of blowing.” Right? That was the initial assumption, why Rava was needed. But in the end Rava says that this initial assumption is not correct. Even in shofar blowing, one need not intend; blowing for music is enough to fulfill one’s obligation. Why? If the Bach is right, then what is the difference? There too it says, “and you shall remember all My commandments.” Who says that is just a rationale? “And you shall remember all My commandments”—I mean that verse, not remembering Egypt. “And you shall remember all My commandments” is very similar to “remembrance of blowing”; what is the difference?

So there are two ways to explain this according to the Bach. One possibility is that in the end the Gemara apparently understands that the verse “remembrance of blowing” does not come to add an additional intention, for some reason of interpretation. It is simply not the same as in those other three commandments. You can think about why, but that is one possible way out. We also know that the Gemara, at least in the Jerusalem Talmud—the Babylonian Talmud has this only as an initial assumption—the Jerusalem Talmud derives a law from “remembrance of blowing.” Right? That when Rosh Hashanah falls on the Sabbath, we do not blow because it is a “remembrance of blowing.” On ordinary Rosh Hashanah it is “a day of blowing,” and there we blow. So the words “remembrance of blowing” come to teach a law in the blowing of the shofar itself; it is not coming to add intention, at least according to the Jerusalem Talmud. Admittedly, in the Babylonian Talmud, straightforwardly, the fact that one does not blow on Rosh Hashanah that falls on the Sabbath is a rabbinic law, lest one carry it four cubits in the public domain. Okay? And so they do not derive it from “remembrance of blowing,” and therefore according to the Babylonian Talmud this is indeed a harder problem. Okay? But there is an article I wrote about this once; I argue that even in the Babylonian Talmud there is “remembrance of blowing.” It’s not rabbinic—it’s Torah law for Rosh Hashanah that falls on the Sabbath. It doesn’t appear explicitly, but I argue that it is so. Shibbolei HaLeket says it. What? I think yes, as far as I remember, yes. That it is a day on which we do not blow, we only remember. No, the two days of Rosh Hashanah are a separate issue; I’m talking about one day of Rosh Hashanah.

So one can read the Gemara’s conclusion according to the Bach in that way: for some interpretive consideration or another, we understand that the verse here is not adding an additional intention, but teaching some law—I don’t know—not an additional intention. That is one possibility. But of course one could understand from this Gemara itself that this Gemara proves the Bach is wrong. This Gemara shows you: no, there was an initial assumption like the Bach, that if a special intention is written then it truly is indispensable even according to the view that commandments do not require intention—but it teaches us otherwise. If commandments do not require intention, then commandments do not require intention; all these intentions are not indispensable. Okay? But the Bach himself may read it in the way I said earlier. Except what? Fine, we’ll see in a moment how the medieval authorities explain this difficulty, and you’ll see that they don’t explain the initial assumption in this way.

So the Gemara concludes: evidently, Rava holds that commandments do not require intention. Right? That’s what Rava holds. Now the Gemara asks: an objection—“If one was reading in the Torah and the time for reciting the Shema arrived: if he directed his heart, he fulfilled his obligation; if not, he did not fulfill his obligation.” What, does “directed his heart” not mean that he intended to fulfill his obligation? Intended to fulfill his obligation? So then one needs intention to fulfill one’s obligation, and that is difficult for Rava. The Gemara says: no, it means to read. He intended to read. What does that mean? That even Rava agrees one has to intend to read, so that he not be accidentally occupied. But intention to fulfill one’s obligation is not required. Here we already see the ranking between the two kinds of intention we discussed in the first lecture. The Gemara asks: to read? But he is reading! What does it mean, “to read”? It’s a bit like what I said before—what do you mean? If he is reading, then obviously he intended to read. What else is he doing? The Gemara answers: no, he is reading in order to proofread. Reading in order to proofread—and that is a certain novelty—he is performing the act of reading, but because the purpose is proofreading, it is not considered reading at all. That is not like one who blows for music. Important point: one who blows for music is still blowing, so if commandments do not require intention, he fulfills his obligation. But one who reads in order to proofread—even according to the one who says commandments do not require intention—does not fulfill his obligation, because reading for proofreading is not reading at all.

And there is a Gemara in the Mishnah at the beginning of “These are said in any language” in Sotah: there are things for which any language is effective, and things for which it is not. And the medieval authorities say that in other languages it helps only if he understands them; in the holy tongue it can help even if he does not understand it. In any event, here we see in the Gemara for the first time—until now this was only something I brought from the Mishnah Berurah and the Bach—but here we see explicitly in the Gemara that the intention being discussed is not the kind of intention that excludes accidental involvement. Because the intention that excludes accidental involvement, even Rava agrees is required. So what is the discussion about when we say commandments do or do not require intention? Intention to fulfill one’s obligation. In fact, this is the proof for the Bach—not that earlier Bach I mentioned, though it’s the same Bach and in the same place—but another principle of his: a principle saying that what is discussed here is intention to fulfill one’s obligation. That is the meaning of “commandments require intention.”

Now the Gemara says: come and hear—“If one was passing behind a synagogue, or his house was adjacent to a synagogue, and he heard the sound of the shofar or the sound of the Megillah: if he directed his heart, he fulfilled his obligation; if not, he did not fulfill his obligation.” That is the Mishnah we read at the beginning. What, does “if he directed his heart” not mean that he intended to fulfill his obligation? And then it would be difficult for Rava, because commandments would require intention. And the Gemara answers: no, it means to hear. The Gemara says: to hear? But he heard! He thought it was merely the sound of a donkey. Like one who reads in order to proofread. And notice—he hears, he understands that he is hearing, but he does not know that it is a shofar. If he does not know that it is a shofar, that is not like one who blows for music; that is accidental involvement. Meaning, he needs to know that he is hearing a shofar, only that he intends it as music or something like that; that is called unspecified, that is called without intention. But if he does not know at all that this is a shofar and thinks it is a donkey, that is accidental involvement. It is like one who reads to proofread. We talked about the prayer of a secular person and all those things—again, sometimes all the technical circumstances are present, but if you do not understand the context, it is completely accidental involvement. True, it is not accidental involvement in the sense that you are not at all aware that you are doing the action, but at the essential level it is also called accidental involvement.

But notice the assumption of the Gemara in its question: that if he did not think it was merely the sound of a donkey, but thought it was a shofar, then “if he directed his heart”—the Gemara asks, yes, what, does “if he directed his heart” not mean that he intended to fulfill his obligation? And then it is difficult for Rava. So Rava answers: no, it means he intended to hear. And not that he thought it was merely a donkey. What is the Gemara assuming here? That if the intention referred to here is intention to fulfill one’s obligation, then it is difficult for Rava. That is not necessary. Because it could be that this is the intention of “one who hears is like one who responds.” Right? That’s what I said on the Mishnah. “If he directed his heart”—the Gemara says, what, does “if he directed his heart” not mean “to fulfill his obligation”? The Gemara says no, because that would be difficult for Rava; rather it means he directed his heart to hear. But there is no need to intend to fulfill one’s obligation. And if one did need to intend to fulfill one’s obligation, would that necessarily be difficult for Rava? Not true! It could be that one must intend to fulfill one’s obligation because the blower has to fulfill my obligation for me, so by the law of “one who hears is like one who responds,” I need to intend to fulfill my obligation—not because commandments require intention. In that case too, Rava would agree that “directed his heart” in the Mishnah means “directed his heart to fulfill his obligation,” and that would not be difficult for him. Commandments do not require intention—but if someone else is fulfilling the obligation for you, you need to intend to fulfill it. So why doesn’t the Gemara say that?

One of two things. Either intention to fulfill one’s obligation under the law of “one who hears is like one who responds” is the same as intention to fulfill one’s obligation in general—and one who says that one does not need intention to fulfill one’s obligation also says that one does not need intention in “one who hears is like one who responds.” We identify the two types of intention. Second possibility: the commandment is to hear and not to blow. And if the commandment is to hear and not to blow, then there is no need to intend to fulfill one’s obligation by virtue of “one who hears is like one who responds.” What is needed is intention to fulfill the commandment, simply because this is the commandment of hearing the shofar. Okay, we’ll see later that there is a dispute among the medieval authorities about exactly what the commandment of shofar is and why one has to intend, so remember this passage in the Gemara because it will depend on that. According to the medieval authorities who say that the commandment with the shofar is to hear, then the connection the Gemara makes here is clear. That if the intention is intention to fulfill one’s obligation, then that is difficult for Rava. Right? Because if the commandment is to hear, then there is no law here of the listener’s intention under “one who hears is like one who responds.” If intention is needed to fulfill one’s obligation, then that is intention required by the law that commandments require intention. Okay?

But according to the medieval authorities who say that one needs intention to fulfill one’s obligation as part of “one who hears is like one who responds”—yes, what they always announce in synagogue, that the blower intends to fulfill the congregation’s obligation and the congregation intends to fulfill their obligation—then the assumption is that we need to intend to fulfill our obligation through his blowing and not merely to hear. There is a dispute among the medieval authorities, but we are stringent like those authorities too. Okay? If that is the conception, then there is no necessity that “if he directed his heart to fulfill his obligation” would be difficult for Rava. Rava could interpret “directed his heart to fulfill his obligation,” but as fulfilling through “one who hears is like one who responds.” Unless the assumption is that intention to fulfill under “one who hears is like one who responds” also depends on the dispute whether commandments require intention or not. One who says that commandments do not require intention would also say that in “one who hears is like one who responds,” one need not intend. Okay? Because basically “one who hears is like one who responds” means his intention to fulfill the obligation works for me. So I do not need to intend to fulfill the obligation; I need to intend to fulfill it through him, and he needs to have the intention to fulfill the obligation. If one understands it that way, then only according to the view that commandments require intention would one have to intend to fulfill one’s obligation under “one who hears is like one who responds.” Okay?

Good. So up to here I read the Gemara the way I would read it straightforwardly, especially after seeing the Bach. But the medieval authorities, in my opinion, did not merit to hit on that, and most of them do not read the Gemara this way. As though the microphone itself got startled by my audacity. Yes, if they didn’t have a tradition, then maybe not. So Rashi writes here as follows: “You might have said there, with matzah, that whenever the Merciful One said ‘and he shall eat,’ he ate”—in contrast to shofar, where it says “remembrance of blowing.” Here. Okay? “And he enjoyed the eating,” says Rashi. Why is matzah different from shofar? I explained that with shofar there is a special intention of “remembrance of blowing,” as the Bach says, right? Rashi says no. There is a difference between matzah and shofar because matzah is a commandment that involves enjoyment. Everyone according to his own taste. But there are those who say there is enjoyment in it. Okay? Since that is so—yes, if the matzah is always too hard, then we can relax. Wait, wait, we’ll soon see. So since he enjoyed his eating, therefore he is not considered accidentally occupied, because even regarding liability for a sin-offering we say that one who is accidentally occupied in forbidden fats and forbidden sexual relations is liable, since he derived enjoyment.

A short introduction: one who is accidentally involved in transgressions is exempt—or perhaps even permitted. Rashi here wants to say exempt, but straightforwardly there is no prohibition at all. Okay? But with forbidden fats and forbidden sexual relations, even one who is accidentally involved is liable. One who accidentally ate forbidden fat or was involved in forbidden relations is liable. Why? Because he derived enjoyment. What does that mean? The enjoyment makes up for the awareness or intention, and therefore even if you were accidentally involved, you transgressed the prohibition. Okay? Rashi says the same thing with matzah. With matzah. Meaning, basically, he enjoyed the eating, and therefore one might have thought—all this is only the initial assumption, yes?—that with matzah he fulfills his obligation because he enjoyed it, and so we don’t care that he was accidentally involved. But with shofar, where there is no enjoyment—this is not forbidden fats or forbidden relations—there, one who is accidentally involved would not fulfill his obligation. That’s what one might have thought. Then Rava comes and says that commandments do not require intention, and therefore even with shofar he fulfills his obligation. Okay?

Now Ran also goes over this point, and Ritva understood it this way too, and others. This is strange in many ways. It reminds me—once I taught in Yeruham, in the hesder yeshiva there. One day we went on a trip to Jerusalem, and in the evening we all went to Rabbi Shlomo Fisher’s house—the whole yeshiva. We went into his living room, sat there, and heard a lecture from him on Bava Kamma. We sat there and heard his lecture, and it was wonderful; I really enjoyed every moment. In the course of the lecture he spoke there about torts in Bava Kamma, “a person who damages”—I don’t remember exactly—it’s in a section of Beit Yishai. And I remarked to him there: he said something about understanding “accidental involvement” in terms of “since he derived enjoyment,” so I brought him this Rashi and this Ran here, that even with positive commandments there is this logic of “since he derived enjoyment,” not only with prohibitions. And it contradicted some principle he was saying there; not important right now. He said: ah, this Rashi, this Ran—it’s a wondrous midrash. A wondrous midrash. All the medieval authorities say it here. Not Ran—I didn’t remember it specifically from Ran—but it’s Rashi, Ritva, Ran, all those guys—it’s one huge wondrous midrash. But really, beyond whether it’s a wondrous midrash or not, it truly is a puzzling principle. Why is it puzzling? Because with transgressions, you don’t need intention in order to fulfill an obligation, right? With transgressions you need intention—or at least not to be accidentally involved—so that the act will count as your act, so we can connect the act to you. If you do something without paying attention at all, it is not your act; you are just the object through which it happened, but it’s not really your action.

Even in the philosophy of action, a very broad area in analytic philosophy, they talk about how an action not done intentionally is not an act of an agent. It’s not a human action. In halakhic terms, “an act of a monkey.” Now, if you derive enjoyment, one could say—not that enjoyment makes you intentional, of course not, what does that mean, because I enjoyed it I intended it? Suddenly I know I’m doing it? Rather, if I derive enjoyment, you can’t say the act is not mine. So the act counts as my act even without intention. Not that enjoyment makes me intentional, but if I derive enjoyment that is another way of connecting the act to me, so one does not need intention in order to connect the act to me—it is connected to me in another way too. Something similar exists with an inevitable consequence, for example. An inevitable consequence that is not beneficial to him is still considered unintended; according to Rabbi Shimon he is exempt. Fine, but if it is an inevitable consequence then he is liable—Rabbi Shimon agrees in the case of “cut off its head and will it not die?” What does the inevitable consequence do? I drag a bench and make a furrow. I do not intend the furrow; I intend the bench, moving the bench from place to place. We talked about that, okay? I do not intend the furrow, I do not want the furrow. So if it is inevitable, do I then want it? Why would I want it? What does that have to do with it? So if I understand “unintended” as someone who doesn’t know the result will occur—but with an inevitable consequence you do know the result will occur. With ordinary “unintended,” maybe it will happen and maybe not; that means you don’t know—not that you are not aware, but you don’t know the result will happen. If it is inevitable, then you know the result will happen—inevitable. But that is not the simple understanding of “unintended.” There is a piece by Rabbi Chaim at the beginning of the laws of the Sabbath in Maimonides, where he says that “unintended” in the rest of the Torah means he does not want it, while “unintended” on the Sabbath means he does not know. According to that, inevitability should help only with the “unintended” of the Sabbath. But inevitability also matters in “unintended” in the rest of the Torah. What does inevitability help if all that is needed is that I want the result, not that I be aware it will happen? So what if it is inevitable? The answer is: if I am not aware that the result will happen, then the result is not connected to me. But if the inevitable consequence emerges necessarily from my act, then the result is connected to me even if I do not want it. Sorry—not because I know, but even if I don’t want it. Not because when I know it’s as if I want it—I don’t want it. I moved it for the sake of the bench, not for the sake of the furrow, okay? But if it is inevitable, that is a substitute: it connects the result to me, and then intention is not needed. Not that it turns me into someone who intended it.

I think the same thing applies to “since he derived enjoyment” in transgressions. In transgressions, what is needed is that it connect the act to me. “Since he derived enjoyment” connects it to me in another way, and therefore even if I was accidentally involved, the act is considered connected to me. Okay, that is in transgressions. In commandments it is a bit strange, because with commandments it is not that intention is needed to connect the act to me; intention is a condition in fulfilling the commandment. So why should “since he derived enjoyment” solve that problem? Intention is not needed to connect the act to me. Intention is a condition in fulfilling the commandment. So why should “since he derived enjoyment” solve that problem? A person who ate forbidden fats? What do you mean “forbidden fats”? Forbidden fats? No, either way—in Grace after Meals, why shouldn’t that count? Grace after Meals—you certainly would be obligated. What does that have to do with it? “You shall eat and be satisfied and bless”—you don’t need to intend to eat in order to become obligated in Grace after Meals.

But notice: all this is only the initial assumption. We are speaking according to Rava, who says commandments do not require intention. What was the initial assumption, according to Rashi? That the issue here is not intention; it is accidental involvement. And accidental involvement—even according to Rava—is still something one must avoid, right? Not intention to fulfill one’s obligation, but accidental involvement. Then he says this: one who is accidentally involved with matzah fulfills his obligation, despite the fact that commandments—sorry, one who is accidentally involved—the whole law is about accidental involvement. If one who is accidentally involved fulfills his obligation, why? Because commandments do not require intention, and he is accidentally involved, but there is no problem, because one accidentally involved with forbidden fats and forbidden sexual relations is liable since he derived enjoyment. So the same works with commandments, and he is not considered accidentally involved. What does that mean? The act is connected to him. It is not a substitute for intention. It is a substitute for accidental involvement, not for intention to fulfill one’s obligation. Because this is only the initial assumption. In the initial assumption, commandments do not require intention, and the whole discussion is whether he counts as accidentally involved or not. So they tell me: with matzah, he is not accidentally involved, because he derived enjoyment. With shofar, he is accidentally involved. True, there is no intention, but intention is not required. So why wouldn’t he fulfill his obligation with shofar? Because he is accidentally involved. Fine? That was the initial assumption. Then Rava says: he does fulfill it. And then it turns out that Rava’s novelty is a novelty in the laws of accidental involvement, not in the laws of commandments not requiring intention. The fact that commandments do not require intention is obvious. Fine? But the fact that with shofar he fulfills his obligation is a novelty in the laws of accidental involvement. And in the end, what does it teach us? That this is not accidental involvement, right? And it teaches us that even with shofar this is not accidental involvement. Huh? I didn’t understand. Here he fulfilled his obligation, there he didn’t? That’s what it teaches us, isn’t it? But what does Rashi say? Rashi says: “If he directed his heart—not to fulfill his obligation, but to hear; to hear—and he heard, thinking it was merely the sound of a donkey.” So if he thinks it’s merely the sound of a donkey, then the initial assumption is what? That therefore he did not fulfill his obligation, because this is accidental involvement, even though commandments do not require intention. Then what does it teach us? That he did fulfill his obligation even if he thought it was a donkey, no? Because the initial assumption is that we are talking about someone who thought he heard a donkey, and then I would say he did not fulfill his obligation because this is accidental involvement, right? It teaches us otherwise—that there is no difference between matzah and shofar. What does that mean? That accidental involvement does not negate a positive commandment, even not in forbidden fats and forbidden sexual relations, even without deriving enjoyment. And yet we are still talking about someone who thought it was the sound of a donkey, and according to Rava he fulfilled his obligation. That is extremely strange.

We talked about how the intention not to be accidentally involved is certainly required even according to Rava. The whole discussion of Rava, and we’ll see there are those who disagree with him, is whether one needs intention to fulfill one’s obligation. But if you think it’s the sound of a donkey, you don’t know it’s a shofar at all—you are accidentally involved. And the intention not to be accidentally involved—that is what the Bach and the Mishnah Berurah, with whom I began in the first lecture, say. They say that the intention not to be accidentally involved is certainly required by everyone. Well, but here according to Rashi it comes out otherwise. Do you understand the problem? And this whole story, when you have such a simple explanation according to the Bach—I read the Gemara straightforwardly and I say again: this is Ran, Ritva, and all of them, all explain the Gemara’s difficulty in this way, that the initial assumption is talking about accidental involvement. Yes. So I say: what Rabbi Shlomo Fisher said—that this is a wondrous midrash—is not right. It is not a wondrous midrash, because the intention involved in excluding accidental involvement in commandments can certainly be compared to accidental involvement in transgressions, since all that is required for there not to be accidental involvement in commandments is not because commandments require intention, but so that the act of the commandment will count as your act. Beyond that there is now an additional question whether one also needs to intend to fulfill one’s obligation. That is another question; the amoraim disagree about that. But here we are talking about a prior level, and here indeed the question is whether the act is connected to you. Then one can say that with forbidden fats and forbidden sexual relations, the act is connected to you because you derived enjoyment—even in commandments, not only in transgressions. The only reason he said this was a wondrous midrash is because he understood “since he derived enjoyment” as coming to solve the problem of intention here, and it is not coming to solve the problem of intention here. It is coming to solve the problem of accidental involvement. But then either way, the course of the Gemara remains difficult here. In short, according to Rashi there is no way out of this Gemara. So you have something to think about. More power to you. God willing. And with Nasrallah’s help.