The Thought of Rabbi Gedaliah Nadel – Majority Rule – Lesson 4

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[Speaker G] But then you—I think the a fortiori argument is valid when all the conditions are the same.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. What do you mean?

[Speaker E] If there is—

[Speaker G] The case where we’re talking about the same conditions and in the same place, that’s not—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The same conditions? Tooth and foot versus horn—that’s not the same conditions.

[Speaker G] No, but when you bring an example from somewhere else where horn is less severe, then over there the conditions are different. Meaning, first you have to look. No, I agree, I’m just— you know, if you run one hundred meters—if you walk one hundred meters in ten seconds, then you’ll run it in less than that, right? But then I’ll tell you, not true, because if you run then you’ll fall because there are rocks there, so you won’t be able to do the hundred meters by running. Okay, but then I changed the place.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously. That’s exactly what a refutation does. Let me explain, I’ll explain it.

[Speaker G] The question is whether a refutation can show that I’m doing it under those conditions. I’m talking about a place where the road is smooth and it runs and you can run and you can walk.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s a trivial statement, but it won’t help you for an a fortiori argument. You don’t need to refute it. You won’t be able to derive anything from it.

[Speaker G] Meaning, you won’t learn anything new from it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You won’t learn anything from it, because anything you learn from it is always a generalization. That’s what a refutation does. What does a refutation do? Let’s now look more closely at our a fortiori argument. Let’s take this a fortiori argument again. I learned that horn is more severe than tooth and foot from the two data points in the public domain, right? Notice that there’s a generalization here, because all I really know empirically is that in the public domain horn is more severe than tooth and foot. But I want to apply that to the injured party’s courtyard. I say, ah, so if in the public domain it’s more severe, then apparently in every respect it’s more severe. If so, then in the injured party’s courtyard too it’s more severe. That’s how the a fortiori argument is built, right? Now I find a refutation. I say that horn, let’s say, on the moon is less severe than in the injured party’s courtyard. Just as a logical example. Okay? On the moon, horn incurs no liability, while tooth and foot do incur liability. Fine? So that’s a refutation. What does that refutation do? That refutation says: it is not true that horn is always more severe than tooth and foot. Sometimes yes—in the same circumstances, meaning in the public domain—but sometimes not. And now the question is: which “sometimes” fits the injured party’s courtyard? Does it fit the “sometimes” of the public domain, or the “sometimes” of the moon? And what lies behind all this is the following question: there is some aspect—because that’s what lies behind the dry data—there is some aspect of horn in which it is more severe than tooth and foot, and another aspect in which apparently it is less severe. The aspect in which it is less severe is relevant on the moon, and the aspect in which it is more severe is relevant in the public domain. And now I ask: in the injured party’s courtyard, which of those two aspects is the relevant one? If it’s the aspect of the moon, then the a fortiori argument collapses. If it’s the aspect of the public domain, then the a fortiori argument stands. But since I don’t know, I have no inference. Since you can’t draw a conclusion—maybe yes, maybe no. A refutation only has to show that the conclusion is not necessary. It doesn’t have to show that it’s false. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a refutation; it would be an anti-refutation. Meaning, it would be a counter-proof. Because then I’d also have reached some conclusion—

[Speaker H] The opposite proof.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. And I’d already have reached a conclusion about what the law is regarding horn in the injured party’s courtyard. That too is an a fortiori argument. It’s just the reverse direction, from severe to lenient. In other words, I reached the opposite conclusion. But a refutation always means you can’t reach a conclusion; the question remains open. That’s called a refutation.

[Speaker H] From an a fortiori argument you learn only from the refutation, because from an a fortiori argument that wasn’t refuted you didn’t learn anything, since it was all hidden in the assumptions.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. Right. From the refutation, yes—you learned that what you thought was hidden isn’t really hidden. We’re still dealing with assumptions. I think I once talked about this: the only argument from which we actually learn something is the argument in which we lost.

[Speaker G] That’s what Maimonides says. Yes, he says that if someone defeats you—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] A wise person.

[Speaker D] Like the Rebbe always used to tell us, if the experiment failed, it didn’t fail—it succeeded,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] it taught us something else,

[Speaker D] the experiment that succeeded, we learned nothing from it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So a refutation basically teaches us that the picture of the hierarchy is more complex than we thought. The hierarchy isn’t so simple. There is an aspect according to which horn is more severe than tooth and foot, and an aspect according to which it isn’t. But since the relationship between horn and tooth and foot is more complex, now go figure out what is relevant in the injured party’s courtyard. By the way, sometimes there is a logical consideration that tells us which of the two relationships is relevant to the injured party’s courtyard, and then we’ll continue using the a fortiori argument despite the refutation. Because reasoning will tell us that it is more similar—exactly—if I can put my finger on the fact that it is more similar to what happens in the public domain than to what happens on the moon, then I’ll make the a fortiori argument. There are examples of this. I’ll make the a fortiori argument even though there is a refutation against it.

[Speaker J] But why, in a case where I’m missing this law about horn in the injured party’s courtyard, would I even resort to an a fortiori argument? Why not analyze the issue on its own terms? Why is horn liable here and tooth and foot exempt there? Because horn was intentional and tooth and foot were not intentional. And in the public domain, if I obligate someone, that’s much more severe—or less severe—than in the injured party’s courtyard, on its own terms. Not because of comparisons and not because of an a fortiori argument; just logical analysis.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The simplest answer to that is that we do not derive Jewish law from the reason of the verse. Once you have data, and then you start thinking why it is so—you do not derive Jewish law from the reason of the verse. This is the dispute between Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Yehuda, and in Jewish law we rule like Rabbi Yehuda, that we do not derive Jewish law from the reason of the verse. But that’s a simplistic answer, and it’s not correct.

[Speaker I] Most of the time, whenever there is some specific exposition or one of the principles by which the Torah is interpreted, there’s some obvious logic there.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I already said this, and I’ll say it again: I said that answer is not correct, even though it’s the easiest one to give. Why isn’t it correct? I’ll prove it from the very case itself. The Rif, at the beginning of Bava Kamma, explains why tooth and foot are exempt in the public domain. It’s actually a pretty reasonable explanation; it also appears in Maimonides in a slightly different version, and several medieval authorities bring it, also the Rosh. A person normally walks in the public domain with his animal, and other people need to understand that animals walk there, and if you place produce there, then know that animals pass there. Nobody is supposed to restrain his animal in the public domain; it belongs to all of us. Let everyone guard his own property. Fine? So that’s a very simple explanation, and the Rif brings it as the reason that in the public domain tooth and foot are exempt. And more than that—not only does he explain the reason of the verse; the Rif is not a Bible commentator, the Rif is a halakhic authority. When he brings this, the assumption is that it has halakhic implications, and Tosafot indeed derives a halakhic implication from it. Tosafot argues that if there is a plank lying across from a private domain into the public domain, and the animal walks in the public domain and damages produce that is in the injured party’s courtyard by moving that plank, then because of the Rif’s reasoning that too would be exempt. Because all in all it is walking in the public domain, and it has a right to walk there. Even though the produce is in the private domain. So leave the details aside for the moment, but I’m showing you that the Rif did derive Jewish law from the reason of the verse in the very topic we are dealing with. Not only in general—because as you rightly said, everyone always derives from the reason of the verse—here the Rif does it on this very topic. There really was Shlomo Meir—what do you mean, he derives from the reason of the verse and so on—but people do this, all the time. The Brisker naivete that says we don’t ask why, only what—that’s nonsense. There is no “what” without a “why.” There’s no such thing. If you don’t know why, how do you know what? What is written explicitly in the Torah—fine, I understand. Almost nothing is written explicitly in the Torah. Every small implication you make, every inference, every interpretation, always presupposes some understanding of what’s there; otherwise how do you do it? You could generalize every matter in a thousand different ways. Every generalization assumes, either implicitly or explicitly, some kind of understanding. There’s no such thing. You cannot define the “what” without asking the “why.” People always say there’s a difference between the definition and the reason. Without the reason there is no definition. It’s just an artificial distinction. You can’t do that. So what does it really mean that we do not derive Jewish law from the reason of the verse? Great question. I don’t have a good answer. Apparently it means you don’t go too far with deriving from the reason of the verse, or something like that. The Rosh—Tosafot HaRosh in Bava Metzia 90—writes there that if the reason is clear, then yes, we do derive Jewish law from the reason of the verse. So what did he really mean? That “we do not derive Jewish law from the reason of the verse” means we don’t make speculations that are too far-reaching with these analyses. But where it is clear that this is the reason, then yes, you do derive from the reason of the verse. Where? Ah, that’s why I said it isn’t such a good answer. The better answer is that we can’t always make that analysis. Try to make that analysis here, for example—it won’t be simple. It’s not simple because when you make the calculation in the public domain, the whole situation there is different from the situation in the injured party’s courtyard, because in the public domain the animal is in fact walking. So I say tooth and foot are damage that happen in the normal course of walking, so they are exempt. True, but horn is intentional damage. Intentional damage might be something for which even in the public domain you have to pay. Therefore in the public domain horn is more severe than tooth and foot. Now let’s try to apply that to the injured party’s courtyard. In the injured party’s courtyard I don’t know what to do with that. In the injured party’s courtyard you’re not allowed to be there—not to eat and not to gore. So is it more severe or less severe? I don’t know. Maybe in the injured party’s courtyard there would be liability for half, maybe there would be no liability at all, maybe full liability—I don’t know. I can argue in either direction.

[Speaker J] Isn’t it clear that your duty of care is much greater in the injured party’s courtyard?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, but I’m talking about horn versus tooth and foot, not about the injured party’s courtyard versus the public domain. I’m now talking about horn versus tooth and foot. I don’t know how to establish a hierarchical relation between them with respect to the injured party’s courtyard. Now again, this is only an example—

[Speaker J] So you would say—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, so establish it on the axis of injured party’s courtyard versus public domain, not on the axis of horn versus tooth and foot. For that I wouldn’t have gone to make this comparison, but that’s why I brought this in the year when we studied the interpretive principles—I showed that it is in fact the same argument. I can translate one into the other. You can’t do one without the other. But for that I need a bit of mathematics. But never mind; for purposes of the example this argument is enough for me. When you want to check the relation between horn and tooth and foot, it’s not so simple; you can’t always really understand from what happens in the public domain what happens in the injured party’s courtyard. And therefore you are basically making some formal assumption that says that if this is more severe than that, then you may apply it also to the injured party’s courtyard. If it doesn’t make sense, then you don’t do it. Contrary to what the Briskers say. You don’t do it when it doesn’t make sense. But where it is reasonable—even though, again, if I had to do it without permission from Sinai to make an a fortiori argument, maybe I wouldn’t do it, because who knows, maybe it could go either way. That’s why you need permission from Sinai. In other words, the Holy One, blessed be He, tells me: yes, work with this logic. There is room to doubt it; that’s okay. To punish on that basis—no, we do not derive punishments from logical inference. But to prohibit—yes. It’s good enough to prohibit. Okay? So that’s why the a fortiori argument works in a somewhat formal way. In the background there is some understanding—it’s not true otherwise. People bring examples of a fortiori arguments—I think I told this, I don’t remember if I told it—that in the Brisk Haggadah at the end—did I tell this? In the Brisk Haggadah, at the end, when it discusses “Who Knows One,” that refrain, when they get to “thirteen middaya.” What does “thirteen middaya” mean?

[Speaker H] The thirteen interpretive principles.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. Among the Hasidim, what is “thirteen middaya” in Hasidic Haggadot? The thirteen attributes of mercy—“The Lord, the Lord, compassionate and gracious.” For the Brisker, “thirteen middaya” means the thirteen interpretive principles, of course. Right? There he brings some teaching from Rabbi Chaim on a fortiori reasoning. And he claims that an a fortiori argument is not at all a logical principle. It is a tradition from Sinai, and we use it in an entirely formal way—not logical but purely technical, mathematics. Why? He brings examples of this. He brings the example of the a fortiori argument of “the ninety,” “the princes carried ninety, all the more so by themselves”—some aggadic a fortiori argument; even there there is logic, he’s mistaken about that. But an example often brought in this context is Rabbi Chiya’s first teaching in Bava Metzia 3, that a person’s own admission should not be stronger than the testimony of witnesses, by an a fortiori argument. Meaning, if witnesses testify that you owe part of the sum, that obligates you in the oath of one who admits part of a claim, all the more so from your own admission. And there it seems very illogical. Never mind, I don’t want to get into it—one time I gave a lecture here on Saturday night at Beit Menachem. So that a fortiori argument looks very illogical. And that is always used as an example showing that the a fortiori argument is a formal principle. It is not ordinary human logic. That’s nonsense. Simply nonsense. It cannot be said. We see in many places that there is logic there, and where there is no logic, we do not make an a fortiori argument. If you don’t understand the logic, think a bit more. If you think a bit more, you’ll find the logic there. And I can show you the logic also in Rabbi Chiya’s first teaching—that was the subject of the lecture I gave then—and also in the a fortiori argument of “the ninety,” there is logic there. There is logic in everything. If there is no logic, you don’t make the a fortiori argument. As I said earlier too, in a case where there is a refutation to an a fortiori argument, but my logic tells me that the injured party’s courtyard is more similar to the public domain than to the moon, then they will make the a fortiori argument despite the refutation. Because logic says that it is similar.

[Speaker C] And that’s not a refutation.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. But logic determines that. It’s not formalism. If it were formalism, then the moment there is a refutation, the a fortiori argument falls. You don’t keep thinking after you’ve already done the analogical mechanics.

[Speaker I] So that really greatly reduces the weight of a refutation within an interpretive principle. Meaning, not only do I not begin without logic, but even when there is a refutation, sometimes I don’t stop.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, right. Everything is subject to logic. Now, as I showed earlier, logic alone may not have given me this. Meaning, if there were no tradition, maybe I wouldn’t use this logic, because really, who knows—in the injured party’s courtyard, can you infer from tooth and foot to horn or not? So the Torah says: you can make such inferences. Not to punish, but to infer—that you can do. That is why tradition is needed here. But the tradition—and I spoke about this at the beginning of the chapter, where he discussed the relation between logic and expositions—I said that exposition is not mechanics. It’s clear that exposition is a trigger that is followed by logic, or that logic accompanies it, even in verbal analogy. You find a word here and a word there—“under, under,” what we brought earlier, or “giving, giving,” what we brought earlier regarding payment of the best-quality land in damages. Obviously—okay, so these two passages have the same word. What do you do with that? In what respect are you comparing them? Does that now mean that in all damages everyone has to stand on one foot? In all damages—what? Everywhere? Or is it only with oxen because there too it is written only about an ox? In what respect do I make the comparison from this passage to that passage? In respect to what logic says should be compared. Always logic.

[Speaker J] So maybe you only need to come to the thirteen interpretive principles if you haven’t solved the matter through your ordinary logic, and then you say: I have no choice, I’m going to something formal, which also has to be logical, but that’s because I ran into—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No. Where there is a plain-sense interpretation, obviously, then you don’t need the interpretive principles; on the contrary, that is the plain sense. Exposition is always something that is not on the level of the plain sense. Even though it too has some logic, and I spoke about this—this double-layeredness between exposition and plain sense. But yes, there is logic in this too. Only here the logic really does require some trigger, which probably does need tradition. Now, in the principles I spoke about logical principles and textual principles. A fortiori reasoning and verbal analogy are the two examples he discusses here. A fortiori reasoning is a logical principle; verbal analogy is a textual principle. The textual principles are a textual trigger to make an exposition, and it also tells me in what direction to make that exposition—generalization, learning from an example—but what to do, why to generalize, or what to learn from the example, there is no hint. That is all the expositor, in the end. “You shall fear the Lord your God”—so the rule is that the word “et” comes to include. The well-known Ben Gurionian rule that “et” comes to include. Fine—include what? Maybe chairs? “You shall fear the Lord your God”—to include chairs, that they too are to be feared? The verse doesn’t say what to include. The expositor’s logic says it. Indeed, Shimon HaAmsuni got stuck, right? He would expound every “et” in the Torah until he reached “You shall fear the Lord your God.” Why? Because he said: what, am I supposed to compare something here to the Holy One, blessed be He? Impossible. There is nothing—what am I supposed to include? I can’t find anything with my logic. So he almost thought of abandoning the whole enterprise of inclusions from “et.” “Just as I received reward for expounding, so I will receive reward for refraining”—and leave it. Right? Because he found no logic. There isn’t any. It’s not technique. Then Rabbi Akiva came and said: there is a solution. What is that solution? That solution is not something logical that I would have done without the exposition. Without the exposition I would never have said that if one must fear the Holy One, blessed be He, then one must also fear Torah scholars—that is very far-fetched. So what is it? The exposition, the rule, the trigger says to me: there is an “et”; something must be included. First of all, that is given. Now I can look for what is most logical to include, or what is least illogical—doesn’t matter—to include, and that is what I include. But had I not had this rule saying that one must include something from “et,” I would not have derived the obligation to fear Torah scholars, or at least not necessarily. So there is a textual trigger from which the exposition emerges, but what we do with the exposition is always logic. And the same is true with the principles… that’s in the textual principles, where this is obvious. But even in the logical principles it is like that. That’s what we just saw with a fortiori reasoning, or with a paradigmatic analogy, which is analogy. Yes, a fortiori reasoning is also a kind of analogy, actually. So there too it is obvious that some logic is involved; it is not logical mechanics. Okay. So that is also what he writes here. He says that, for example, with the principle of a fortiori reasoning—let’s read the last paragraph in section 24, the last paragraph that deals with a fortiori reasoning. “There is much to analyze in the principle of a fortiori reasoning. An a fortiori argument is not simply a ‘how much more so,’” meaning it is not about two things, A and B, where the relation between them is that A contains B. He means the saying, “If there are two hundred zuz there is certainly one hundred.” “And if the law exists in B, then all the more so it exists in A,” like “if there are two hundred, then certainly one hundred.” If that were the case, then all the give-and-take in the Talmud concerning a fortiori arguments would be incomprehensible—not how severity creates the a fortiori argument, and not how a refutation contradicts it, because the refutation could not contradict it. Therefore the severities and leniencies are not a simple ‘if there are two hundred, then certainly one hundred.’” What I claim is that even in “if there are two hundred, then certainly one hundred,” a refutation can still refute. Fine. “Rather, an a fortiori argument is a particular way of learning Torah that Moses received at Sinai.” There is a weight of tradition here. Without the tradition, perhaps we would not do this, or at least not always do it. Meaning, you need some anchor that puts this in my toolbox, this a fortiori argument, that I am permitted to use it. “And it is that between two matters in the commandments of the Torah one can find a connection, but the similarity in their laws is not necessary; one creates an analogy between them. If the severity of one as compared with the other can teach about a similarity in the law that one seeks to learn, one uses it to create an a fortiori argument.” I think the wording here is not precise. Meaning, that would have been true of a paradigmatic analogy. In a paradigmatic analogy I make an analogy from one thing to another; there it is obvious that the two things have to be similar to each other. There is no hint in the Torah telling me when to make the analogy. Analogy comes entirely from me. Meaning, there is no textual hint here to make an exposition. The Torah states some law—for example, “If one man’s ox gores the ox of his fellow,” then one must pay. Fine? I say: a dog that bites also requires payment. How do I know? I make an analogy from ox to dog. Fine? Where is that written? Is there some textual hint? No. Therefore this is a logical principle, not a textual principle. But in a fortiori reasoning, there are three data points; it doesn’t say that one must make an a fortiori argument from them. There is no textual trigger telling me, from these three data points make an a fortiori argument. No—the logic says it. The Torah only gives the data, right? As opposed to the textual principles, where the Torah gives you the trigger for the exposition—not logic is the trigger there, but one form of writing or another form of writing is the trigger for the exposition. Fine? So in paradigmatic analogy he is right, that the similarity here is a similarity that we decide upon by our own reasoning, that A is similar to B. In a fortiori reasoning there is a rational dimension, but still, it is not exactly paradigmatic analogy; a fortiori reasoning is a different principle. Because the relation of severity does not point to similarity. The relation of severity does contain a certain dimension of inclusion—let’s call it that, inclusion with a soft edge. It’s not really inclusion; it’s not simply “if there are two hundred, then certainly one hundred,” but it’s also not merely a similarity between two things, with no preference of one over the other. It’s a strong similarity, a similarity with direction. In fact, if we want to translate a fortiori reasoning into paradigmatic analogy—into analogy—the correct way to do it is not to compare the data themselves, but to compare the axes of hierarchy. Let me show you how analogy—how a fortiori reasoning—is actually a simple analogy, not even more than an analogy. Let’s return to tooth and foot and horn. In the public domain I know that horn is more severe than tooth and foot. From here I derive the conclusion that horn is more severe than tooth and foot also in the injured party’s courtyard. And then I apply that to tooth and foot in the injured party’s courtyard and derive the conclusion. Here I made a full analogy. The comparison regarding the hierarchical relation is itself a comparison on the same level, not hierarchical. What am I saying? I’m saying that if the hierarchical relation exists in the public domain, then it exists also in the injured party’s courtyard. Here the comparison is on the same level; it’s not an a fortiori argument. It is that the same hierarchical relation that exists here also exists there. And that is what the refutation is about. Exactly—no, exactly—and that is what the refutation is about. Exactly. When you look at a fortiori reasoning this way, you see that it is really an analogy. So an a fortiori argument is really an analogy. Even though it seems as if in a fortiori reasoning there is some sort of push, some hierarchy—it’s not just a similarity between two things where neither has an advantage over the other. But in fact, when you look more deeply at an a fortiori argument, you see that it too is an analogy.

[Speaker D] But an a fortiori argument is a kind of “if there are two hundred, then certainly one hundred.”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, which is why I say: the Talmudic a fortiori argument. The Talmudic a fortiori argument is an analogy. Right. Okay, so that’s why I say that in my opinion the wording here is not entirely precise, but the principle itself is correct. “If all the components of the two matters point to the similarity, and one finds a refutation that may indicate that they are not similar”—what is the refutation? The refutation is exactly that there are two axes of comparison, and now you need to check whether the axis in the injured party’s courtyard resembles axis A or axis B. So it basically says there is no similarity between the axes, or at least no necessary similarity between them. “The a fortiori argument is refuted. This must be examined in each and every topic on its own merits, and one must see the logic in this way of learning.” And here this connects to what I said earlier. In other words, a fortiori reasoning really is logical. There is no such thing as a formal a fortiori argument; that’s nonsense, simply nonsense. It cannot be said. It’s part of that same—I don’t know—Brisker fiction, that people think the Sages were equipped with some mathematical system from which they could derive things absolutely, and we simply lost the algorithm, so now all we can do is cling to the Sages and see what they did. There is logic in it, and that logic can be understood. You have to work at it; we don’t fully understand it. Obviously part of it was lost to us because the tradition broke down on this issue, but there is logic behind it. Okay, so that’s it on a fortiori reasoning. Now he moves to verbal analogy. As stated, a fortiori reasoning is a logical principle; verbal analogy is a textual principle, fine? But as I said earlier, it’s obvious that there is a logical dimension here and there as well. Even in verbal analogy there is a logical dimension on two planes. First, in the question of what exactly I compare—I don’t transfer everything from one thing to another. So with regard to which laws do I make the comparison? Even though the rule is that there is no verbal analogy by halves, just as there is no juxtaposition by halves, it is obvious that there is no juxtaposition by halves only for things that are relevant. If something doesn’t seem similar to you, you don’t force it to be similar. If it is clear to you that there will be a difference here—there is the verbal analogy of “to her, to her” regarding a slave and a woman—so what, does that mean now that because for a slave too they write with an ayin, therefore we need to correct all the Torah scrolls? Obviously we do not make a verbal analogy for things that do not sound reasonable to us, that do not seem similar to us between the two contexts. So first of all there is a logical dimension in the question of what we do after there is a trigger to compare. But there is another dimension, and it is no less important—and he will also discuss it—and that is the dimension of choosing which two words to use for the verbal analogy. Before the question of what you do with the verbal analogy, there is the very decision to make a verbal analogy. Not every two similar words in the Torah are a trigger for verbal analogy, and that is an interesting question—why not? From what I once told—I don’t remember—there is a book by a Jew named Chernik, The Book of Verbal Analogy. It was published in Lod, by the institute there—Abrams, I think it was called, I don’t remember—and in the library there. He published a book on verbal analogy, and there he argues that the early verbal analogies are verbal analogies only on words that are unique in Scripture. He does a kind of archaeology there; he’s an academic researcher, so he reconstructs periods—meaning, which verbal analogies are early and which are later. He identifies this, for example, by the sages involved, their generation, and so on. He does a historical analysis of the matter and classifies the verbal analogies by periods. And he shows that the early verbal analogies are all analogies between two words that appear only in two places in Scripture. It’s not just any two similar words that we find and immediately make a verbal analogy. But interestingly, this develops later, and then they also make verbal analogies with two words that are not unique. So how can that be? What—if originally they really did it only with unique words, then what are we inventing? This brings me back to everything we discussed earlier: are the interpretive principles an invention or a development? Fine? I think it is a development. And the secret here is that when they take such two words, apparently—I’m saying this because I don’t have an explanation for every pair of words, and I also haven’t worked on it enough to examine it seriously—but in places where I did see it, there has to be a reason why I choose these two words and make a verbal analogy from them. True, they can appear in other places in the Torah. In the later verbal analogies this is also done between words that appear in other places in the Torah, but still, in these two places there is a reason why these words were chosen. It’s not just because there are two similar words here and that’s it. There is some kind of interpretive understanding of where this works. Now part of this is stated explicitly in the Talmud: whether the word is available for exposition. Available on both sides, available on one side—the Talmud compares and distinguishes between different verbal analogies. “Available” means that the word is superfluous. So what does that really mean? That in the early verbal analogies they took only two words that were unique. Well, that itself calls for interpretation—why exactly were those two words used in precisely those two contexts? Apparently in order to compare. But later sages say: fine, I can apply that same logic also to a word that appears elsewhere in Scripture, but in these two places it is available, it is superfluous. That too calls for interpretation. What difference does it make? It’s really the same idea. Therefore what I’m really doing is extending the logic of verbal analogy, but I’m extending it on the basis of the original logic; I’m not inventing it—it’s not an invention. It is the claim that I can apply the same logic to further cases. Fine? And therefore what this means is that in verbal analogy there has to be some reason why these words were chosen—especially when the words are not unique. If they are unique, maybe you don’t even need that, because that itself is a sufficient reason. But if the words are not unique, there has to be some reason. Now, the Talmud itself says this. It says that one makes a verbal analogy only when the words are available. If it is available on one side, then one does it, but a refutation can still overturn the verbal analogy—if there is a refutation. But if it is available on both sides, then there are no refutations either; then one simply makes the verbal analogy and that’s it—one makes the verbal analogy and there is no refutation against it. But there too you already see that the availability—the redundancy of the word—is actually the trigger for the exposition. It’s not just that you take two words; it’s not some mechanical thing. Rather, how do you know whether it is available or not? Logic. You look and see whether it adds something, or whether you can propose a wording in which that word is unnecessary and the verse would still tell you everything it says. That is interpretive logic. Now there can be a dispute about whether a given word is available or not—and there are such disputes. Is a certain word available or not? Whoever derives something from that word thinks it is not available. There are Talmudic discussions like that. So then what does he do—how can he make a verbal analogy if it is not available? This shows that the expositor’s logic, the expositor’s overall picture, affects the question of how you make a verbal analogy. Now this is especially interesting regarding verbal analogy, because verbal analogy is the principle about which the Talmud says that a person may not formulate it on his own unless he received it from his teacher. A person does not formulate it on his own. An a fortiori argument—a person does formulate on his own. A verbal analogy—a person does not formulate on his own unless he received it from his teacher. There is a dispute between Rashi and Tosafot about the other eleven principles. Are they like a fortiori reasoning or like verbal analogy? It is generally accepted to think that they are like a fortiori reasoning—that all the principles we do on our own except for verbal analogy. Verbal analogy is unique. But this is a dispute between Rashi and Tosafot. In any case, even verbal analogy, about which it is certainly said that a person does not do it on his own—even there we see that logic is involved. And there are disputes about it, and Nachmanides indeed comments on this—one moment—Nachmanides indeed comments on this because there are disputes about verbal analogy. Nachmanides and his students, several medieval authorities among his disciples, all write that it is not true that we received the whole thing from Sinai. Rather, it means that we received some hint from Sinai that here one should make a verbal analogy, or that we received the conclusion and the verbal analogy is merely a support for it, or that we received that these words are for verbal analogy but were not told what to do with them. There is some hint that is supposed to help us, and this connects to what I said earlier. Because really, without that, what—just compare any two words in the Torah? From that we could make a complete mess. The Sages never came close to doing that; it is clear that they did not. So how did they decide? The Talmud says they received by tradition what to do. But what does “by tradition” mean? It means they understood which word was superfluous and intended for verbal analogy. That fits the picture I described earlier. You do not need to say that there was really an explicit tradition: from these two words make a verbal analogy. Rather, they received a tradition of how to analyze the text and how to discover whether this word is superfluous or not superfluous. That is the traditional skill. It doesn’t mean exact details. Rather, they were skilled in textual analysis, to see whether these words were superfluous, available or not available, and accordingly they made a verbal analogy. That’s all.

[Speaker I] It’s not always necessarily true that the Talmud calls this “available,” but maybe that’s even a very late term. Just in general you see that even if the words aren’t superfluous syntactically, a certain phrasing can sound similar to something we saw elsewhere. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the word is available in the literal sense. One hundred percent.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s exactly what I said earlier—that “available” isn’t really available. You need some trigger in the text to tell you that this word is intended for verbal analogy. It’s not enough that there are two identical words. “Availability” is only an expression that describes this. If it is superfluous, then that is a simple trigger. And obviously, if there is some understanding that these two passages are similar and you also see a key word that is similar in both places, that too is itself a kind of availability.

[Speaker G] That’s the direction. What do I mean? I think in a great many Talmudic passages, when you see the verbal analogy and afterward they try to convince you that the word is available or not available and propose all sorts of texts, it really doesn’t always pass.

[Speaker C] One hundred percent true.

[Speaker G] It looks like there was some logic, they looked for something that should work here. Some logic was missing, or some test case that needed to be handled. And the closest thing was a slave. Right. So they said, fine, let’s start with slave, and now they had to force the text so that there would be a word here and a word there.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “Force” I’m not sure about.

[Speaker G] Why? Because when you read the sentence, the forced wording of the verse—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Still, one has to be careful. We once talked about the difference between the holy tongue and our language. We’re prone to mistakes here. In fact, those who don’t know Hebrew are better at this. Those who do know Hebrew sometimes look at the formulations of the Sages and it seems unreasonable to them. But I think that sometimes, when you think in biblical terms, it can sound reasonable. We are simply prisoners of our language.

[Speaker G] They drop the heh, or they want it without the vav.

[Speaker I] It’s “ein” for them without a yod, not “ein” without a yod. Yes, what?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no—again, I didn’t say that in every place it’s like that. I said you have to be careful, though. By the way, there too, with “han” without a yod, I don’t know whether that “mehen” which is “han” without—

[Speaker I] Yod—the only instance the Talmud found was “mehen” in yevamish? That’s something else entirely.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] All right, but it could be that in biblical language, as Hahn understood, that really is what it means. Why not? Whether this is the only example or not—fine, that doesn’t matter right now—but I’m saying we have to be careful with that. I don’t think that if the Sages forced an interpretation, then it was just arbitrary, so why did they do it? It wasn’t just… Clearly they had some reason why they decided to derive it from here. Because of the logic. Exactly. I definitely accept that broader understanding, and he’ll write that too: that it doesn’t have to be specifically a free expression in the simple sense of the term. On the contrary, a free expression is only one example of the fact that you’re not just taking two words and doing mechanics; rather, the text has to signal to you that some comparison is supposed to be made here. Sometimes it signals that by means of some extra word, sometimes you understand that the passages are similar, sometimes your logic tells you that the passages should be compared because the legal reasoning says they are similar—for all kinds of reasons, it doesn’t matter right now. So that, I think, is a broader meaning of the concept of a free expression, and I completely accept that. That is exactly what I wrote. Now, let’s read it in him now, because overall that’s more or less what he says, what I’ve been describing up to now. A gezerah shavah too is only between two similar subjects. That itself already says something. It’s not mechanics—taking two words and that’s it. Now, it has to be—no, you have to understand whether it’s really similar or not. If it’s not similar, then it’s not just logical mechanics. Usually, for each topic the Torah uses a different style, and if there is similarity in wording, that teaches similarity in content, when the subjects are close and can be compared to one another. Between subjects that are different and far apart from one another, you never find a gezerah shavah. Nor can just any two identical words be used for a gezerah shavah. If it says “et” here and “et” there, we won’t derive a gezerah shavah from that. Between connecting words there is never a gezerah shavah, because otherwise we would turn the whole Torah into one single law. By the way, I’m not completely sure about that; I haven’t checked it. But in places where there is some indication that a connecting word is extra, it could be that they would also make a gezerah shavah from a connecting word. I don’t think so—you need some logic or some indication that we’re supposed to make a gezerah shavah. I’m not sure that with connecting words it can’t happen. Clearly, to do it automatically on connecting words is madness. That would mean that all the occurrences of “et” in the Torah have to be the same. Obviously not. Okay, that much is clear. But I don’t think we need to go so far as to say there are no gezerot shavot based on connecting words. That’s too far. It needs to be checked; I haven’t checked it, but I don’t think it has to be that way. Because otherwise we would turn the whole Torah into one single law. A gezerah shavah is only where we notice that the Torah uses the same style in two places, in a way that can indicate a comparison between them. According to one opinion in the Talmud—see Niddah 22—a gezerah shavah is derived only when the expression is free. And that draws attention to it. According to another opinion, when it is not free, one may derive it but may also refute it; that is, if there is a challenge showing that not all components of the matters are similar, then we do not learn one from the other. And again, that raises the question: if it can be refuted, then where is the tradition? A person does not derive a gezerah shavah unless he received it from his rabbi. So how can you refute it? How can a gezerah shavah be refuted? We received it by tradition from Sinai, didn’t we? Fine, you could say that only in the case of a free expression is it tradition, because then you don’t refute it. But if it’s free, why do you need tradition? If it’s free, then you know it is to be derived. On the contrary, the tradition is needed דווקא where…

[Speaker E] Even in a tradition there can be cracks—something can get missed, or a mistake, or things like that—so you refute it. Apparently the tradition wasn’t correct.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, but then what’s the point of the tradition? If the tradition itself is suspect as possibly incorrect, then what is it? Just one more support. Another support? It’s logical too and… okay. And there’s a distinction between free on one side and free on both sides. And even when we derive a gezerah shavah, we do not compare for every matter. Exactly what I said: these are the two planes. One plane is choosing the pair of words on which I make the gezerah shavah. I chose the two words; now the question is what to do with the gezerah shavah. Regarding which issue should we compare these two things? So logic enters there too. That means it enters on both planes. True, there is a rule that there is no gezerah shavah—however, Tosafot prove in several places that a gezerah shavah does not compare for every matter. Because the comparison should only be regarding things in which it is possible and appropriate to compare the two subjects. And in truth, with a gezerah shavah this is always a problem, because you want to compare two subjects, and you always say that at the starting point they are different from one another—so what is there to compare? Now if they are different, the question is which one do you take to which? Do you take the one that is obligated to the other one that is exempt and learn that the other one is obligated, or do you take the one that is exempt to the one that is obligated and learn that the obligated one is exempt? The Talmud asks that.

[Speaker G] That’s how the Talmud asks it. Why did you find reason to learn it this way? Why not learn it the other way around?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t remember it asking that—maybe in certain cases—but generally it doesn’t ask that. There are places where this is also a dispute between Rashi and Tosafot—whether there is no half-gezerah shavah—or Rashbam and Tosafot, I think, it seems to me that it’s a dispute, where Rashbam claims there is no half-gezerah shavah—I think, if I remember correctly which one is Rashbam and which one is Tosafot—one of them claims that “there is no half-gezerah shavah” means that just as you learn from A to B, you also have to learn from B to A. And the other says that “there is no half-gezerah shavah” means that you take all of A to B, not just part of A to B. Now usually this dilemma doesn’t really exist. Because what happens when in one case there is obligation and in the other exemption—the one that is exempt is not exempt because I have a verse exempting it; rather, I simply don’t have a verse obligating it. So basically the law is open. True, if I don’t fill that in, it will remain exempt. But if I have a gezerah shavah from somewhere else where I have a source that there they are obligated, then obviously the direction is to take the obligation to the place of exemption, not the exemption to the place of obligation. If I have a special source that exempts there, then indeed the situation will be the reverse. All right? If there is a source exempting here and a source obligating there, then I simply won’t apply the gezerah shavah. All right? Therefore usually there is no dilemma about which direction to take the gezerah shavah. The direction is always from the known place to the exempt place. That is the… It is well known that a person does not derive a gezerah shavah on his own. Does that mean that gezerot shavot were transmitted to Moses at Sinai? Absolutely not. There are many disputes about gezerot shavot. That is Nachmanides’ argument that I mentioned. And if they had been received from the Holy One, blessed be He, or had been received from Moses our teacher who learned them, there would not have been dispute about them. Here I accept Yossi’s comment from earlier. This argument is very questionable. The fact that something is a law given to Moses at Sinai does not mean that dispute cannot arise about it, even though Maimonides writes that. And he explains some of them—he tries to explain—but in another part Maimonides gets stuck. This claim of Maimonides is problematic.

[Speaker G] He didn’t mean—Maimonides didn’t mean—that there was never dispute, as it were, about what is accepted as tradition, so about that they don’t argue. Isn’t that what he meant? There could be dispute. No—that if there was corruption along the way, then you’ll find a dispute about something that someone says is a law given to Moses at Sinai.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But if there is no corruption and everyone agrees, then of course there’s no dispute.

[Speaker G] That’s not—so what did he say?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s an empirical claim, not a normative one. According to your reading, what he says here is a normative statement—that one may not disagree with a law given to Moses at Sinai. Maimonides presents it as a factual claim: that regarding a law given to Moses at Sinai, no dispute ever arose. And that—that’s the claim. In the Talmud it does not say that one has to receive the gezerah shavah from Sinai; it only says that a person does not derive a gezerah shavah on his own. And Rashi adds: unless it was received and came from Sinai. So in Rashi, yes, he always says that. Rashi also says, “it is a learned tradition.” Rashi always adds: a law given to Moses at Sinai. For Rashi, “it is a learned tradition” means a law given to Moses at Sinai. The idea is that the question of when parallel style really comes to teach a comparison between subjects and when it does not is not so simple. Therefore, if a sage does not have a tradition of many generations in which everyone learned that such-and-such an expression, appearing in two places, indicates a comparison between them, he should not innovate such a derivation on his own. Because you need textual sensitivity to know whether these really are two words fit for a gezerah shavah or not. That is not Rashi’s plain meaning, of course. Rashi’s plain meaning is that it comes from Sinai. He wants to say that it means there must be a tradition established by authorized sages and so on. There is something like this in Kedmat HaEmek: the Netziv writes in the introduction to Haamek She’elah, and there he writes regarding “it is a learned tradition.” Rashi always says: a law given to Moses at Sinai. From Maimonides it sounds as though “it is a learned tradition” means some kind of ancient tradition, not necessarily a law given to Moses at Sinai. Therefore he really explains that there is a dispute between Rashi and Maimonides about what “it is a learned tradition” means. Similarly, that is what he wants to say here about a law given to Moses at Sinai itself, not about “it is a learned tradition.” And there the discussion is whether “it is a learned tradition” means a law given to Moses at Sinai. He claims—and Abu Dalia claims as well—that even “a law given to Moses at Sinai” is not literally a law given to Moses at Sinai, but only a tradition accepted from outstanding sages. He means with regard to gezerah shavah, not every law given to Moses at Sinai. Rather, when Rashi says that it has to come from Sinai, the meaning is that it has to come from an ancient tradition from authorized sages and so on. For example, the Talmud says regarding the twenty-four primary categories of damages: all are like primary categories in that payment is from the best property. What is the reason? It comes from the equivalence of “instead of,” “giving,” “he shall pay money.” Can we really be sure that the expressions “instead of,” “giving,” and so on all indicate a comparison regarding the manner of payment? That it specifically has to be from the best property? That it should be from the best, yes? In damage payments one has to pay from the best of his field and the best of his vineyard. And movable property is also called the best—it doesn’t matter. But not every type of payment is accepted; it has to be high-quality payment, readily marketable, right? So why do they decide that this comparison is specifically about the manner of payment? Maybe the comparison is about—I don’t know—something entirely different. It is not so simple. We would not rely on ourselves in such a matter. But if many generations of great sages, who knew the ways of the language, thought so—not necessarily from Moses at Sinai—then we can rely on them. And if we look carefully, we will understand that they are right, that it really does make sense that these expressions indicate the manner of payment. Therefore this gezerah shavah is in fact applied to the manner of payment. And here logic says so. And if we have lost that logic, then we need to rely on sages who still had that linguistic sensitivity to biblical language, and they knew how to identify those two words and derive them. And I think it would be very worthwhile—this is one of the conclusions that emerges from his approach, and I completely agree with him on this point—to revive a bit of that linguistic sensitivity and try to see how the Sages actually worked, and to see whether it might be possible to make additional gezerot shavot on our own. All right, we’ll stop here.