Platonism – Lecture 18

Table of Contents

• Okimta as a solution to a casuistic problem
• Platonism, abstraction, and the world of ideas
• Jewish law as a system of ideas and okimta as a laboratory
• The goal of conceptual Talmudic learning versus halakhic ruling, and the analogy to theoretical physics
• Why the Mishnah does not spell out the conditions of the okimta
• Burnt leaven in Tractate Pesachim and the splitting of two timelines
• Meiri, Maharam Halava, and Ritva: two conceptions and the practical difference between them
• Preferring interpretations based on the role of the okimta, and comparison to Rashi and Rashba in Beitzah
• Splitting timelines and traveling back in time
• The purpose of okimta: Platonic truth and meta-jurisprudence
• Questions about the accessibility of this kind of learning, time as reality, and further implications

Summary

General Overview

The text presents okimta as a mechanism born out of the casuistic nature of the Talmud, where particular cases represent general principles that are not explicitly formulated. Because of that, the Talmud has to set up the case under special conditions so that it fits the principle. The claim is that this reflects a Platonic outlook: Jewish law deals with abstract ideas like “slave,” “Jewish holiday,” and “leaven” in their pure sense, and okimta is a kind of “laboratory state” that erases interfering features of the real world in order to bring the case closer to the idea. From this, the text draws a distinction between theoretical-conceptual learning, whose purpose is to clarify the meta-halakhic structure and the divine will, and practical halakhic ruling and application. It argues that understanding the mechanism of okimta is not just a forced answer to a textual difficulty, but a tool for deciding between interpretations of medieval authorities (Rishonim) based on how well they fit the function of okimta.

Okimta as a Solution to a Casuistic Problem

The Talmud uses particular cases to represent general principles, and when the particular case does not line up with halakhic rules, the problem of okimta arises. The Talmud sets up the case under certain conditions, like “a bound and sleeping slave” or “the egg refers to a Jewish holiday that follows the Sabbath,” so that the case can represent the general principle. The claim is that the problem itself stems from the fact that the Talmud does not formulate general principles directly, the way a physics book would, but operates through cases, while the Talmud assumes that behind the case there stands an abstract principle and investigates how the case illustrates it.

Platonism, Abstraction, and the World of Ideas

The text describes Platonism through “horseness” as an example of an abstract idea derived from particulars by erasing accidental features and leaving only essential ones. It argues that science too deals in general laws that concern abstract concepts rather than the concrete world, and therefore application in reality is always more complicated than the abstract formulation. The example of the color red clarifies that color as an object exists in the world of ideas, whereas in our world it is a property of things, and abstraction works by removing information in order to broaden the scope of the set to which the rule applies.

Jewish Law as a System of Ideas and Okimta as a Laboratory

The text argues that in the halakhic world too, one speaks of “a slave insofar as he is a slave,” of the idea of slavery, and not of a concrete slave with desires, motion, and awareness. In a casuistic world that speaks in cases, abstraction is done not by means of a theoretical definition but by constructing a practical object that erases irrelevant properties. So “bound and sleeping” serves to erase his being mobile and conscious, leaving him as a courtyard that acquires on behalf of his master. The scientific laboratory is described as an analogy to okimta, because it creates artificial conditions that remove interfering factors in order to approach the pure law, and okimta is the halakhic equivalent of creating such a state in our world.

The Goal of Conceptual Learning Versus Halakhic Ruling, and the Analogy to Theoretical Physics

The text rejects the claim that the Talmud is practical, and says that the Talmud is more like theoretical physics than like practical experimentation. The halakhic decisor parallels the technologist who applies abstract principles to a concrete case, whereas the conceptual learner is not trying to know what the Jewish law will be in practice, but to understand the meta-halakhic structure, the metaphysics underlying Jewish law, and the divine will. Practical differences and practical tests are presented as tools that help formulate a theory, not as the end that drives the theory.

Why the Mishnah Does Not Spell Out the Conditions of the Okimta

The text argues that the Mishnah is not “speaking of a bound slave” and is not “speaking of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath,” because it deals with every slave and every Jewish holiday as abstract ideas. The Talmud takes a specific slave or a specific Jewish holiday and strips away particular features in order to show how the example represents a general law. Therefore the conditions of the okimta are not part of the content of the Mishnah but a clarifying device for the representation of the principle. The claim is that even in cases where the okimta seems to be the opposite of the plain meaning of the Mishnah, it is really just removing a side obstacle and leaving the Mishnah’s law in its purity.

Burnt Leaven in Tractate Pesachim and the Splitting of Two Timelines

The Mishnah in Tractate Pesachim — “Whenever it is permitted to eat, one may also derive benefit from it… once its time has passed, deriving benefit from it is forbidden” — appears obvious, and the Talmud sets it up as “when he burned it before its prohibited time,” teaching “in accordance with Rava” that burning it before the time permits deriving benefit even after the time. The text proposes that the Mishnah is teaching about two timelines in the prohibition of leaven: the timeline to which the leaven itself belongs, and the timeline in which the eating takes place, and that what determines the law is the leaven’s time-association, not the time of eating. Burning is presented as a practical mechanism that allows the timelines to split by “freezing” the status of the leaven at the moment of burning, so that leaven burned at a time of permission remains “permitted leaven” even when the person moves forward into the time of prohibition.

Meiri, Maharam Halava, and Ritva: Two Conceptions and the Practical Difference Between Them

Meiri explains that burning before the time of prohibition removes the leaven from the status of food until it is “mere ash,” and distinguishes this from burning after the prohibited time, which does not cancel the prohibition unless there is “complete burning” until coals and ash. The text presents Meiri as reflecting a conception of “status-freezing” on the object itself, so that the prohibition fixed earlier remains, because burning is not “a new entity” in the way complete burning is. Maharam Halava explains differently: the prohibition is because “this person is found to be benefiting from that which became forbidden to him,” similar to the question whether the monetary proceeds of something from which benefit is forbidden are themselves intrinsically forbidden, or whether the issue is deriving benefit from the forbidden source. So the prohibition is interpreted as benefit derived from the bread as it previously was. Ritva is brought as a practical difference: if he burned it during the sixth hour, when leaven is forbidden to eat but permitted for benefit, then on Passover “eating it would be forbidden but deriving benefit from it would be permitted,” which fits the conception of status-freezing.

Preferring Interpretations Based on the Role of the Okimta, and Comparison to Rashi and Rashba in Beitzah

The text argues that an interpretation that understands okimta as removing a side obstacle is preferable to one that turns the okimta into the main law that the Mishnah should have stated explicitly. The example from Beitzah presents Rashi as saying that the okimta of “a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath” is needed only so that the case of the egg can illustrate the general law of “food that was not prepared,” whereas Rashba at first glance seems to limit the law to a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. The text uses the same yardstick in the case of burnt leaven and explains that according to Meiri, the burning is a “laboratory case” that illustrates a general principle about all leaven, whereas according to Maharam Halava it looks more like a unique novelty about the act of burning.

Splitting Timelines and Traveling Back in Time

The text presents “traveling back in time” as a self-contradictory concept unless one assumes two timelines, because going back requires being “on Sunday after Monday.” It proposes a framework of two axes: one basic axis that always moves forward, and an inner axis on which one can reach different points, and argues that only in this way is the question conceptually coherent. The split found in the sugya of leaven is described as a parallel implicit insight, where the timeline of the act keeps advancing while the time-association of the leaven can stop or disconnect through burning.

The Purpose of Okimta: Platonic Truth and Meta-Jurisprudence

The text concludes that the Talmud and the Mishnah seek to clarify a “Platonic truth” about ideas like slave, Jewish holiday, and leaven, rather than to describe concrete reality. Reality is used to create pathological laboratory situations that simulate the idea by freezing parameters and removing interference. Law and practical halakhah are presented as technology and application of meta-juridical theories, while conceptual learning focuses on clarifying the abstract structure rather than reaching a practical ruling.

Questions About the Accessibility of This Kind of Learning, Time as Reality, and Further Implications

The text raises the question whether, according to this view, Talmud study is meant only for a select few, and answers that everyone who studies in yeshiva engages in conceptual learning, each according to his level, while distinguishing between analytical study and the study of practical Jewish law. A Kantian position was raised, according to which time is a human determination, and the text rejects it, arguing that space and time exist in reality. It brings a halakhic indication that one can “attach a prohibition to time” as proof that time is conceived as an object-like entity, and adds a kabbalistic explanation in the name of the Baal HaLeshem, according to which space and time are the “foundation of kingship” of the world above ours. A question was raised whether the idea of burning applies only to leaven or also to vows prohibiting benefit, and the response is that this may be a general conception in prohibitions of benefit, though it requires further examination. In conclusion, the possibility is raised of dealing in the next lecture with okimtot in the case of “one who places down the jug,” and there is also a remark about repentance retroactively versus the interpretation of the author of Tanya, who understands repentance as cleansing the present without changing history.

Let’s begin. We’re in the middle of the topic of ukimtot, and I want to use it to show the Platonic character of the Talmud and of its goals, the way we study it. I’m muting everyone. So we saw that the problem of an ukimta arises because the Talmud uses particular cases to represent general principles. And then when the Talmud brings some case, and that case doesn’t fit certain halakhic rules, we make an ukimta: a slave who is tied up and asleep, the egg means a Jewish holiday that comes after the Sabbath, not just any holiday, and so on. But in the end my claim was that the whole problem arises because of the casuistic character of the Talmud. Say, in a scientific book, a physics book, they give the general principle directly, they formulate it: every body on which no force acts moves at constant velocity in a straight line. They don’t say, a ball that’s rolling will keep rolling normally, some kind of private case. They give the general principle right away. There you don’t need ukimtot. But the Talmud uses a casuistic method and talks about cases, yes, about specific instances, and doesn’t formulate general principles. But the Mishnah—sorry, but the Talmud—understands that behind the particular case there is really a general principle, and therefore the Talmud asks itself how this particular case represents the general principle. And in principle it can’t represent it, so we make an ukimta so that it can represent it. But the meaning of the ukimta is that we really want to say that the general principle speaks about an abstract Platonic reality. Say when we talked about Platonism, for example, think about horseness. We see horses in front of our eyes, but we understand, or distill out of all the horses we’ve seen, some abstract image of a theoretical horse that is not concrete. It doesn’t have a particular height, it doesn’t have a particular color; I erase all the accidental properties. I’m left only with the properties of the horse insofar as it is a horse. And that thing is an idea that exists, according to Plato, in the world of ideas. And when I want to talk about the properties of horses, I talk about the properties of horses insofar as they are horses. I’m not talking about the property of the horse being brown, or the property of the horse running fast. Some horses have more of that and some less. I want to talk about the properties of the horse insofar as it is a horse—for example, that it sleeps standing up, or for example that it has four legs. That characterizes all horses, and that is a property of its being a horse, not of this particular horse, and so really it is a property of the idea. The general laws deal with that. Also in the scientific world the general laws don’t deal with our world; they deal with Platonic worlds, with abstract concepts, with ideas. They don’t deal with horses; they deal with ideal horses, or with horseness. And therefore applying the laws to our world is always more complicated than formulating the law itself, because the abstract laws deal with pure horses, with nothing interfering. But our horse also has an environment and particular properties that can interfere with the appearance of the horse-property. Say if the horse is sick, then it will lie down, it won’t sleep standing up. But that’s not a property of the horse; that’s an illness. It’s an illness because there are bacteria in our world and the horse got infected. The ideal horse is not a sick horse; it is a perfect horse. It is only a horse; it has none of the other properties that concrete horses have. And the general properties of horses are properties that deal with horseness and not with the particular horses we meet before our eyes. Same thing with the color red. I’m not dealing with a table that is red, a balloon that is red, a painting that is red; I’m dealing with red as such. I want to know the wavelength of the light that creates the color red. So that isn’t a property of the table, or the ball, or anything else. On the contrary: the table and the ball will often be in some environment where they may appear not exactly red. There are all kinds of disturbances there that may prevent this thing from appearing. But red as such is an electromagnetic wave. So it’s not the property of the table or of the ball or of anything else. On the contrary, the table and the ball will often be in some environment where they may appear not exactly red. There are all kinds of disturbances there that may prevent this thing from appearing. But red as such is an electromagnetic wave of such-and-such a wavelength. And that property is a property of redness as such, of the abstract color red. In our world there is no such thing as the color red as an object. The color red is a property of objects. There is a red table, there is a red ball—but what is red itself? In our world, red itself is basically a property. In the Platonic world it is an object. Meaning, I can talk about the color red as a subject. And therefore everything I say about the color red, I’m really saying about redness and not about red-colored objects. And so on. That’s how it is in the scientific world. I’m not dealing with the ball; I’m dealing with a mass, with a body that has such-and-such a mass, which happens also to be round and have all sorts of such properties, but that doesn’t interest me right now. What interests me is its being a body with mass. So therefore the laws—in physics too, in everything—basically deal with abstract entities. What is the difference between abstract entities and concrete entities? The difference is that I need to erase from the concrete entities all the side-properties, the non-essential properties, the properties that can interfere with the appearance of the general theoretical law. And I do this in a process of abstraction. I basically say: okay, let’s strip from the horse its color, its height, its running speed, the area where it lives—all these properties don’t interest me. I want to see what remains that defines horseness. That’s a process of abstraction. And I said that a process of abstraction always involves removing properties. Yes, less information means that what remains is relevant to more objects. Right, it’s always that interplay between the amount of information and the size of the set. The more information, the smaller the set; the less information, the larger the set. When I want to talk about the whole set of bodies with mass, I need to remove all the particular properties that all sorts of bodies have—that they’re made of wood, that they’re round, that they have such-and-such a shape, that they weigh—none of that matters. I want to know the property of a body that has such-and-such a mass. It has no other property. There is no such body in our world. It is a Platonic body, an idea, a body that exists in the world of ideas. But that’s what the laws of nature speak about; that’s what our scientific generalizations speak about. My claim is that in the halakhic world it’s exactly the same. When I want to talk about a slave who acquires a bill of divorce for his mistress, yes, for his lady, then I am talking about the slave insofar as he is a slave, about the property of slavery, about the idea of slavery. Every specific slave has all sorts of other properties, but those are properties that are not essential to his being a slave. Therefore I erase them. I want to get rid of them; I want to talk only about the pure concept, without side-properties, only the essential properties. Now, what do I do in order to do that? I can do it the way it’s done in philosophy or in the scientific world, through abstraction, by talking about something and these are its properties. In the halakhic world, since we deal with cases, it’s a casuistic world, we try to construct an object in the practical world from which I erase all the irrelevant properties. So if I want to talk about a slave as such, I want to erase the fact that he is a person and that he is mobile, that he walks, and that he is awake, that he has consciousness. So I say: okay, he’s asleep and tied up. What did I do here? I took a certain slave who has all kinds of other properties: desires, thoughts, the ability to walk, he’s also a human being, he has many other properties. But that doesn’t interest me. I want to discuss his property insofar as he is a slave, the property of a slave as such, not this specific slave. I say, okay, let’s tie him up, let’s put him to sleep, and I erase all the other properties. I’m left only with his being a slave. And about that I want to say that a slave is like his master’s courtyard and can acquire for him by the mechanism of acquisition through a courtyard. It’s true that a concrete slave also walks and also has consciousness, so that’s a problem in terms of the laws of acquisition, because in acquisition you need a courtyard guarded with the owner’s awareness and not one that moves. Therefore I say: okay, then let’s tie up the slave and put him to sleep—yes, he’s asleep and tied up. And now what am I left with? I’m left with a courtyard that acquires for the master, and I’ve erased all the practical interfering factors. I tied him up, I put him to sleep. So all the other characteristics—that’s really our way of doing abstraction, of removing characteristics that interfere with the appearance of the pure law. And that is really the concept of ukimta. That’s also what happens in the laboratory, in a scientific experiment. In a lab, what do I do? I try to create a vacuum at zero temperature, which doesn’t happen in the practical world. There’s always some temperature, there’s always air, there are other objects. But I want to see the pure law, so I try to create in the lab a case where there are none of the interfering properties, only the properties that interest me. Only the idea, as close as possible to the Platonic idea. Which is exactly like ukimta. Because the lab is basically our way of doing in practice the same abstraction that I do intellectually. Intellectually I say: okay, let’s talk about a slave who doesn’t walk and doesn’t have consciousness. That’s intellectual. But if I want to draw a picture of such a slave, I say: it’s a slave tied up and asleep. If I do an experiment in the lab and want, as it were, to test the halakhic statement, I can’t do a lab experiment on a Platonic idea. I try to create a reality in our world that will be as close as possible to the Platonic idea without all the other properties. I say: okay, let’s examine what happens with a slave who is tied up and asleep, which is exactly a laboratory experiment. Yes, someone commented before. I’m saying: the laboratory ultimately enables us to lift dozens of tons into the air so they can fly, and so on and so on. What interest does the Mishnah have in getting to the idea of the slave? What does it want to achieve by that? Let it say something simple. I would ask the question the other way around. Fine—the Mishnah and the Talmud want to understand God’s will, the nature of the world, how He created it, and so on—but science? What do I care whether you want to fly in the air or not want to fly in the air? Who cares? Fly in the air. You can present it that way too. The whole question is what matters to you. If what matters to you is understanding the ideas of the divine will, of how He structures the world, what He demands of us, then that’s what matters. If what matters to you is that a courtyard acquires, I’ll say a courtyard acquires. A courtyard acquires. Why take some idea of a slave? A courtyard acquires. My house is a courtyard, it acquires. Why? A courtyard acquires, a courtyard acquires—that I know. I want to make heard that a slave too is a courtyard, not that a courtyard acquires. What interest is there in saying this about a slave? After all, he’ll never do it in his lifetime. He’ll never acquire, because he’ll never be tied up and half asleep in—actually that too is an interest, you know. We really do have an interest. The truth is that a slave is a courtyard—why should I care if it never happens? That doesn’t interest me; my goal isn’t practical. But the Talmud is practical; it discusses— No no no no. That’s a mistake. The Talmud is not practical. That’s exactly the point. The Talmud is exactly like science. It is an attempt to understand abstract ideas. Afterward a technologist will come and apply the abstract general ideas to specific cases, build a machine. The same thing in Jewish law: a halakhic decisor will come and take the abstract principles and apply them to a concrete case and tell you what the Jewish law will be. But the lomdan, the talmudic analyst, his goal is not to know what the Jewish law will be. The lomdan’s goal is to understand the meta-halakhic structure, the metaphysics that underlies Jewish law, the divine wills, the divine ideas. That’s the goal, not a practical goal. It’s a question of fields of interest. There are people whose field of interest is lomdus, conceptual talmudic analysis; there are people whose field of interest is Jewish law. This exists in the halakhic world and in the scientific world too. There are those whose goal is to understand the general principles, to look at all of cosmology, all sorts of things by Hawking and things of that kind. They have no practical application at all; they’re probably not even true. But they’re interesting mathematical games and everyone deals with them because it’s very interesting. A matter of taste; each person according to his areas of interest. Others are laboratory physicists. They want to see how the world works, what happens in practice. So they are experimental physicists. There are theoretical physicists and experimental physicists. In Jewish law too it’s like that. And the Talmud, in my opinion, is more similar to theoretical physics than to practical physics. The practical applications are basically like the lab, in order to clarify the theory—not that the theory is intended so we’ll know what to do in practice, but the opposite. The practical experiments are practical implications that enable me to formulate the theory. And what interests me is the theory. That’s the whole idea we see here in this analysis of ukimtot. But I’ll get to that in a moment. Why doesn’t the Mishnah say that we’re talking about a slave who is tied up? We need the Talmud. There are examples where the ukimta is exactly the opposite of what the Mishnah implies. From the Mishnah it looks as though it’s X, and the Talmud gives an ukimta that it’s not X. Fine, so I say: each topic on its own merits. If there is a specific topic, we can try to think about it. The principle I’m saying is the general principle that in my opinion stands behind the phenomenon of ukimta. Even in places where you see that it’s the opposite of the Mishnah, in my opinion if you think again you’ll see that it’s not the opposite. It’s simply the removal of a side obstacle, but after that it remains the law of the Mishnah in its purity. The law of the Mishnah did not change because of the ukimta. There are examples. But why doesn’t the Mishnah say that we are speaking about a slave who is tied up? That’s what I’m saying, because the Mishnah is not dealing with a tied-up slave. The Mishnah is dealing—it’s true for every slave, not only for a tied-up slave. But it says it through the implication that just as a courtyard can acquire, so too a slave can acquire for his master. That’s only with a slave who is tied up. Therefore the Talmud deals with this in order to examine the example, but what interests the Mishnah is the general idea. That’s the whole point I want to argue. I want to argue that the question I started from—why doesn’t the Mishnah itself say that it is talking about a tied-up slave or a holiday after the Sabbath?—and my answer is: because the Mishnah is not talking about a tied-up slave, nor about a holiday after the Sabbath. It is talking about every holiday and every slave, only it is talking about a slave and a holiday that are abstract ideas, and the Talmud is trying to explain this to us. How? It takes a specific slave and a specific holiday and erases from them all the particular, specific characteristics, leaving us with the general law. That’s the whole idea. Therefore the Mishnah doesn’t need to say all that. The Talmud does it only in order to clarify for us how the example represents the general law. The Mishnah gives the general law. I just want to finish the examples. We have a third example that we encountered at the beginning of the discussion about ukimtot, and that is scorched leaven. So I’ll remind you of the Talmud. It says in the Mishnah as follows, at the beginning of chapter 2 of tractate Pesachim: “At any hour when it is permitted to eat, one may feed it to domesticated animals, wild animals, and birds, and sell it to a gentile, and one may derive benefit from it. Once its time has passed, deriving benefit from it is forbidden.” So what does the Mishnah say? When leaven is permitted, before Passover, you can do with it whatever you want—benefit from it, give it to a gentile, feed it to animals, and so on. After the time passes, it’s forbidden; there are the prohibitions of leaven. Of course the obvious question is what the Talmud asks: “And one may derive benefit from it”—that’s obvious. What is the Mishnah saying? When there is no prohibition, there is no prohibition; and when there is a prohibition, there is a prohibition. Thank you very much, I knew that too. What is the Mishnah coming to say? It isn’t innovating the prohibition of leaven; it presupposes the prohibition of leaven, and it says that before its time the prohibition of leaven does not apply, after its time it does apply. I know that—that’s the whole point of the time of the prohibition of leaven. So what’s obvious? So the Talmud answers: what in general does “one may derive benefit from it” mean? It means feeding it to birds and animals. Yes, yes. So that’s redundant. So what is “and one may derive benefit from it”? I don’t understand. In the first clause it’s an added point. At the beginning I say: you’re also allowed to derive benefit from it yourself. So “one may derive benefit from it” isn’t feeding animals and birds? Feeding animals is maybe a private case—you might say it is included in benefit or not included in benefit. So here you have private cases and afterward a generalization. So why that “and”? Even if that’s what it is, a private case and then a generalization—what’s called detail and general rule—even in the Torah it’s like that. Fine, that doesn’t matter right now; it’s less important for our purposes. There the Talmud makes a tzrikhuta between the wild animal and the domesticated animal. What? There the Talmud makes the tzrikhuta between the domesticated animal and the wild animal. I don’t remember; possibly. In any case, the Talmud asks: why is this needed? It says: “This was needed only for a case where he scorched it before its time, and this teaches us in accordance with Rava, for Rava said: if one scorched it before its time, one may derive benefit from it even after its time.” Meaning, we’re talking about leaven—not about the laws of leaven in general. We’re talking about leaven that he scorched at a time when the prohibition of leaven had not yet begun, before the prohibited time, and they want to teach us Rava’s law: that if the leaven was scorched before the prohibited time, then one may derive benefit from it even after the prohibited time. Say if the prohibited time is ten in the morning, then if the leaven was scorched at nine in the morning, I’m allowed to eat it on Passover itself. But if it was scorched at twelve noon, then I’m forbidden to eat it and derive benefit from it on Passover itself. Everything depends on the question of at what moment it was scorched. Now, what does all this have to do with the Mishnah? The Mishnah teaches me a general law: that before the time, eating and deriving benefit from leaven are permitted; after the time, forbidden. Suddenly they invent for me here that the leaven was scorched before the time and I come to eat it after the time, and that’s what the Mishnah is talking about. Where is all this mentioned in the Mishnah? Where did they invent this strange whole thing from? So I want to suggest an answer to this using the same method, and I want to make the following claim: what the Talmud understands is that what the Mishnah is coming to teach us is that there are really two time axes in the prohibition of leaven. There is one time axis that determines what time the leaven itself belongs to. Is this leaven of nine in the morning, or leaven of one in the afternoon? And there is a time axis that says when I am eating it. If I eat it at nine in the morning, that’s permitted; if I eat it at twelve noon, that’s forbidden. Meaning, the question what time the leaven belongs to—in effect, leaven has some built-in time that this leaven belongs to. This is leaven of nine in the morning, this is leaven of ten, this is leaven of twelve, this is leaven of Wednesday in general, of before, of after. That’s one time axis, the time axis to which I assign the pieces of leaven—which time they belong to. Now this piece, which belongs say to nine in the morning, I can come and eat at one in the afternoon. The time of eating is one in the afternoon, but the piece that I’m eating is a piece of leaven of nine in the morning. And what the Mishnah wants to teach me is that what determines things is the time of the leaven, not the time of eating. The time to which the leaven is assigned—that is what determines things, not the time of eating. Except, when I want to understand or demonstrate, yes, to take a case that will show me where this distinction becomes manifest, it’s very hard to find such a case. Why? Think, say, that I take a piece of bread and eat it at two in the afternoon on the eve of Passover, when the prohibition of leaven already applies. Then it is leaven of two in the afternoon that I eat at two in the afternoon. It happens at the same moment. Every time I eat leaven or derive benefit from leaven, the time axes coincide; there will be no split between the time axes. It will be leaven of two in the afternoon that is eaten at two in the afternoon. How can I create a situation where I split the time axes? I eat at hour X leaven that belongs to hour Y? How can one make such a split? When I eat it at hour X, it is leaven of hour X. This bread doesn’t have a specific moment that it belongs to. If I eat it now, then it’s bread of two in the afternoon. So both the bread is of two in the afternoon and I ate it at two in the afternoon. How can I speak about leaven assigned to a time before the prohibition, which is permitted to eat even after the prohibited time? Whereas if the leaven is assigned to a time after the prohibited time, then it is forbidden leaven, so it is forbidden to eat it after the prohibited time. How, how does this happen? The only way to split these time axes that the Talmud found in practice, when I do abstraction as I said earlier—when I do intellectual abstraction, then here, I described to you what the Mishnah wanted to say, everything is fine. The Mishnah wanted to say that there is a time to which the leaven is assigned, and that time determines whether it is leaven or not. Consequently only leaven assigned to the prohibited time will be forbidden to eat. That’s what the Mishnah wanted to say and everything is fine. If the Mishnah had said that, we could all go home peacefully. But the Mishnah didn’t say that. The Mishnah basically said: at the hour when it is permitted to eat leaven, one may feed it, and so on. What do you mean, at the hour when it is permitted to eat one may feed? Are you telling me there are two time axes? How exactly does this work? So the Talmud says: let me make an ukimta for you. I’ll build you a laboratory case that succeeds in splitting the time axes. And what do I say? I say that leaven—say I completely burned the leaven. If I burned it, then what is before me now is charcoal. It’s not leaven at all. So there is no question what time this leaven is assigned to, because it isn’t leaven at all. There’s no issue; I can eat it, it’s charcoal, it’s not leaven. If the leaven exists as is, nothing happened to it—meaning a piece of bread—then again this is not relevant. Why? Because when I eat it at two in the afternoon, this piece of bread is leaven of two in the afternoon, eaten at two in the afternoon. The only way to split the time axes is the concept of scorching. If I scorch the leaven, the claim is that the leaven was scorched at hour X; that froze its status. Now this is leaven of hour X. From here on, if that hour X is a permitted hour, then this leaven is leaven of a permitted hour. So if it is leaven of a permitted hour, I’m allowed to eat it even during the prohibited time. All that is forbidden to eat during the prohibited time is only leaven assigned to a point in time during the prohibited time. Say, if it was scorched at two in the afternoon, then in effect it is leaven of two in the afternoon—that is already the prohibited time—so it is forbidden leaven. Consequently if I eat it throughout Passover, I violate a prohibition; one must not do that, one must not eat it. Scorching is the practical way to get a split of the time axes. To freeze the point in time to which the leaven is assigned, to freeze it. And it doesn’t continue advancing along the time axis. The time axis keeps advancing, but the leaven remains attached to the moment of scorching. So if I scorched it at nine in the morning, and I got to two in the afternoon, the time axis kept moving, but the leaven is still leaven of nine in the morning, because it was scorched there. From that point on it’s really already a scorched thing; in itself it isn’t leaven. It was leaven at nine in the morning, but since it wasn’t completely burned—if it had been completely burned, then what is before me is unrelated to what was there at nine in the morning; it’s charcoal. Its form changed; it’s no longer relevant; it’s no longer that leaven. But if it was scorched, not completely burned but scorched, that means that in itself it is not leaven, because it is unfit for eating and so on, but it wasn’t completely burned. It is still considered the same object that was here before the scorching at nine in the morning, and therefore the law concerning it is that its temporal assignment is nine in the morning. It is leaven of nine in the morning. Once it is leaven of nine in the morning, I’m permitted to eat it even on Passover itself, because it is leaven assigned to a moment of permission. And that is the meaning of scorching. Scorching stops the ticking of the clock with respect to the leaven, not with respect to me. I continue moving forward; I get to ten, eleven, twelve, two, Passover, intermediate days. I continue moving along the time axis. The scorched leaven is stuck at the moment of scorching. It is leaven of that moment. So if the moment of scorching was at nine in the morning, it is permitted leaven. If the moment of scorching was at twelve noon, it is forbidden leaven, and then it is forbidden to eat it. So here we have another example of an ukimta, where the ukimta is simply trying to explain to me a general idea that appears in the Mishnah. The Mishnah is not talking about scorched leaven. The Mishnah is talking about a general principle: that there are moments to which the leaven is assigned, and those are what determine whether this leaven is permitted or forbidden. Now when I ask in practical terms how that happens, then in every regular case it is not relevant, because the time at which I am is the time to which the leaven is assigned. Why assign it to another time? Only in scorching can there be a situation where I am at two o’clock, but the leaven is assigned to nine in the morning, because it was scorched at nine in the morning. Therefore the ukimta shows me a laboratory case in our world—not intellectual abstraction—in our world. Scorched leaven is basically the idea of leaven assigned to another time axis, to another point in time, not the point at which I am now. Scorching is the practical way of showing that or seeing that in our world. And now I’ll show you this. But I’m not saying, for example, what if it was a gentile’s leaven at that permitted hour? One more time, I didn’t understand. If it was a gentile’s leaven at ten o’clock, it’s not mine, and for example there won’t be a prohibition of leaven over which Passover passed, but during Passover itself I’m still forbidden to eat it. If it belonged to a gentile the whole holiday, correct. Okay. No, but I’m saying, why don’t we determine it according to what it was at ten o’clock? Because a gentile’s leaven, when you encounter it on the holiday, is leaven of the moment when you encountered it. What difference does it make that it belonged to a gentile at nine in the morning? I’m looking for something that freezes the time axis with respect to the leaven. Gentile’s leaven belonged to a gentile at nine in the morning—whose is it now? Now too it belongs to a gentile. Fine, but it is still leaven. When I eat it, I eat leaven. Why should I care that it belongs to a gentile? Gentile’s leaven too is forbidden to eat. Only with regard to the law of leaven over which Passover passed is it relevant that it belonged to a gentile. But regarding the prohibition of eating, gentile’s leaven too is forbidden. Okay, say it is forbidden for benefit and “its measure is considered crushed,” meaning, like leaven of idolatry and as though it doesn’t exist because it is destined to be burned at ten in the morning. Okay. So then do I also say at that moment, since it is destined to be burned at that moment? That’s the question whether “its measure is considered crushed” is something you say regarding the prohibition of eating leaven, and the answer is no. You don’t say it. “Its measure is considered crushed” is said only about things that require a minimum measure. It is not considered burned in every respect. It is considered burned only in the sense that if you wanted an olive-bulk in this leaven, there is no olive-bulk there because “its measure is considered crushed.” But the prohibition of half the minimum measure would still apply. Yes, there is the Maggid Mishneh in chapter 17 of the Laws of Sabbath, he says there: it says a side-post of idolatry, so one cannot use it. So he asks: why? “Its measure is considered crushed.” So he asks why? So he says: after all, in a side-post there is the measure of height, which is ten handbreadths, and there is the width, one handbreadth, but there is no measure for depth. And his claim is that if a certain body has measures for width and height but not for depth, that is not considered a measure. Why? Because in our world a two-dimensional thing has zero mass. It has no measure. In order for it to have mass it needs three dimensions. Therefore when it has only two measures on two axes but not on three, we won’t say about it “its measure is considered crushed.” “Its measure is considered crushed” only means that the quantity of the thing is zero. But it doesn’t really mean it is burned. The prohibition of eating leaven would still apply to it. It may be that there isn’t an olive-bulk here. Meaning, if you ate it, you didn’t eat an olive-bulk for the purpose of lashes or something like that, but there would still be a prohibition—it’s leaven. Okay? Therefore the mechanism the Talmud finds is only the mechanism of scorching. I don’t know, maybe there’s something else, but the Talmud found scorching. Because scorching really can freeze the status of the leaven. One must remember: after I scorch this piece of bread, the final state is not a state of leaven. There is no prohibition of eating on this piece when it is scorched. But since it was not burned completely, it is still considered the same object as the piece of bread it was before scorching. If it had been burned completely, then it would no longer be the same object; it would be another object. But since it is considered the same object, the prohibition did not leave it. So it is not because of the piece itself—when I eat it now I am not eating leaven. It is only because it was leaven before, before it was scorched, that it is considered as though I am now eating leaven. But that already depends on the question when it was scorched—at nine in the morning or at twelve noon. And therefore scorching does the job. I don’t see something else that can do the job. But again, it’s only an example. In the end they are telling me a general idea here. Scorching is the way this idea can be encountered in our world. Look at this in the medieval authorities (Rishonim). I’ll bring you two. The Meiri writes as follows: “And the fact that it afterward mentioned ‘and one may derive benefit from it,’ there was no need for this at all, and it is obvious. Therefore they explained in the Talmud: even after the time of its prohibition, and in a case where he scorched it before its prohibition, so that it would leave the category of food.” Notice: if I scorched the leaven, it left the category of food. The scorched bread is not leaven. The problem is that it was bread before it was scorched. And it wasn’t completely burned, yes, that’s what he says. “Meaning, that it was scorched even inside, and benefit from it is permitted, such as using it for fuel or something else. And the same law applies to eating—it is permitted—because even its eating is not eating after it has left the category of food, for no prohibition applies to it at all since it is mere dust.” He says—and then he continues—“But if one scorched it after its time, it is forbidden for any benefit.” And that is the big question: why? If you tell me that a scorched thing is no longer leaven and no benefit and nothing, then why should I care whether it was scorched after the prohibited time? Even now you’re eating scorched leaven. He says: no, since the prohibition of leaven had already taken hold of it before the scorching, and the scorching was after the prohibited time—meaning this piece of bread was already bread during Passover and only afterward was scorched—then the prohibition attached to it. So he says: “Its prohibition does not lapse except after complete burning and not scorching,” meaning that it becomes coals, “and in that case it is completely permitted even after its time, for all things that are burned, their ashes are permitted, and coals have the same law as ashes. But if it did not reach that point, even though it was completely scorched—not burned but scorched—it is forbidden, because every prohibition of benefit took hold of it and does not lapse.” He says exactly what I said before. Namely? If you’re talking to me about bread that was completely burned, then what stands before me now, first, is not leaven, and second, it isn’t connected to the bread that existed—it is another object, a new entity has come here. Eat it, do whatever you want, benefit from it; it doesn’t matter, it isn’t leaven at all. If you are talking about a normal piece of bread to which nothing happened, then of course right now you cannot eat it because it is present bread, complete leaven bread of right now. But with scorching something interesting happens. Scorching in itself practically turns the bread into something unfit for eating. It’s not complete burning, but it’s enough to spoil the bread. So this scorched bread, this toast, yes, completely scorched—there is no prohibition of leaven in it in itself. Except what? What’s the problem? The problem is that before it was scorched, it was leaven, it was forbidden. And scorching is not complete burning, meaning it does not turn it into another object; it is still the same object. Now, it’s true that this object underwent a change and in its current state it is not leaven, but since it is the same object, and that object was forbidden for benefit before the scorching, the prohibition of benefit did not lapse from it because it is the same object. In complete burning, the prohibition of benefit lapses not because the prohibition of benefit flies away, but because the object disappeared; the burned object is another object. But the scorched object is the same object that existed. So true, in its current state it would not become prohibited, but since it is the same object that existed, the status of what it was remains; it does not lapse. So if it was scorched before the prohibited time, then since beforehand it was permitted, now too go ahead and eat it. From the standpoint of the object in its current state, it is scorched, it is not leaven; and from the standpoint of what it was before the scorching, that was before the prohibited time, so the leaven was permitted; therefore you are allowed to eat it. But if it was scorched at 12 noon, then from the standpoint of what it is now, it is scorched, it is not leaven, no problem. But until 12 o’clock it was bread, it was leaven, and the prohibition of benefit attached to it, and scorching is not burning. Scorching does not change it into another object. So the prohibition of benefit remains in it even though in its current state that is not justified—it is no longer leaven. But the prohibition of benefit remains in it, and therefore you are forbidden to eat it. Its status at the moment of scorching—the scorching freezes it, and from then on that is the status of the leaven. It’s like the prohibition of leaven over which Passover has passed, do you hear? In a certain sense it is; there too you see—rabbinically, admittedly—but you see that we freeze the prohibition of the leaven even at a stage where there is no longer a prohibition. But that is a rabbinic law, something a bit different; here we are talking about a Torah-level law. Not a rabbinic enactment. It’s the definition of the prohibition of leaven. Now look—maybe you’ll see—look at a different formulation. The Maharam Chalava there in Pesachim, one of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) with novellae on Pesachim, says as follows, explaining it differently from the Meiri: “And Rava said: if one scorched it before its time, deriving benefit from it is permitted after its time. Meaning, he scorched it until he removed it from the category of bread and it became unfit even for a dog’s consumption, but it still has the form of bread, although in terms of eating it is unfit to eat. Deriving benefit from it is permitted after its time. And it says ‘deriving benefit from it’ because it is unfit to eat, but the same law applies if one wishes to eat it, for it is mere dust.” Yes, when they say “benefit from it is permitted” they mean eating too is permitted; it’s just that such a thing people don’t eat, it’s unfit for eating, so they talk about benefit. But in principle you can eat it too. Now look what he says: “And specifically if he scorched it before its time, but after its time, since it became forbidden once because of leaven, it is forever forbidden.” Do you see the freezing? The moment it was in the prohibited time, when it was scorched, it is forever forbidden—its status was frozen. But now look at the explanation. His explanation is different from the Meiri’s. Why? The Meiri argues that this object itself has a prohibition of benefit on it, the prohibition of benefit that was on it before the scorching still remains in it, because the scorching did not turn it into another object. True, the scorching took it out of the category of food, but it is still the same piece of bread that it was before the scorching. And if that piece of bread was scorched during the prohibited time, then the prohibition already attached to it, and the prohibition remains even on the scorched bread, so when you eat it now, you are really eating leaven. But that is the Meiri. The Maharam Chalava does not say that. The Maharam Chalava says: when you eat it now, it turns out that you are benefiting from the piece of bread of twelve o’clock. Do you understand the idea? And this applies in prohibitions of benefit generally; one should know this, it comes up in many contexts. In prohibitions of benefit, for example when we talk about a prohibition of benefit that also grips its monetary value—yes, the money received for orlah produce. So orlah is a prohibition of benefit. I sold it, and now I have money. The money too is forbidden for benefit; it has been seized by the prohibition of the orlah in exchange for which it was given to me. But there is a dispute about what this means. Does it mean the money itself is forbidden for benefit, or does it mean that when I benefit from the money, that itself constitutes deriving benefit from the orlah? After all, I am benefiting from the orlah. How did I benefit? I sold it, received money, and with that money I bought a pretzel. So basically I extracted benefit from the fruits of orlah. It’s not that the money itself is forbidden. The money itself isn’t forbidden. But if I benefit from the money, then indirectly I really benefited from the fruits of orlah. The fruits of orlah are what gave me the money, and all the benefits I derive from the money are really benefits that I derived from the fruits of orlah. That is another conception of the way monetary value is seized by a prohibition of benefit. The same thing happens here. The Maharam Chalava claims that when you eat now the scorched piece of bread, you’re not really benefiting—the prohibition is not on the scorched bread. The prohibition is on the bread before the scorching. It’s just that you scorched it and now eat it; this is really your way of deriving benefit from that piece of bread that existed then. Right. After all, how did I benefit from that piece of bread at twelve o’clock? I scorched it and an hour later I ate it. So in the end I ate that piece of bread. Meaning, I derived benefit from that piece of bread, and therefore it is forbidden. This is not like the Meiri. He really is not speaking truly about freezing time—the Maharam Chalava. He does not claim that you freeze the status and that in fact the piece of scorched bread now is gripped by the same prohibition that was on it before the scorching. No. There is no prohibition on it. This is not a forbidden piece. It’s not leaven and nothing. Rather, when you eat it, then it turns out that you derived benefit from the bread that existed before the scorching. You just didn’t eat it directly, but scorched it and then ate it. In the end you have in your stomach that bread that existed before the scorching. Why should I care that you played tricks on the way, scorched it and waited? In the end, you benefited from that same piece of bread. So the prohibition of benefit was really violated on the bread that existed then, not on the piece now. The piece now is not a prohibition. I’ll give you a practical difference between the two formulations. The Ritva in the same sugya asks: what happens if the leaven was scorched in the sixth hour? You know that in the sixth hour—until the sixth hour leaven is permitted for eating and benefit. In the sixth hour itself it is forbidden to eat but permitted for benefit. And after the sixth hour it is forbidden both to eat and to derive benefit. The Ritva says this: if you scorched the leaven in the sixth hour, yes? Then now, if you come now to eat it or derive benefit from it during Passover, eating it would be forbidden and deriving benefit from it would be permitted. What does that mean? How did he understand? Clearly like the Meiri. Because what is he saying in effect? That the scorching freezes the status that the bread had at the moment of scorching. What was that status? That it was forbidden to eat but permitted for benefit. So that is what remains. And if you derive benefit from it during Passover, even though leaven is forbidden by Torah law for benefit, but a scorched piece is not leaven. Except what? The status it had before the scorching was frozen. And what was that status? That it was forbidden to eat and permitted for benefit. That is the status that remains for the whole holiday. You are allowed to derive benefit and forbidden to eat. Yes, if they ask you a riddle: how can there be leaven on Passover that is permitted for benefit but forbidden to eat? Here is an example. By Torah law, not only rabbinically. This is the example according to the Ritva. And according to the Maharam Chalava, since it’s basically an extension of the leaven itself, then the benefit too— According to the Maharam Chalava, you are really now deriving benefit from leaven. At this time it is forbidden to derive benefit from leaven. It doesn’t matter that then it was permitted to derive benefit from it. The benefit is being derived right now, and right now even benefit from leaven is forbidden, not only eating leaven. So these are two conceptions, but behind both of them sits a similar idea. And the idea is—the Rabbi’s explanation of the Meiri is very innovative, no? When we learned this in yeshiva, I remember that nobody explained it that way. Everyone explained it like the Maharam Chalava. That’s why we’re here. So the claim in the end—I’ll tell you more than that—I think the Meiri is also more reasonable. Like I said in tractate Beitzah, if you remember from the previous lesson, I discussed Rashi and the Rashba there and tried to show you a way… the analysis of the concept of ukimta—who of the two makes a more reasonable claim. And I said that the one who says that the ukimta in the Mishnah removes a side obstacle is more correct. The Rashba at first glance is not right, and then I explained why one can nevertheless understand him too, but in principle he’s not right. Why? Because according to the Rashba, then the Mishnah deals with a holiday after the Sabbath, and its whole novelty is that on a holiday after the Sabbath you are violating the Sabbath if you eat the egg. Meaning, the whole law is stated only about a holiday after the Sabbath; it is not a general law about a holiday. But an ukimta doesn’t bring me the main law. That can’t be; how can you make an ukimta if it’s the main law? The Mishnah should have said it. According to Rashi it makes very good sense, because according to Rashi the ukimta tells me only that it has to be after the Sabbath because if it’s a regular holiday, then I’m allowed to eat the egg because it was prepared from before the holiday. But the law that one may not eat food not prepared is true for every holiday. Therefore the Mishnah doesn’t need to say that we are talking about a holiday after the Sabbath; it is talking about every holiday, as with every slave, not tied up and asleep. There is no need to establish it after the Sabbath. The Talmud says yes, but regarding the preparation of a specific egg, you need to establish it after the Sabbath, because regarding an egg, if it is not after the Sabbath, then the egg is prepared and one would be allowed to eat it on the holiday. So the ukimta comes only to explain why the example demonstrates the general idea, and therefore Rashi is reasonable and the Rashba is not. And then I explained why I think the Rashba too can be understood through the continuation of the Talmud. The same thing I want to claim here. What comes out according to the Meiri? According to the Meiri, everything I said earlier comes out: that the Talmud understood that the Mishnah is trying to split the two time axes. There is the time axis to which the leaven belongs, and there is the time axis in which the act of eating is performed. And usually they go together. When I perform the act of eating, the leaven belongs to that same moment as well. But scorching is the way I succeed in splitting between the two time axes. The scorching freezes the leaven’s time axis, but the eating time axis follows real time—the time keeps running. So if so, the ukimta of scorching is excellent, because the ukimta of scorching really shows me a specific example of an idea in the Mishnah that is a general idea; it does not deal specifically with scorching. Even with regular leaven, the prohibition is because of the time of the leaven, not because of the time of eating. It’s just that with regular leaven the time of eating and the time of the leaven are the same moment, so you won’t see any practical difference from that statement. But that statement is true of all leaven, not only scorched leaven. So according to the Meiri it makes sense to make an ukimta of scorching because the novelty is not stated about scorched leaven; the novelty is stated about all leaven. Scorched leaven is the laboratory case in which we can discern that novelty, see its implications. By contrast, according to the Maharam Chalava, this is weaker. According to the Maharam Chalava, there is some novelty here about scorching; it is not a novelty of splitting time axes, because you really want to tell me that scorching leaven and then eating it still counts as deriving benefit from the slice that was there at twelve o’clock. So that is a novelty about the act of scorching. A novelty about the act of scorching—so why didn’t the Mishnah say that it was talking about scorched leaven? Here it is not coming to remove a side obstacle. So one can also bring the Maharam Chalava closer to the Meiri, but I just want to continue showing you how understanding the mechanism of ukimta can help us understand the sugya better and reject views or prefer some views over others, because according to those views the ukimta functions more properly. So it affects the way I understand the sugya; it’s not just an answer to why an ukimta is not something forced, but once one understands this mechanism of ukimta, one can also understand what the correct interpretation in the sugya is and reject incorrect interpretations. Okay, someone wanted to comment earlier? I have a completely different question. What am I hearing? A completely different question. Next time or something—there’s also the Mishnah in “one who places the jug.” You want, wait, what? Next time you can talk about it. I haven’t finished the lesson yet. Okay, not today, another day. Fine, remind me at the end of the lesson about that question, I’m still in the middle of the lesson. I want questions if there’s something on this matter. My question is whether this is specifically about leaven, or whether it applies to other things too. For example, what if I vow that I won’t derive benefit from bread, and then the bread gets scorched—it’s no longer fit for eating. Would we say the same thing there too? Fascinating question. I think yes, I think yes. I haven’t thought about it, but I think yes, because what is said here is not… the category in, I think, it’s not a category in the laws—I mean, it doesn’t seem to me specifically a category in the laws of leaven. There is no verse in the laws of leaven saying something here, and no special verse is brought here either. It is probably a general conception in prohibitions of benefit, I think. Interesting question; I need to think about it, I hadn’t thought about it. Because according to this there really are many practical implications. I don’t know anyone who says this, and we need to see—I haven’t searched enough in the commentators there around the sugya. We need to check it. Interesting question. Anyway, so that is the third example, the third sugya in which we saw the ukimta, and I tried to explain both the logic behind the ukimta and the gain in this conception. And the gain is that from the logic of the ukimta I can understand how to understand the sugya correctly and how not to understand the sugya. That is, in many sugyot one can see that the correct understanding of the mechanism of ukimta can help us decipher the sugya itself. It’s not just excuses so that we can make peace with the ukimta and say that it isn’t illogical, but it sheds a completely different light on the whole sugya. Now I want to make a few comments just to conclude this matter of ukimtot. First, maybe specifically regarding this case of splitting time axes. The concept of splitting time axes—I spoke about it on my website too, I won’t go into it at length—but splitting time axes appears elsewhere too, for example when we talk about time travel. And what is time travel? Yakir Aharonov from physics at Tel Aviv, he plays around a lot with time travel—whether it is possible to travel back in time, relativity, quanta, all sorts of things like that. The concept of time travel in itself is a contradictory concept. What is time travel? Say I am now on Monday. Can I return to Sunday? What does it mean to return to Sunday? Yesterday I was on Sunday. What does “return” mean? Return means to be on Sunday after Monday. Because to be on Sunday before Monday—fine, yesterday I was on Sunday, that was before Monday. Time travel means I go to Sunday, but I will be on Sunday at a moment that is after Monday, not before Monday. But I don’t understand—Sunday is before Monday. It’s just an oxymoron. It’s a round triangle. I want to be on Sunday that is after Monday. Conceptually, that isn’t defined. It’s not a question in physics—whether one can time travel or cannot time travel. It’s simply conceptual confusion. To travel in time means to be yesterday on Sunday. I was yesterday on Sunday, fine, so what’s the problem? You want to be after Monday and return to Sunday? What does that mean? If you are on Sunday, then you are before Monday, not after Monday. It’s clear that when we talk about time travel—and one can expand greatly on this, in physics and in philosophy; in the fourth volume of Talmudic Logic we talk about the philosophy and logic of time, in the Talmud and generally. And there I elaborated on this issue, but here I’ll say briefly: here too, in fact, there is a splitting of time axes. There is some time axis that keeps advancing all the time forward; let’s call it tau, the tau axis. At tau equals one I am on Sunday, at tau equals two I am on Monday, and at tau equals three I am on Tuesday. Okay? The claim of time travel says that I can be at an earlier point in time, t equals one, when tau equals three. Meaning, Monday is tau equals two and t equals two. On the internal time axis too, tau equals two, and tau keeps running forward. So when tau equals three, in principle I ought to be on Tuesday, so t too would equal three. Then there is time travel, and it says no—when tau equals three, I will be at t equals one. Only if I’m talking about a splitting of time axes does the concept of time travel become conceptually coherent. I’m not talking now about whether one can do this physically. That is a question in physics. I’m asking about the very definition of the question. The question is not defined at all before I answer whether it’s physically possible or impossible—first explain to me what the question is. The question isn’t defined. If there aren’t two time axes, you can’t define the question. You have to assume two time axes: one time axis that always runs forward, and another time axis on which I can reach all sorts of points, but that can take place over all sorts of points of the internal time axis, the one that always runs forward. Yes, think that when we speak—I once had some discussion on the radio with a woman, Sara B—if I remember right, she had some Friday-night program and once invited me for an hour to talk about time, philosophy of time. So there I told her: when we say that I’m advancing forward, I walked a kilometer forward, what do I really mean? I was at location X equals one at time t equals zero and at X equals two at time t equals one, right? At a later time I advanced to another place. That is called advancing in space. Advancing in the virtues of Torah and reverence is also like that—I was righteous at such-and-such a level at time zero and I’m righteous at such-and-such a level at time one. Advancement is always along a time axis. What do we mean when we say that time itself advances? Along what does it advance? Everything that advances advances along a time axis. When I say that the time axis itself advances, that time flows—flows along what? Every flow takes place along a time axis. This whole feeling of time as flowing, unlike space which is static—that feeling is based on the existence of two time axes. There is a time axis relative to which our psychological time advances. Yes, when you enjoy yourself, time passes quickly; when you suffer, it passes slowly, right? What does it mean that it passes quickly or slowly? Relative to which axis am I measuring slow or fast? This takes an hour and that takes an hour, so what does it mean that one passes quickly or slowly? It means that time flows quickly or flows slowly. Flows relative to what? It flows relative to some basic axis that is objective—it doesn’t change, it just keeps going—and relative to it I can go fast or go slowly. And Aharonov’s question is whether I can also go backward, not just slowly. But all this is only if I accept the fact that there is a split between two time axes, that time consists of two dimensions and not one, just as space has three dimensions, time has two dimensions, and spacetime has five dimensions—that is basically the claim. Now, this split that the Talmud makes here—I am not claiming they had relativity or a philosophy of time travel—but this split that the Talmud makes here between two time axes is basically such an insight implicitly. They are basically assuming that there are two time axes here and they can be detached from one another. One will flow forward—the axis on which I perform the act—and the axis to which I assign the leaven can stop, go backward, flow more slowly forward; all sorts of things can happen to it. That is the meaning of splitting time axes. Just one sentence to finish the move: I’ll return once again to the important point with which I opened today. This whole mechanism of ukimta basically teaches us that the Talmud grasps the Mishnah in a Platonic way. That is why I bring this in this series, because what it is really saying is that when you speak to me about a slave, or a holiday, or a time of prohibition and permission for leaven, this is not speaking at all about the reality you see here. Leaven at nine o’clock, leaven at twelve o’clock—that’s obvious, those are the things we see before our eyes. That is not what we are talking about. We are talking about some abstract idea of leaven that at two o’clock is assigned to nine in the morning. Only in the Platonic world of ideas can such a thing exist. There is no such leaven in our world, unless one manages to produce some pathological special laboratory situation in which time freezes—the time of the leaven, not the time of the act of eating. And that’s the exceptional case. Or when I talk about a slave, I talk about a Platonic slave—the slave, yes, the idea of slavery. Not a slave who is also a person and walks and has consciousness and everything. So I tie him up and put him to sleep and so on—why? Because that is the laboratory situation that simulates the Platonic concept with which Jewish law deals. And the whole idea of the Talmud and of the Mishnah is that we are really clarifying a Platonic truth. We are not clarifying reality in our world. Our world—“from my flesh I behold God”—our world lets me produce laboratory situations that demonstrate for me what really happens in the Platonic worlds. But what interests me when I study Torah or conceptual talmudic analysis is what happens in the Platonic worlds. I ask about the laws that govern the concept of the ideal slave, the concept of the ideal holiday, the concept of the ideal leaven or ideal leaven-time. Not about leaven at some concrete time here, or a concrete slave here, or a concrete holiday here. No. Those are concrete things; they don’t interest us. We are interested in Platonic ideas. Reality is recalcitrant, it is complicated. In order to approach the Platonic idea, I need to create a special laboratory situation in which I try to freeze parameters that interfere and leave only the essential Platonic parameters. Therefore, a good understanding of the concept of ukimta sharpens for us the character of the Talmud and of the Mishnah in general—their Platonic character. And basically our goal is to clarify abstract Platonic philosophical meta-legal issues. Legal issues. Law is only the technology, the practical applications of the meta-legal theories. I’ll conclude, with your permission, with one sentence. In the Thursday classes, right now, we are dealing with this point. So next time I’ll touch on it—since there are people who are in both series, I’ll do it briefly. And this actually fits exactly with this point in this series, because there I’ll talk about rabbinic laws versus Torah laws, and basically I want to claim that in Torah laws there is a Platonic lambda, and in rabbinic laws there isn’t. That’s the claim. Fine, but we’ll talk about that next time. Now you can ask questions not connected to this. According to this theory, then all Torah study, Talmud study—there really is no Torah study among the Jewish people, there is only Talmud study. So this is meant for philosophers, not for the whole nation. How did they turn “you shall meditate on it day and night” into something for every fool who barely knows what day it is? This is what’s called lomdus; it’s not for philosophers, it’s for lomdanim. No, but we just brought this out now, we explained that it’s really meant for—let’s call it conceptual scholars—but really for a very small percentage of the people who are capable of rising to discuss utopia. In every yeshiva, in every yeshiva, when they deal with lomdus, they’re not memorizing the Kitzur Shulchan Arukh. When they deal with lomdus, they deal with this. Everyone according to his level—what difference does it make? But still everyone deals with it. Because this whole split in yeshivot between in-depth study and Jewish law study—what does that really mean? The goal of in-depth study is not practical halakhic ruling. I want to understand the halakhic metaphysics. Therefore I raise possibilities and ideas and discuss crazy cases of wheat that came down through the air and a flying camel, yes, a flying camel, and all sorts of things of that kind. And that’s what they deal with in yeshivot. Why? Because I’m not interested in flying camels. I’m interested in what idea the flying camel represents. Yes, but how many people are in the philosophical domain—a tiny handful of people capable of understanding this? Here every child from age five already has to sit and learn things that he has no chance of understanding according to this, if that’s what it all is. Everyone who studies in yeshiva deals with this. You’re mistaken. Everyone according to his level. Fine; in philosophy too there are people at different levels, but everyone who studies in yeshiva deals with this. Almost everyone. It’s not true that this is only for rare elites, absolutely not. A student may perhaps reach higher levels. Fine, in every field it’s like that. Yes. But the issue of the time axis also isn’t so clear to me. I don’t think that… I mean, I don’t understand how, why one needs to reach the conclusion that there is a time axis at all. The whole measurement of time is a human convention; everyone basically decided… Time runs for me. You’re raising interesting philosophical questions. The conception you’re presenting here is the Kantian conception, which says that space and time are only forms of human perception; in reality itself there is no space and time, no axes as you call them. Okay? There are people who also want to claim this on the basis of relativity. But that’s a mistake. Relativity says exactly the opposite. And in my opinion Kant too is wrong. Space and time are not our forms of perception, but things that exist in reality itself. By the way, in Jewish law there are indications of this; there are practical implications through which I can show that this is the halakhic conception. For example, one can attach a prohibition to time. And attaching prohibitions is done only to an object. How can one attach a prohibition to time? “It shall be upon me like the day on which Gedaliah son of Achikam died.” So that is an attachment. Now the day on which Gedaliah son of Achikam died is a time. If time were not an object, not a thing, it would be impossible to attach something to it. Attach? I didn’t understand. Attach, attach a vow. I attach a vow. You can vow that this thing is forbidden, and you can transfer prohibition from this thing to that thing. Those are two forms of vow. Never mind, these are practical implications through which one can see that the halakhic conception is not a Kantian conception. And in the kabbalistic world, by the way, the Baal HaLeshem speaks about how space and time are the foundation of kingship of the world above us. What is the foundation of kingship? Foundation is the means of reproduction. Kingship is the woman. Yes, Ze’er Anpin is the man and Kingship is the woman. The woman’s reproductive organ is the womb. The foundation of kingship is the womb. And the claim is that the space and time of our world actually belong to the womb of the world that is our mother. Meaning, for us this is something abstract. Why? Because in its essence it belongs to a world more abstract than our world, the world above us. Therefore we grasp it as something that isn’t real. It doesn’t really exist. Because in our world it doesn’t really exist; it’s here. But it does exist. It exists at the level of abstraction of the world above us. That is the foundation of kingship, the womb of our mother, the mother of our world. The womb is of course the framework within which our whole world lives. So space and time are the framework within which we act and think—our entire world. Therefore it is clear that space and time will not belong to our world, because they are the framework within which our world acts. So by definition they belong to the world above us, within which we are located. And in the kabbalistic metaphor this is the foundation of kingship—the womb of the world above us. Rabbi, Rabbi Amiel, I don’t remember his last name, Avigdor—Rabbi Avigdor Amiel—I remember there was a period when he said exactly this. Okay, I don’t know him. Fine. Okay, there was another question here earlier about… Next time, to talk about the Mishnah in “one who places the jug.” What? There it seems there is a rule that when someone places the obstacle and someone hits it… “One who fills the public domain with barrels”? Yes, the first Mishnah in “one who places.” “One who fills the public domain with barrels”—the one who breaks them is exempt. The Talmud asks: that’s not reasonable, this sounds like a rule. And now the Talmud says it’s not reasonable, gives several ukimtot, and there is another view: no, the Mishnah really is right. So there are ukimtot, and there is someone who says: I don’t accept them. The Mishnah as it is is already correct, and the Mishnah itself is like a rule, not an example. It’s a rule that whenever there are two people, the one who breaks it is exempt. So, without making a vow, I’ll try to devote some time to that at the beginning of the next lesson if you’d like. It will simply be another sugya in which I’ll try to demonstrate the concept of ukimta. I think there it’s actually pretty easy to see it, but I need to get into the sugya and examine it more deeply. But it’s an example where there is an ukimta and there is someone who says I don’t believe in it. That in itself doesn’t bother me. The fact that people understand the Mishnah differently is not important. One understands the Mishnah literally and another claims that the Mishnah is coming to teach me some general Platonic idea. That’s like any other interpretive dispute. It doesn’t contradict what I said. Each of those views separately—you have to understand the ukimta it makes. The dispute itself is not what bothers me. But the Mishnah there is itself already Platonic; it’s not an example. The Mishnah itself is like a rule. Right, exactly. I’m saying that the existence of a dispute shouldn’t bother us. With each of the views we need to understand how its ukimta works. That is something to discuss. The mere fact that there is a dispute—so what? That shouldn’t bother us. But the Mishnah seems to give a rule that he is exempt, and the Talmud says the rule is exactly the opposite. It’s exactly an example where it’s exactly the opposite of the rule of the Mishnah. And that is the problem of ukimta, and without making a vow I’ll try to find a bit of time this week to get into that, and in the next lesson I’ll try to speak about it. And also something completely different—regarding the axis of time—in the laws of repentance there are people who say that repentance works retroactively, as it were. Although there I think it isn’t necessary. Because one can say that repentance cleans the… that’s how the author of the Tanya explains it. That repentance cleans the spiritual filth I accumulated from my sins, but once I repent it gets cleaned away. So history does not continue to accompany me, but I haven’t changed anything backward in time. Soloveitchik, okay. Okay, fine. So, Sabbath peace, goodbye, good tidings. Sabbath peace, thank you very much. Rabbi, so now every Friday? No no no, this was simply a lesson… The one who gives this lesson once every two weeks, the alternating lesson, couldn’t. So I filled in for him. Next week I don’t know if there will be one; we need to check with the person organizing it. Thank you very much, Rabbi. Sabbath peace. Sabbath peace.