Lesson 4: Category 2 — The Third Root

From the book Roots Outstretched by Rabbi Michael Avraham. Translated from Hebrew using gpt-5.4 (reasoning_effort=high, batch API).

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The Third Root

On the Nature of Time in Halakha (Jewish law) and in General

In the introduction, we defined five different categories of roots, and noted that we would discuss the roots in their conceptual order rather than in the order established by Maimonides himself. The first category included principles for excluding mitzvot (commandments) from the count on the basis of halakhic validity, and it included only the first two roots, which we have discussed until now. The second category includes roots that concern the axis of time and its significance. This category includes the third root and the thirteenth root, which states that the different days on which we are obligated in a commandment are not to be counted as separate mitzvot. The present article deals with the third root, in which Maimonides establishes the principle that commandments that do not apply throughout the generations are not to be counted, such as the command given to Moses in the wilderness to place a bronze serpent on a pole, and the like. Our next article will deal with the thirteenth root, and thereby we will conclude the second category.

At first glance, this root seems to stand between the first two roots, which dealt with the essence and halakhic validity of various mitzvot, and the roots that follow it, where the discussion becomes more technical and no longer concerns halakhic validity directly: which mitzvot are counted and which are not. Why is this root located between those categories? Seemingly, temporary commandments are not regarded as mitzvot even if one were to count them, since no one is trying to argue that there is some currently binding commandment to erect a bronze serpent or place manna in a jar. It would therefore seem that the question discussed in this root is technical, or interpretive, in essence: in Rabbi Simlai’s statement, are such commandments included in his count of 613 or not? On the other hand, as we shall see, the very initial assumption that they might be counted raises the possibility that perhaps they do have significance for future generations after all—for otherwise, why were they written in the Torah at all?

It would appear that here too Maimonides is confronting the position of Behag, the author of Halakhot Gedolot. Yet, as we shall see, all the commentators agree that even Behag does not fundamentally disagree with him. This root is accepted by all the enumerators of the mitzvot. Let us recall what we wrote in the introduction, where we showed from Maimonides’ opening remarks in the first root that he surveys only roots that are non-trivial, or else cases in which Behag erred—according to Maimonides, of course—even if the matter itself is trivial. The answer to the question of why Maimonides saw fit to discuss this root, although the principle established in it appears trivial, probably lies in the differences between him and Behag on this issue. But as we shall see below, there is also much to clarify regarding the principles underlying Maimonides’ formulation here, and they are not nearly as trivial as they seem at first glance.

A. The Course of the Discussion

Introduction

As noted, the motivation for this root is the position of Behag, who includes temporary commandments in his count. In the course of his discussion, Maimonides cites commandments that Behag counted and thereby “erred in this root,” such as: “They shall not come to see the holy things as they are covered,” “He shall no longer serve” (with regard to Levites from age fifty and up), “the levy offering,” “the dedication of the altar,” and so forth.

In the course of his objections to Behag, Maimonides also mentions a number of other temporary commandments, such as: “Let no man leave any of it until morning,” regarding the manna; “Do not harass Moab, and do not provoke them to war”; “Make yourself a fiery serpent”; “Take a jar and put manna in it”; and the like.

Maimonides’ arguments against Behag

At the outset, Maimonides justifies the principle proposed in this root by interpretive arguments:

Know that the statement of the sages in Babylonian Talmud, Makkot 23b, “Six hundred and thirteen commandments were said to Moses at Sinai,” indicates that this number is the number of commandments that apply throughout the generations. For commandments that do not apply throughout the generations have no connection to Sinai, whether they were said at Sinai or elsewhere.

At first glance, one might have argued that temporary commandments were not given at Sinai, since they were said only for their particular time and place, when they were needed. But this is not Maimonides’ claim, since the entire Torah was given at Sinai, and that presumably included the temporary commandments as well.

Maimonides’ point here is that with regard to commandments that do not apply throughout the generations, it is meaningless to say that they were said to Moses at Sinai. They were said only for their time, and therefore it does not matter when they were given. Only with commandments that apply throughout the generations does it make sense to say that although they bind future generations, they are not later inventions; rather, their source is the revelation at Sinai.¹

A further argument raised by Maimonides is that these commandments are called, in the verse cited there in the sugya in Makkot, a “heritage.” Only commandments that apply throughout the generations can be called a heritage, in the sense of an inheritance. Commandments that do not apply throughout the generations are not an inheritance for future generations.

Maimonides brings another interpretive proof from the midrash (rabbinic exposition), which he also cites in his introduction: every day, each limb tells a person to avoid sin. With regard to commandments that do not apply throughout the generations, it is impossible to say “every day,” since they were said only for their own an hour.²

At the end of the root, Maimonides adds another argument against Behag: if we were to count all such commandments, the total number of mitzvot would rise by many hundreds, and even Behag himself did not count many of these commandments.

Comparing the moves made in the first three roots

The line of argument we have described thus far is very similar to what we saw in the first root, concerning the inclusion of rabbinic commandments in the count of mitzvot. There too Maimonides attacked Behag on the basis of the wording of Rabbi Simlai’s dictum—that only mitzvot said “at Sinai” are counted—and afterward on the basis of the fact that if one counted all rabbinic commandments, the total would become grossly inflated. He also attacks Behag for inconsistency, since he did not count all rabbinic commandments.

Against that background, it is interesting to note that in the second root the attack is of a different character. There Maimonides does not raise the claim that if one counts all commandments derived through interpretation, the total would rise to the thousands—even though he himself opens that root by stating that most Torah laws emerge from exegetical derivations by means of the thirteen hermeneutic principles. This seems to be further support for what we argued in the previous article: in practice, even without Maimonides’ argument, most laws derived through interpretation are not included in the tally of mitzvot, because they are subsumed within other mitzvot. We said this regarding derivations that merely generate details within other commandments or prohibitions. If those prohibitions are counted, then their details certainly do not constitute separate mitzvot. Maimonides’ remarks therefore concern only derivations that generate genuinely novel laws—and similarly with laws transmitted to Moses at Sinai, as we wrote there. This is one of the main reasons that one can hardly find traces of that Maimonidean innovation in his Mishneh Torah.

We should add that in passing Maimonides notes that Behag was forced to count such commandments “because his capacity was constrained,” that is, because the count did not fit neatly into the total of 613. This is also evident at the end of this root, where Maimonides says, in explaining Behag’s position, that he “took one or another of them merely as an aid when he wearied himself seeking the number.” Here we find two examples of the principle we established in the introduction, in the name of Rabbi Yerucham Fishel Perla: the count of the mitzvot is significant primarily as a way of deciding what to include and what to exclude. The halakhic implications emerge only incidentally from the constraints of the total count, not as direct consequences of the act of counting itself.

The absence of a substantive argument

All of these are interpretive arguments in essence. Beyond them, one would expect a more substantive claim—one that reflects the essential position that does not regard such temporary commands as mitzvot at all. These “mitzvot” are nothing more than historical descriptions of commands from the past, not mitzvot in the ordinary sense, since they impose no present obligation upon us. It seems that this, more than anything else, is what led all the commentators to say that this root is universally accepted.

But such an argument does not appear anywhere explicitly in Maimonides’ discussion of the root—perhaps only implicitly. This is similar to what we saw in the first root, where again no arguments about halakhic validity were explicitly stated, even though we saw that they formed the background to the entire discussion.

Nahmanides’ comments in the glosses

Nahmanides, in his glosses, naturally takes for granted that even Behag does not disagree with the principle that one does not count commandments that do not apply throughout the generations. Most of his remarks in this root focus on local disputes with Maimonides concerning “one who steals the sacred vessel,” which is “alluded to” in the verse:

“They shall not come to see the holy things as they are covered.”

Nahmanides proves that the term “allusion” in the words of the sages often means that something is written there explicitly. According to Maimonides, this prohibition refers to the obligation to conceal the Tabernacle vessels under a covering so that the Levites would not see them when carrying them from place to place, and therefore it ceased upon entering the land. In other words, he sees it as a temporary commandment. According to Nahmanides’ interpretation, by contrast, this is a permanent commandment.

Similarly, the commentators explain that the prohibition “He shall no longer serve,” regarding a Levite above age fifty, is not counted for future generations according to Maimonides because it applied only in the generation of the wilderness, when the Ark was carried on the shoulder. In the Land of Israel this limitation ceased, because the Ark was no longer carried in that manner, and therefore the Levites no longer needed that degree of physical strength. The commentators, beginning with Nahmanides, explain that Behag holds that this prohibition remained in force even in the Land of Israel—either because the Ark still could be carried on the shoulder, and there are examples of this in the Bible, or because Behag does not tie the prohibition to the carrying of the Ark on the shoulder.

As stated, all of these are local explanations, according to which Behag regards these prohibitions not as temporary but as eternal, and therefore counts them. Everyone clearly agrees that Behag too accepts the principle itself: temporary prohibitions are not counted.

Further on, Nahmanides adds that it is unclear to him why Behag counts the levy offering, the dedication of the altar, the blessings and curses at Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal, the great stones at Gilgal, and the section of supplication—“And Moses pleaded”—which are, apparently, obviously temporary commandments. He suggests there that perhaps Behag counts temporary commandments that have ramifications for future generations, even though they are performed only once. Nahmanides then works to identify, in each commandment, what that generational significance is. The meaning of the blessings and curses at Mount Gerizim for future generations is clear: we are to remember the curse and the oath that we swore there for future generations. The stones were intended so that we remember the Torah written upon them, and so forth.

B. Defining Temporary Commandments

Introduction

We have seen that, according to all opinions, temporary commandments are not counted among the mitzvot. But there is still room to discuss the matter on the substantive level. Already in the remarks of Nahmanides, with which we concluded the previous section, the question arises: what exactly is a temporary commandment? We saw that Nahmanides explained that commandments with ramifications for future generations are counted by Behag. But this raises an immediate question: apparently every temporary commandment has some implication for future generations—for otherwise, why was it written in the Torah? Are there verses in the Torah that have no significance for future generations? If so, then by this criterion we should count all temporary commandments, and thereby empty the principle discussed in this root of any content.

This question arises above all with respect to Maimonides’ position, but no less with respect to Behag himself. Maimonides does not count any temporary commandment, and therefore presumably does not see it as a mitzvah for future generations. Does he think it has no significance for future generations? Do we learn nothing from it? If so, why was it written at all? As for Behag, as we have seen, he does count some such commandments, but Nahmanides explains that he does not count those that lack significance for future generations. If so, the very same question arises for him as well. We shall return to this issue later, but we must begin by clarifying the principled definition of a temporary commandment.

Maimonides on the commandment to destroy the seven nations

In positive commandment 187, Maimonides counts the destruction of the seven Canaanite nations. He then begins to discuss why this commandment is not considered temporary, even though the seven nations have already disappeared and this commandment is no longer incumbent upon us.

Maimonides’ answer is as follows:

This may indeed be thought by one who has not understood the meaning of “applies throughout the generations” and “does not apply throughout the generations.” For a commandment that comes to an end when its goal has been achieved, without this being dependent on a fixed time, is not called one that does not apply throughout the generations. Rather, it applies in every generation in which the possibility of that matter exists…

The fact that they have been cut off does not make the commandment with which we were charged—to kill them—not applicable throughout the generations, just as we do not say of the war against Amalek that it does not apply throughout the generations, even after their total destruction and disappearance. For these commandments are not tied to a particular time or place, like the commandments specific to the wilderness or to Egypt. Rather, they remain in force whenever the commanded matter can exist.

In general, you should understand and know the difference between the commandment and the thing about which we were commanded. Sometimes the commandment applies throughout the generations, but the thing concerning which we were commanded has already disappeared in one of the generations. The disappearance of the thing concerning which we were commanded does not render the commandment one that does not apply throughout the generations. A commandment is called one that does not apply throughout the generations when the matter is the reverse: namely, when some thing existed under certain circumstances, and one was obligated to perform a certain act with respect to it, or apply a certain rule to it, at one particular time—and today that no longer applies, even though that very thing exists under those same circumstances. For example, an elderly Levite was disqualified in the wilderness, but today he is fit…

Maimonides distinguishes here between a case in which a commandment applies only at a certain time or in a certain state, and a case in which a commandment cannot be implemented—or simply need not be implemented—at a certain time. The commandment to destroy Amalek applies throughout the generations, even if Amalek themselves disappear from the map. The commandment has reached its goal, but it is not a temporary commandment. Reality has changed, and no implementation of the commandment is any longer required, but the command itself remains eternal and always binding.

Still, several elements of Maimonides’ explanation are not entirely clear, and it is not obvious whether they all amount to the same thing: that the commandment reached its goal; that it does not depend on a fixed time or place; the distinction between the existence of the object of the commandment at a given time and the validity of the commandment itself at that time; and so on. The question of what exactly Maimonides meant was already discussed in his own period, in the objections of Rabbi Daniel ha-Bavli and in the response of Rabbi Abraham, his son.³

The debate between Rabbi Daniel ha-Bavli and Rabbi Abraham son of Maimonides

Rabbi Daniel ha-Bavli asks why the prohibitions “He shall no longer serve” and “They shall not come in to see” are considered temporary prohibitions, whereas the command to destroy Amalek and the seven nations is not. In his view, precisely the latter are more temporary than the former. The prohibition “He shall no longer serve,” and the prohibition “They shall not come in to see,” exist whenever the Ark and the vessels are carried on the shoulder. True, when they entered the land and the Temple was later built, these items were no longer carried on the shoulder, because the people of Israel no longer wandered from place to place. But this is merely a change in reality, not a change in the obligation itself. If so, even by Maimonides’ own definition in commandment 187, one should have counted them. After all, if the Ark were carried on the shoulder today, those prohibitions would return. The change, then, lies in the circumstances, not in the validity or scope of the command itself.

By contrast, the commands “You shall utterly destroy them” and the command to blot out Amalek truly are no longer relevant once they have achieved their end and the goal has been reached. In that sense, Rabbi Daniel argues, they are exactly like the commandments of the great stones and of the blessings and curses, which likewise “are not dependent on time, and their dependence on place is like the dependence of sacrifices on the Temple, and so forth.” They too, once their end has been achieved, no longer obligate us—just like the command to destroy Amalek and the seven nations.

Rabbi Abraham, in his response there, explains his father’s position and argues that there is a “subtle distinction” that Rabbi Daniel failed to perceive, and that this distinction clarifies the entire picture:

The distinction is this: the commandment “and you shall write,” and the blessings and curses, although their dependence on a specific time is not stated explicitly, must nevertheless be said to depend on a time, since they were tied to entry into a place whose time of entry was limited. They are therefore tied to one particular time rather than another, for they are connected to crossing the Jordan, and crossing the Jordan is connected specifically to the days of Joshua—“Joshua is the one who will cross before you”—unlike “blot out” and “destroy.”

Moreover, the blessings and curses and the writing on the altar stones were completed and their obligation ceased once they were performed one time at that time mentioned in connection with them. Their obligation was not renewed over time, such that one could say that whenever Israel would gather in that place, the same obligation would again apply to them. This is unlike “destroy” and “blot out.”

You can see that Joshua fulfilled the commandment of destruction many times in each campaign, and the obligation remained upon those who came after him until the generation in which they were cut off. And if it should happen today, or in days to come, that one of the seven nations be found, the obligation would still remain. The same applies to the commandment “blot out the memory of Amalek.” This is not so with “write on the stones,” or with the blessings and curses, whose obligation departed through the act of Joshua and his generation, even though Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal still exist, and the stones beyond the Jordan have not disappeared.

At the beginning of his remarks, Rabbi Abraham ties the distinction to dependence on a specific time or place, even if only indirectly. For example, the time of entering the land is the time at which we became obligated in the commandment of the stones and of the blessings and curses. This is a commandment that was intended in advance for one particular moment. That moment will not recur—and this is not incidental but essential. The people of Israel do not leave Egypt again, nor do they enter the land again in that way. Therefore these commandments are temporary, not eternal.

Still, it is not yet clear why the other temporary commandments are not dependent on time in the same manner—and this, in fact, is Rabbi Daniel’s question. Why should we not say that the annihilation of Amalek too belongs only to the time when Amalek exists? Alternatively, one may ask the question differently: if, theoretically, the people of Israel were again enslaved in Egypt, and then again left it, and after a wilderness journey entered the land, would they not once more be commanded to set up stones, and similarly regarding the blessings and curses? Seemingly, if the same situation were to recur, we would again become obligated. Of course, one can say that it is utterly unlikely that such a state of affairs would recur, but that is only a technical distinction of circumstances. The command itself exists whenever such a situation recurs, and therefore it should make no difference whether or not that situation will in fact recur.

Moreover, even if we insist that the commandment to write on the stones, or the commandment of the blessings and curses, was said only for the first entry into the land—and that certainly cannot recur, because even if the situation recurred exactly, it still would not be the first time—that too is only a technical distinction. Whenever there is a first time, we are obligated; it is just that, in reality, there is only one first time. If so, this still resembles the commandment to destroy Amalek.

Clarifying the argument: the dependence of the commandment on time

It seems that the center of Rabbi Abraham’s “subtle distinction” lies specifically in the second part of the passage cited above. There he distinguishes between commandments that indeed apply in a certain situation, but such that even if that very same situation were to recur in the future in full detail, our obligation would not arise again. That obligation has expired forever. It was in advance directed toward one state of affairs only—one time and place. For example, with the commandment “and you shall write,” even if we return to that same situation—crossing the Jordan, and so on—we are under no obligation to write on the stones again; and similarly with the blessings and curses. By contrast, in the case of Amalek and the seven nations, so long as they exist, the commandment remains incumbent upon us. Therefore, even if Amalek has in fact been exterminated, and in practice the commandment is no longer relevant or implementable, it is not temporary but eternal—just as the commandment of offering sacrifices is not a temporary commandment because the Temple was destroyed.

The essence of the “subtle distinction” that emerges from the words of Maimonides and his son is that the main characteristic of temporary commandments is their explicit dependence on time, such that even if the relevant situation were to recur in full, the obligation would no longer exist. The conclusion is that what creates the obligation is not merely a certain state of affairs in which we find ourselves, but such a state of affairs at a certain time—a time that occurred once and no more. If so, what creates the obligation is not only the situation but also the time: a temporary commandment is one that time itself caused.

Let us sharpen this further. We are familiar with the category “positive commandments caused by time,” from which women are exempt. At a superficial glance, one might say that every commandment is caused by time. For example, the blessing after meals applies only when we have eaten and are sated. And ordinarily we eat at some particular time, so seemingly the commandment depends on time. And if one were to say that eating has no fixed time, what would be the law in the case of a person—or a society—that always eats at the same time? Or at least does not eat at night, so that the commandment does not apply at night? Would that not make it time-bound?

The explanation of the difference is simple. Time-bound commandments are commandments caused by time itself, not commandments that merely happen to apply at some time. True, every one of our actions—and especially every mitzvah—is performed at some specific time, but the time is incidental. Time is not what creates the obligation; it merely happens to describe when the obligation arises. Only when time itself creates the obligation is the commandment called “time-bound.” In the blessing after meals, time does not create the obligation; it merely describes when the obligation arises.

The distinction we have proposed here is very similar. When there is a commandment in which time itself is what creates our obligation, that is a temporary commandment. But when time is not the cause, and merely happens to describe when the obligation arises, then the commandment is eternal and not temporary. For this reason, the commandment to destroy Amalek is eternal rather than temporary, because there time is essential only accidentally, not inherently. But with the blessings and curses, time is part of the defining content of the commandment, not merely an incidental description of when the obligation takes effect. Therefore it is a temporary commandment.

The indication that this is dependence on time as a cause rather than as a mere incidental description is the following: if the people of Israel were to find themselves in exactly the same situation at another time, they would not be obligated in these commandments, as Maimonides and his son write. This means that the obligation is not created by the situation alone, since the situation has recurred and yet we are not obligated. Time itself participates as a causal factor in the obligation, and since the situation recurred at a different time, the obligation did not arise. The obligation is a function of the situation and the specific time established by the Torah. If one of those two does not recur, the obligation does not arise. But time never recurs, and therefore the commandment is in its essence one-time only—that is, temporary rather than eternal.

The conclusion is that temporary commandments are commandments that depend on time itself and not only on the situation. About such commandments one cannot say that “every single day each limb tells us: do a mitzvah and do not commit a sin,” as Maimonides argued against Behag in the passage cited above. These are the commandments over which Maimonides disputes with Behag.

C. Explicit and Indirect Dependence on Time

Introduction

In this section we will go through several halakhic examples that illustrate the meaning of explicit and indirect dependence on time in different contexts.

Example: the commandment of counting the Omer according to Nahmanides

Nahmanides, in Babylonian Talmud, Kiddushin 34a, mentions the commandment of counting the Omer as a commandment that is not a positive time-bound commandment. The difficulty raised by his words is obvious: the counting of the Omer applies during a very specifically defined period of the year, between the day of the waving and Shavuot. If so, one could hardly imagine a stronger dependence on time than that.

Now, in Divrei Yehezkel, section 45, subsection 4, it was written in explanation of Nahmanides’ words—and see also Avnei Nezer, Orah Hayyim 384:

Nahmanides holds that the fact that we count from the sixteenth of Nisan is not because time itself is what obligates the commandment of counting the Omer, as the fifteenth of Nisan obligates matzah. Rather, it is because Scripture says, “You shall count for yourselves from the morrow of the Sabbath, from the day you bring the Omer…” Had the time of bringing the Omer been on another day, we would likewise have been obligated to count. Thus, the fact that the counting of the Omer has a fixed time is only by necessity and not because of time in itself, and in such a case it is not considered time-bound.

The point of Divrei Yehezkel is that the counting of the Omer depends not on time but on an event that could have occurred at another time, and is therefore not regarded as a positive time-bound commandment. This is similar to the example we gave above of the blessing after meals, in the case of someone who always eats at the same time. That commandment too might appear to depend on a certain time, but no decisor would dream of saying that under such circumstances it becomes a positive time-bound commandment. The reason is that the dependence is not on time itself but on an event that happens at a certain time—and every event happens at some time. The situation that creates the obligation does not include time, even though it of course occurs at some point in time. Time is not the cause of the obligation but merely an incidental characteristic.

According to this, the commandment of counting the Omer is not a commandment to count at a certain time, but a commandment to count the days between Passover and Shavuot—even if Passover and Shavuot had fallen in Heshvan or Tammuz, or at times that varied from period to period. True, in practice Passover and Shavuot occur at a certain time, between Nisan and Sivan, but for our purposes that is merely incidental—just as in the case of the blessing after meals. The obligation therefore depends on an event and not directly on time itself, and for that reason this is not a positive commandment “caused by time.”⁴

For comparison, let us cite the words of the author of Seridei Esh, part 2, Yoreh De’ah 90, who writes almost the opposite. He discusses whether someone who counted more than forty-nine days violates the prohibition of adding to the commandments, and writes:

In my opinion, one can say simply that the commandment of counting the Omer is not a commandment to count days in the abstract, but to count the days between Passover and Shavuot. If so, if one counted after Shavuot, he performed no commandment at all, and the prohibition of adding does not apply here.

On this basis I explained Nahmanides’ words in Kiddushin, that counting the Omer is a commandment not caused by time. The great author of Avnei Nezer, in Orah Hayyim 384, found it very difficult to explain his words. In my humble opinion it is simple: a positive time-bound commandment is one that has a fixed time; time is the framework of the commandment, as with matzah, lulav, and sukkah, and so on. By contrast, with counting the Omer, time is the very substance of the commandment: one is obligated to count those days between Passover and Shavuot, and it therefore makes no sense to call this a commandment caused by time. Reflect carefully, for the point is deep.

He argues that the commandment is not to count forty-nine days, but to count the days between Passover and Shavuot, and therefore the prohibition of adding does not apply here. From this he concludes that the commandment of counting the Omer is indeed not time-bound, because in the case of the Omer time is not the framework in which the commandment occurs, but its essential content. This is an understanding directly opposite to the one we saw above.

According to our proposed explanation of Nahmanides, then, a positive time-bound commandment is a commandment that depends explicitly on time—the dependence on time is direct—and not a commandment that depends on a certain event which also happens at some time, while time is not the essential cause of the obligation—in which case the dependence on time is only indirect.⁵ We will now try to clarify the distinction between direct and indirect dependence on time from a different angle.

The view of Hokhmat Shlomo⁶

Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 426, deals with the law of the blessing over the moon each month. On this, the Magen Avraham writes in the opening to that section:

Women are exempt—because this is a positive time-bound commandment. And although they do perform positive commandments such as sukkah, nevertheless this commandment they do not perform, because they caused the moon’s blemish (Shelah). See what I wrote at the end of section 296. And in Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 42a, regarding the blessing over the moon, it says: “our women also recite it,” which somewhat implies that women do recite it. Perhaps, however, it does not mean women literally, but is only a manner of speech. A blind person is obligated in blessing the moon (Responsa of Maharshal).

The Magen Avraham, in the name of the Shelah, writes that this is a positive time-bound commandment, and that women are therefore exempt. He then goes on to discuss whether they may nevertheless perform it.

But this very assertion is disputed by the author of Hokhmat Shlomo, who writes there:

In my opinion this is very puzzling, and has no connection whatever to the category of positive time-bound commandments. This rule was stated only regarding a commandment whose essential content is relevant at all times—for example matzah, sukkah, lulav, and the like. Such a commandment could be fulfilled in Heshvan just as in Tishrei or Iyyar just as in Nisan, and nevertheless the Torah said that on those days one is obligated and after that one is exempt. That proves that it is a positive time-bound commandment, and therefore women are exempt. But in the case of the moon, is there any impediment caused by time? The impediment comes from the nature of the commandment itself, because it is simply not applicable then. If one has already blessed once upon seeing it, no second blessing applies, since he has already blessed once. Suppose it were a new fruit: if he blessed upon seeing or eating it, he does not bless again afterward. Yet when a new fruit comes in the new year, one blesses again. Would that be considered time-bound? Certainly not. The impediment does not stem from time. And even if one did not bless over it this month, once it begins to wane, no blessing is applicable any longer—not because of time, but because there is no longer an object over which to bless. The impossibility of the blessing is because there is no object here to bless over, not because of time. Would anyone say that with fruits found only in summer, a woman would not bless Sheheheyanu upon eating or seeing them because it is time-bound, since in winter those fruits do not exist? Certainly not.

So too with the moon each month, just as fruit each year. Therefore, since this impediment stems not from time itself but from the moon—one blesses at the time of its renewal, and not when it is waning, and the impediment comes not from time but from the moon itself—the moon, month by month, is exactly like fruit, year by year, and this is not a positive time-bound commandment. This seems clear to me, and the sages did not examine this point carefully, with all due respect to their great honor. Reflect carefully.

The author of Hokhmat Shlomo argues that when the impediment to the blessing arises not from time but from reality—from the absence of an appropriate object—this is not a positive time-bound commandment. This reasoning is very similar to what we saw above in Divrei Yehezkel in explaining Nahmanides’ position.

Before continuing with the examples, let us sharpen from another angle the meaning of the claim about direct and indirect dependence on time.

A mathematical illustration

The distinction above can be presented mathematically. In mathematics, one distinguishes between explicit dependence of a function on time and implicit dependence. A function that depends on some variable X—which may itself also depend on time—and also independently on the time-variable T, in the form Y(X,T), is a function that depends explicitly on time. This means that even if the situation X recurs at a different time, the function will not yield the same value. For our purposes, let us say that the function describes the obligation in a commandment, and that this obligation depends directly on time, and also on circumstances that themselves depend on time. That latter dependence is the indirect dependence of the obligation on time, through the circumstances that occur in time.

This means that even if state X recurs at a later time—for example, when we stand again at Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal, but not in the time of Joshua son of Nun—we will not become obligated in the commandment. By contrast, a function of the form Y[X(T)] depends on time only implicitly, through the variable X, whose value depends on time. Such a function yields the same value for identical X-states, even if they appear at different times. Here there is no direct and explicit dependence on time, and time is only an incidental descriptor. For our purposes, we would say that in such a case the obligation of the mitzvah is eternal rather than temporary, because it depends only on X—that is, on the situation—and if that situation were to recur at some future time, the obligation would recur as well.

Let us note that the difference between implicit and explicit dependence on time has scientific implications as well. For example, a physical system that depends explicitly on time does not conserve energy—but that is beyond our present scope.

Let us now return to several further examples of understanding time as an essential component of a prohibition, and not merely as an external description of when it applies. All of these are examples of time as a variable upon which the commandment or prohibition depends directly rather than indirectly.

Feeding a prohibited item to a minor

In the sugya in Babylonian Talmud, Yevamot 114a, the Gemara discusses prohibitions concerning minors. There is a dispute over whether, when a child eats carcasses—or commits any other prohibition—the court is commanded to separate him from it. The halakha is that there is no obligation to separate him from a prohibition that he is committing on his own. But later in the sugya it is explained that, according to all opinions, it is forbidden to feed a child prohibited items with one’s own hands, and this is learned from the verse:

“Do not eat them, for they are detestable” — read: “Do not feed them,” to warn the adults concerning the minors. Does this not mean that one may not tell them, “Do not eat”? No; it means that one may not feed them with one’s own hands.

According to the overwhelming majority of decisors, this is a biblical prohibition, as distinct from the commandment of education, which is a rabbinic obligation to train minors in mitzvot.

Now, the early authorities disagree about rabbinic prohibitions: is there also a prohibition against feeding them to minors by hand? Maimonides holds that there is such a prohibition even there, and he writes as follows in Laws of Forbidden Foods 17:27. So too was it ruled in Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 343:

If a minor ate one of the forbidden foods, or performed labor on the Sabbath, the court is not commanded to separate him, because he lacks mature understanding. This is true when he acted on his own. But to feed him with one’s own hands is forbidden, even in matters whose prohibition is rabbinic. So too, it is forbidden to accustom him to desecrating Sabbath and festival, even in matters that are merely rabbinic restrictions.

By contrast, Rashba, in his novellae there, holds that there is no such prohibition:

It seems to me, however, that with rabbinic prohibitions it is permitted explicitly to tell him to eat. For according to the opinion that with Torah prohibitions the court is commanded to separate him, with rabbinic prohibitions the court is not commanded to separate him, as is explained here in the case of an unperforated flowerpot, which is only rabbinic. We also say regarding demai—produce of doubtful tithing status—that they were lenient. Since we rule that even with Torah prohibitions the court is not commanded to separate him, with rabbinic prohibitions one descends another level and permits even telling him to eat.

Later in his remarks, Rashba raises the following difficulty against his own assumption:

If you ask from what we learned in Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 31b—“One may not establish an eruv with untithed produce”—and we explained that this refers to produce untithed only on a rabbinic level: if so, why not? Even if it is not fit for adults, it is fit for minors, since one may feed it to them by hand. And if you say that what we require is that it be fit for adults, that is not so. For there it was taught that one may establish an eruv for an adult on Yom Kippur, and the reason is explained there to be that it is fit for minors, and it is therefore like wine for a Nazirite. Evidently, anything fit for minors may be used for adults in an eruv. It thus appears that even rabbinically untithed produce may not be fed to minors by hand, and that is why one may not make an eruv with it, for since we do not feed it to them by hand, it is called unfit even for minors, and is like fully untithed produce.

Rashba is troubled by the Gemara’s statement in Eruvin 31b that one does not use rabbinic untithed produce for an eruv. If he is correct that one may indeed give that food to minors because its prohibition is only rabbinic, then it should count as food fit for eating, and the law should have allowed an eruv with it. This is also supported by Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 30b, where the Gemara rules that one may establish an eruv even on Yom Kippur, even though all foods are inedible on that day, because the foods are fit for minors, since minors may be fed on Yom Kippur. These sugyot therefore seem difficult for Rashba.

This is how Rashba resolves the matter:

No. The reason there is always that we require something fit for adults. And it is not comparable to an eruv for an adult on Yom Kippur, for there the food itself is fit even for adults; it is only the prohibition of the day that causes the problem. Since the prohibition does not stem from the food itself, and it is even now fit for minors, one may establish an eruv with it even for an adult. This is not so with untithed produce, whose prohibition stems from the food itself. Therefore, even though it is fit for minors, one may not establish an eruv with it for an adult.

Rashba distinguishes between prohibitions caused by the day and prohibitions intrinsic to the thing itself. It is not entirely clear why such a distinction should matter in this context.

The author of Or Sameach, at the end of Laws of Forbidden Foods, addresses this very issue. At the start of his discussion he summarizes Rashba’s view as follows:

Rashba, in his novellae to the chapter of the deaf-mute, Babylonian Talmud, Yevamot 114a, discusses this at length and concludes that with rabbinic prohibitions it is permitted even to feed them by hand. He asked himself: if so, why may one not establish an eruv with produce untithed on a rabbinic level, since it is fit for minors? After all, for that reason one may establish an eruv on Yom Kippur, Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 30b, because it is fit for minors. He answered that two conditions are required: first, the prohibition must be one dependent on time, and not that the food be prohibited from itself; and second, it must be fit for minors and permitted to them. See his lengthy remarks there.

In other words, Rashba is saying that in order for food to be usable for an eruv, it must be prohibited because of time rather than because of its own nature, and in addition it must be fit for minors. The criterion of being fit for minors alone is not sufficient.

Immediately after presenting the difficulty, Or Sameach brings a strong proof for Rashba’s position from the sugya in Pesahim, and then explains the basic rationale of Rashba’s view as follows:

The basic logic appears to be that, with something prohibited in itself, the fact that it is fit for minors is of no use, because this very food will be forbidden to the child when he grows up. But a prohibition dependent on time—such as the prohibition of eating on Yom Kippur, or the prohibition of eating set-aside items on the Sabbath—even if he grows up and becomes an adult on Yom Kippur itself, still the earlier time was not forbidden to minors. The permission to minors is therefore absolute.

Or Sameach explains that this is not merely a conjunction of two unrelated parameters; one builds on the other. He explains that when the thing is prohibited in itself, it does not help that it is permitted to minors, because when the minor grows up, that very same thing will be forbidden to him. If so, the thing is in essence a prohibited thing, and the fact that it is permitted to minors is due only to the child, not to the nature of the prohibited object. Such a thing is not regarded as permitted in itself, but as a prohibited thing. By contrast, when the prohibition stems from time and not from the thing itself, then one can say that even when the minor grows up, the thing does not become forbidden to him. For when the minor grows up and wants to eat the food that had been permitted to him on that Yom Kippur in his childhood, he may indeed eat it—but the food is not the same food. What became forbidden to him when he matured was that food at another time, which is in effect a different object.

At first glance, the reasoning of Or Sameach is not clear. Why, in the case of food on Yom Kippur, do we not regard it as though the very same food becomes forbidden to the minor once he grows up, unlike the case of rabbinic untithed produce? Clearly, Or Sameach sees time—Yom Kippur—as an essential component of the prohibited object. What is forbidden to a person is not “bread,” but “this bread on Yom Kippur.” Consequently, the bread that becomes forbidden to the child when he grows up is not the same halakhic object that had previously been permitted to him, and therefore that earlier object is regarded, relative to him, as a permitted object. That is why one may establish an eruv with it.

The great novelty in Or Sameach is precisely his rejection of the more common conception. According to the common conception, the date at which a temporary prohibition exists is an external description of the prohibition: the prohibition is on the bread, and Yom Kippur is merely the time at which the prohibition takes effect. By contrast, Or Sameach argues that the prohibited object is not “the bread” but “the bread on Yom Kippur.” Therefore, when Yom Kippur passes, this bread itself is halakhically a different prohibited object than the one that existed previously and was permitted to the child.

Thus, the foundation of Rashba’s position lies in his seeing time as an essential element in the definition of the prohibited object, and not as an incidental description of when the prohibition applies. Only this allows him to draw the distinction between rabbinic untithed produce, with which one may not establish an eruv, and foods on Yom Kippur, with which one may.

Achi’ezer on a minor and tefillin

The author of Achi’ezer, in part 3, section 81, discusses the question raised by Noda BiYehudah, second edition, Orah Hayyim 1: why is slaughter performed by minors valid, given that minors are not prohibited from eating meat from an animal that was not slaughtered properly, and are therefore seemingly not within the legal category of slaughter? By contrast, minors are not commanded with respect to putting on tefillin, and therefore they also cannot write tefillin, because they are not within the legal category of binding them.

After rejecting a possibility raised by Noda BiYehudah himself, he explains as follows:

The main point seems to be that a minor is fit for slaughter once he grows up, and this is unlike tefillin, where a minor is disqualified from writing tefillin because he is not subject to the obligation of binding. For there the commandment is a positive obligation renewed every single day, and since for as long as he is a minor this obligation does not apply to him, he is not in the legal category of binding. Similar distinctions are drawn between the case of one not subject to binding and the case of divorce, where he is subject to severance. It further appears that this very carcass will become forbidden to this minor when he grows up, unlike tefillin, where each day is a distinct obligation in its own right. Therefore, the fact that the obligation will arise for him when he reaches adulthood does not make him subject to the obligation of binding now, during his minority, when the commandment does not apply to him.

His claim is that in the case of tefillin there is a new obligation each day to bind tefillin, and since on every day that he is a minor that obligation does not apply to him, he is not in the category of tefillin and therefore cannot write them. By contrast, in the case of the prohibition of carcass meat, this very carcass will become forbidden to him when he grows up; he is therefore certainly within the legal category of the prohibition on eating that carcass, even if at present it is not forbidden to him. The carcass at a later time is the same prohibited object that stood before him in his minority. If it will be forbidden to him later, then it is already a prohibited object relative to him. But tefillin are a new obligation every day, and therefore the fact that he will become obligated later does not make him obligated now.

The core of his argument is exactly the same as what we saw above in Or Sameach: time is an essential component in the definition of the commandment of tefillin, and therefore the tefillin of another month are a different halakhic object than the object that stands before him now. For that reason, he has no relation at all to the commandment with respect to these tefillin now before him. But carcass meat is prohibited in itself and not because of time, and therefore the object at a later time is the same object as the one before him in childhood. He too, then, sees time as an essential component in the definition of the prohibited object, and not merely as an incidental and external description of when the prohibition applies.

The sanctity of sukkah wood

In this example we will see a continuation of the same conception that we encountered in Rashba’s discussion of feeding prohibited items to minors. Before, we dealt with time as an essential component in the definition of the prohibited object. Now we will see time as an essential component in the definition of ritual objects.

In Babylonian Talmud, Nedarim 28b–29a, a dispute is brought between Abaye and Bar Padda as to whether intrinsic sanctity can lapse automatically—that is, through speech alone, without action—or not. Abaye holds that it can: in his view, one can consecrate an object with intrinsic sanctity for a fixed time, and at the end of that time the sanctity lapses on its own; or one can stipulate a condition whose nonfulfillment will cause the sanctity to lapse on its own. By contrast, Bar Padda holds that intrinsic sanctity cannot be removed without action. The halakha follows Bar Padda.

Yet in Babylonian Talmud, Beitzah 30b, we find that the wood of a sukkah is forbidden for benefit because it possesses intrinsic sanctity, like a festival offering:

But did not Rav Sheshet say in the name of Rabbi Akiva: From where do we know that the wood of a sukkah is forbidden all seven days? As it is said: “The festival of Sukkot, seven days, for the Lord.” And it was taught: Rabbi Yehudah ben Beteira says: From where do we know that just as the Divine Name takes effect upon the festival offering, so does the Divine Name take effect upon the sukkah? Scripture says: “The festival of Sukkot, seven days, for the Lord.” Just as the festival is for the Lord, so too the sukkah is for the Lord.

The Gemara there discusses whether it helps to stipulate a condition concerning the sanctity of the sukkah wood, and concludes that it does not. Rashba there raises the following difficulty:

I still need to reflect on this matter. For according to all opinions, a condition is effective with respect to monetary sanctity and it lapses. Moreover, it appears that according to Abaye even with intrinsic sanctity a condition is effective and it lapses automatically, as we learned in Nedarim, chapter “Four Vows”… If so, even if one holds that a sukkah has intrinsic sanctity for all seven days because Scripture compared it to the festival offering, why did Abaye say here that a condition does not help? Is it superior to the case of an ox that is a burnt offering for thirty days and after thirty days a peace offering?

Rashba proposes a resolution of which he himself says that it seems forced:

Under pressure I can only say that Scripture fully compared it to the festival offering: just as once sanctity has taken effect on the festival offering, that sanctity cannot lapse, so too with the wood of the sukkah.

The matter can, it seems, be clarified by introducing another assumption, which we will state briefly. What happens when a sacrifice physically disappears at some point? Does the fact that its sanctity has ceased contradict the rule that intrinsic sanctity cannot lapse automatically? Certainly not. The reason is that here the sanctity is eternal; it is only the object that is temporary. The lapse of intrinsic sanctity would mean that the object remains what it is and the sanctity simply flies away from it on its own. But here we are describing a situation in which the object itself has disappeared, not one in which the sanctity has disappeared from it on its own. If so, this is eternal sanctity, and it has indeed not lapsed automatically; rather, the object on which it rested has vanished.

Let us now continue and ask: why is Rashba himself not troubled by the question of how, at the end of the festival, the wood of the sukkah becomes completely ordinary, and the prohibition of benefiting from it simply expires and disappears? Why does this not strike him as contradicting the rule against automatic lapse of intrinsic sanctity?⁷ The reason is that after the eight days of the festival, this wooden structure is no longer a sukkah. What has ceased is not the sanctity but the structure itself. “Sukkah,” in its halakhic sense, is not a wooden structure with certain physical characteristics, but such a structure during the eight days of the festival. Time is a necessary and essential component in the definition of the object. Once the time has passed, the object itself has passed from the world.

Thus Rashba here too seems to rely on the same conception that we saw in his discussion in Yevamot: when a commandment or prohibition depends on time, time is not a secondary description but an essential feature. With the passage of time, the object does not merely acquire different characteristics; it itself disappears or is replaced.

“The Holy One does not bring stumbling even through the animals of the righteous”

Babylonian Talmud, Pesahim 106b, says that Rabbi Yirmiyah bar Abba ate on the Sabbath and afterward wanted to recite kiddush, even though that is forbidden. Tosafot there, on the words “he forgot,” and likewise in parallel passages—see Tosafot to Hagigah 16b, Gittin 7a, Hullin 5b, Shabbat 12b, and elsewhere—write:

He forgot and tasted something. As for the difficulty often raised—how can this be, when even the animals of the righteous are not made to stumble by the Holy One?—one may answer that here the food is permitted, and only the time is forbidden, so the question does not arise. This is explained elsewhere, in Gittin 7a.

Tosafot establish that when a thing is prohibited because of time and not because of itself, the principle that the Holy One does not bring stumbling through the righteous or through their animals does not apply. What exactly is the difference? Later authorities explain that a transgression caused by time is not really an objective transgression. It is a transgression on the level of the person and not of the object, and therefore if one stumbles into it unintentionally, nothing has really happened to him.

Similarly, in our article on the first root, we cited the author of Netivot HaMishpat, section 234, who explains that a rabbinic transgression is person-centered rather than object-centered, and therefore if one commits it unintentionally, one does not require atonement. Many later authorities made the same claim regarding commandments and prohibitions caused by time: they are prohibitions that relate to the person rather than to the object. See, for example, Atvan DeOraita, rule 10.⁸

According to the approach we are developing here, however, such commandments and prohibitions are certainly defined in terms of the object and not only the person. But the “object” in relation to which those commandments and prohibitions are defined is “a certain person at a certain time,” or “a certain object at a certain time.” Time enters as an essential component in the halakhic definition of the object itself.

D. Is Time Real?

Introduction

When we say that a commandment depends directly—explicitly—on time, meaning that time itself is a component in the situation that affects the obligation, we are in fact assuming that time itself is a real entity. If time causes an obligation in a commandment, then it presumably exists. Otherwise the obligation would arise with no real cause, contrary to the principle of causality. If A causes B, then A must exist; otherwise, how could it cause anything?⁹

It should be noted that, following Immanuel Kant, many philosophers believe that time—like space—is only a form of human intuition, through which we organize the phenomena around us and our own experiences. According to these philosophers, time does not exist in the world itself. It is not an entity, but a mode of relation. In their view, time never appears on its own, but only underlies our various distinctions between states or events. According to such an approach, time exists only in our consciousness, and therefore it cannot cause anything in the world outside us. On such a view, time cannot serve as a causal factor in the obligation of any commandment. At most, it marks some other factual change that in our consciousness appears in some temporal order. But if we speak of two identical situations occurring at different times, that is a contradiction in terms for such Kantians. If the situations are identical, then there cannot be any change of time in the consciousness of the observer.¹⁰

And yet: can time cause anything? Time as an expression of a higher reality

It is difficult to understand how time, even if we say that it exists as an independent entity, could itself create an obligation in a commandment. Seemingly, a commandment is a form of response to a given state of affairs, and a way of resolving it or conducting oneself properly within it. It is entirely plausible that what we call “time” is only an expression of states in spiritual worlds above us, whose changes are not perceptible to us in concrete form, but only as a change of time—or as the sheer passage of time. In that sense, one can bring the position presented here somewhat closer to Kant’s approach.

One can find elements of such an idea in mystical literature. There it is common, following certain places in the writings of the Ari, to say that a higher world serves as the “place” of the world below it. The lower world exists within the world above it. The basis for all of this is the location of all the created and emanated worlds within the space produced by the primordial contraction.¹¹

Today—and probably the mystical literature itself already said this in such a sense—it is clear that “place” means space-time. One may therefore extend these kabbalistic claims and say that space and time—space-time—are entities that belong to a higher world. There they are presumably apprehended in more concrete fashion, as more tangible entities, whereas here we relate to them in abstract terms. This is what leads the philosophers we mentioned to think that they are not real entities. At the end of the article we will note an interesting implication of this interpretation.

Two halakhic examples

Our remarks above assume that time is an entity that exists in itself and, as an independent entity, affects our obligation in certain commandments. It seems to me that one can show in several places that the Torah’s conception is indeed such, and thus stands in opposition to the Kantian philosophical picture. We will now bring two examples.

1. Between day and night. The Gemara at the beginning of tractate Berakhot discusses whether day precedes night or night precedes day—according to most of the early authorities, that is the discussion there. But if there is no objective time-axis, and time is only our subjective way of organizing events, then that discussion has no meaning at all. This day precedes the night that comes after it and follows the night that came before it.

This resembles the question of the chicken and the egg. Only if there is an objective time-axis does it make sense to ask: on that axis, which comes first? It is important to stress that day and night are not time itself, but astronomical events involving the movement of the sun and the earth. Those events, of course, occur in time. It is that time-axis upon which they occur that marks the precedence of day or night.¹²

2. Associative vows and time. There are two ways to impose the status of a vow on an object: an ordinary vow, and association with an already prohibited object. A vow is the result of speech that, when uttered in certain forms, can create a change in the status of an object. By contrast, association—according to most views—transfers the status of a vow-prohibition from one object, where that status already exists, to another object.

Such association can occur only between entities. For example, when a person associates the prohibition of object A with object B, he says that this object is forbidden to him like some sacred object. The thing with which one associates must, as stated, be an entity—so much so that some explain that the prohibition “passes,” almost physically, from the source object to the target object. According to halakha, one must associate with something prohibited by vow and not with something prohibited independently. That is, one cannot say that the thing should be forbidden to me like the prohibition of sorting on the Sabbath. The prohibition from which one draws and transfers the status must be attached to an object, not be some abstract prohibition unrelated to any object.

Now, in the sugyot in Babylonian Talmud, Nedarim 12a and Shevuot 20a, the Gemara discusses a person who forbids an object to himself by saying: “This object is forbidden to me like the day on which Gedaliah son of Ahikam died”—that is, the Fast of Gedaliah—or like the day on which his father died. On those days there are various prohibitions and prohibited objects, but the entity with which he associates is the day itself. See, for example, Rashi there, who understands the association to be from that day to this day. We thus see that a day is treated as an object, an entity, and not merely as a temporal marker, since one can associate a vow with it—and association can draw only from entities.

Maimonides in the Guide of the Perplexed

Maimonides also deals with the question of the nature and reality of time in his Guide of the Perplexed. There, in part 2, chapter 13, he writes:

…And time itself too belongs to the class of created things, for time follows motion… For time is certainly an accident, and according to us it belongs among the created accidents, like blackness and whiteness. Though it is not a quality, it is nevertheless an accident attached to motion, as has been explained to one who understands Aristotle’s account of time and the truth of its existence.

Maimonides states that time is among created things, but that it is not a substance or independent being; rather, it is an accident attached to motion. And yet, at the end of the sentence, he determines that time is truly existent.

He then continues:

…What caused the nature of time to be hidden from many thinkers, to the point that they became confused about whether it has true existence or not, as Galen and others thought, is that it is an accident of an accident. For accidents found in bodies as primary accidents—such as colors and tastes—are grasped by thought at the outset and their nature can be conceived. But accidents whose subjects are themselves other accidents, like brightness in color, or curvature in a line, are much harder to understand—especially when, in addition, the accident that serves as subject does not remain in one state but changes from one state to another. That makes the matter still more obscure. Both these features are found together in time, for time is an accident attached to motion, and motion is an accident of that which moves. Motion is not like blackness and whiteness, which are stable states. The truth of motion and its very essence is precisely that it never remains in one state, not even for the blink of an eye. This is what has made the nature of time obscure. Our purpose is to say that time, according to us, is a created thing that comes into being, just like the other accidents and the substances that bear them. Therefore the Creator’s bringing the world into existence was not a temporal beginning, for time itself is among created things. Reflect carefully on this point, so that you not be forced into answers from which there is no escape through ignorance of it.

For if you posit time before the world, you are compelled to believe in eternity, because time is an accident and cannot exist without a subject. You would then be forced to posit the existence of something before the existence of this presently existing world—and that is precisely what we seek to avoid. This is one of the doctrines, and indeed one of the foundations of the Torah of Moses our teacher, without doubt, second only to the foundation of divine unity. Let no other view enter your mind. Abraham our father, peace be upon him, began to reveal this doctrine, to which reflection led him, and for that reason he proclaimed the name of the Eternal God. He already indicated this view when he said: “Creator of heaven and earth.”

Maimonides proves that time is created on the basis that time is attached to moving objects, and therefore cannot have existed without the existence of those objects, since it has no independent existence. And since we are committed to the view that those objects are themselves created, it follows that time too is among created things.

However, there does not seem to be any proof in these remarks that time is objectively existent rather than something subjective, even though it is clear that Maimonides does in fact assume this. If time does not really exist, there would be no point in discussing whether it is created or eternal.

Maimonides argues that what causes people to think that time is not real is that there are two layers of abstraction involved in grasping it—more even than in grasping physical characteristics of objects such as blackness and whiteness. First, time is an accident rather than a substance, and for that reason it is harder to grasp than independently existing things. Second, it is an accident of something that is itself not a substance but an accident—namely, motion. Maimonides argues that for this reason many failed to grasp the true nature of time.

See further on all this in Sefer HaIkkarim by Rabbi Joseph Albo, part 2, chapter 18.

Conclusion and summary of the section

What emerges is that in the halakhic conception, time is an entity, something that exists in itself, and not merely a subjective form of contemplation and organization. Consequently, one may also say that it serves as a direct cause—and not merely an indirect one—of our obligations with respect to such commandments and prohibitions. Commandments and prohibitions for which time is the cause are called time-bound commandments. If the time that generates them is cyclical, they are positive time-bound commandments. If they are generated by the linear historical axis, they are not counted among the mitzvot. On the biographical axis, they are counted, but they are not regarded as time-bound commandments for the purpose of women’s exemption.

E. What Do Sisyphus and Positive Time-Bound Commandments Have to Do with One Another?

Introduction: two time-axes

In the discussion above we saw two principal types of halakhic time-axis: a cyclical axis and a linear axis. In halakha we know several cyclical time-axes that are relevant to different kinds of mitzvot: there is an axis whose cycle is one day, and there are weekly, monthly, yearly—the cycle of the year—seven-year, fifty-year, and other such cycles. By contrast, unlike all these, there are also time-axes that are not cyclical at all: the historical axis and the biographical axis, of a people or of individuals. Such a linear axis does not repeat itself like a wheel, but advances monotonically in a straight line. The biographical axis stretches along the course of a person’s life. The historical axis stretches along the course of events that occur to a people or to humanity as a whole.

In this root, Maimonides deals with temporary commandments that depend explicitly on time—but the time that creates them is linear, historical time, not one of the cyclical time forms. These commandments do not recur at a later time; they appeared once in the history of our people. They are one-time only, and for that reason they are not counted among the mitzvot. By contrast, positive time-bound commandments concern mitzvot generated by the cyclical time-axes.¹³ They served only as an illustration of the distinction we made here in explaining Maimonides’ position, which in fact concerns the historical time-axis.¹⁴

In this section we will try to understand the significance of these two kinds of time-axis, and what emerges from their combination.

The spiral structure of time

Every yearly marker on the historical axis—of a people, or any group—is both an endpoint and a starting point. Every New Year marks the end of the previous year and the beginning of the new one. On our cyclical time-axis, every ending is a new beginning, and every beginning is an ending.

This connection between ending and beginning, and vice versa, is necessary in a finite world. Every finite thing has an edge, and when one reaches that edge there is nowhere further to continue.¹⁵ In a finite world every thing is finite, and therefore necessarily has boundaries. The only possibility of infinity within a finite framework is the circle.

At first glance, it may seem that in the overall process we are moving in an infinite circle on the same time-axis, retracing our steps from the previous cycle. But that is not the full picture. The time-axis has two components: a linear component, advancing from past to future, and a cyclical component, repeating itself along the calendar—and likewise along the day, the week, or the month. The conclusion is that the time-axis as a whole is built like a spiral, whose projections are these two components, the linear and the cyclical. In general, time repeats itself and yet also advances, and from the combination of these two motions there emerges a helical movement that progresses forward while turning locally in loops. Let us try to illustrate this through the halakhic aspects of these two time-axes.

Two kinds of one-time commandments

The cyclical time-axis is defined along the jubilee, the sabbatical year, the year, the month, the week, or the day. Commandments connected to this axis are called positive time-bound commandments. They return to us with different periodicity, depending on the length of the relevant cycle. Festivals return every year, the sabbatical year every seven years, the jubilee every fifty years, the new moon every month, and prayers every week or every day. There are also things that recur twice each day—the daily offerings, the recitation of the Shema, the lighting of the menorah, and so forth.

As we have seen, the essence of positive time-bound commandments is that time itself creates them, and not any circumstances that happen to occur in time. We also noted that their definition has a concrete halakhic consequence: women are exempt from them.

Now, alongside all of these there is also a time-axis of a different character: the linear, or historical, axis. Such an axis does not repeat itself. It can be the life-course of an individual, of a group, of a people, or of the whole world. In this root, Maimonides deals with one-time commandments on the historical axis, but there are also one-time commandments connected to the biographical axis. For example, with regard to the individual person, there is the commandment of redeeming the firstborn son, and the commandment of circumcision for every male.¹⁶

In this context an interesting question arises. The Gemara in tractate Kiddushin discusses the obligations of the father toward the son, and one of them is to circumcise him. By contrast, the mother is not obligated to circumcise her sons. The Gemara there, 29a, derives this from the verse:

“As God commanded him” — “him,” and not “her.”

Rashi there writes that this is a positive commandment not caused by time, and therefore a special source is required to exempt the mother from it. But Tosafot, on the words “him” in that same sugya, ask why such a source is needed at all, since this commandment is apparently dependent on time. The obligation of circumcision begins from the eighth day onward, and therefore it seems to depend on time. Several early authorities raise this difficulty and propose various answers. Tosafot answer as follows:

Since from the eighth day onward there is no interruption, it is not time-bound.

One can understand Tosafot’s words in a technical way: positive time-bound commandments are only commandments that are bounded on the time-axis from both sides. But this is a merely technical distinction, and it is not clear why it should be correct. It therefore seems to me that the better understanding of Tosafot is that they intend to distinguish between a commandment that belongs in its very essence to the linear time-axis, and not to the cyclical one—and as such does not belong to the category of positive time-bound commandments at all—and a commandment that belongs to the cyclical axis, which is what that category refers to. The linear axis is a different kind of time-axis, and the exemption of women was never stated with respect to it.¹⁷

The conclusion is that the Torah’s conception of time is made up of two different components: the linear and the cyclical. On each of these two time-axes there are one-time commandments. The one-time commandments on the historical axis are not counted among the mitzvot. The one-time commandments on the cyclical axis are those from which women are exempt. One-time commandments on the biographical axis are indeed included among the mitzvot—such as circumcision and the redemption of the firstborn—but they are not considered commandments dependent on time for the purpose of women’s exemption.

Sisyphus

Why, then, did the Holy One create in His world a double system of two kinds of time-axis? What is the purpose of this structure?

The myth of Sisyphus describes an eternal process of ascent followed by descent back to the beginning, without purpose or goal. Circular time is Sisyphean, and therefore by its very nature also devoid of meaning. The French writer Albert Camus, in his book The Myth of Sisyphus, reflects on this phenomenon and from it arrives at the legitimization of suicide. In His Torah, God offers us a different logic: a combination of these two axes, which creates a spiral that advances while circling.

A fitting parable is the ascent of a mountain. If one climbs directly up a steep mountain, this may be very difficult, and at times one may not succeed at all. If, by contrast, one circles around it, that is easier—but one does not actually rise. The only realistic way to climb a high mountain is to combine the two paths: to climb upward while turning around it. That is also how one generally designs a road that climbs a mountain.

The meaning for our lives is clear. The markers on the time-axis are markers on both axes. Such a perspective allows us to see that there is a way upward. We are always in a process of ascent, and there is always somewhere further for us to go. The cyclical, circular tracks are meant to help us climb. We celebrate a birthday in order to see that we have completed another cycle, but we must always ask whether, along the vertical axis, we are now higher than we were on the previous birthday. Does our Passover, or our New Year, look like last year’s, or did we fulfill our task and succeed in climbing higher? The purpose of repetition is to give each of us an opportunity for improvement and for further ascent. It is important to make sure that we make use of it, and do not continue spinning in Sisyphean circles that drain meaning from our lives, both as individuals and as a group. That is why the time-axis is built in this spiral form.

And where is God in all this?

There is an additional condition for such progress to be possible: there must be a mountain to climb. There must be a goal to the ascent, and an axis that defines what is “up” and what is “down.” Such a definition requires something—or someone—greater than anything we know, someone who fills all reality from bottom to top. Constant improvement can occur only in the direction of the infinite, that is, in the direction of God. The service of God defines for us the direction of the ascent, and makes it possible. That is therefore also the standard by which we must test whether we are on a Sisyphean path, or on a path that truly advances “on the road that ascends to Bethel.”

F. Returning to the Question of the Meaning of Temporary Commandments: What Is a Command, and What Is Halakha?

Introduction

Until now, we have tried to clarify the definition of temporary commandments in relation to Maimonides’ discussion in this root and more generally. Our conclusion was that such commandments are those in which time is an essential factor in generating the obligation, or in generating the relevant ritual object.

We must now return to the questions with which we began. We saw that Maimonides does not count temporary commandments. We also saw that Nahmanides distinguishes between commandments that have ramifications for future generations and those that do not. We asked how, whether according to Maimonides or according to Nahmanides, it can be that there are verses in the Torah with no significance for future generations.

The question is why these commandments were written in the Torah at all, given the accepted principle that there is nothing in the Torah that was not written in order to teach something for future generations.¹⁸ More than that: there are clearly lessons to be learned from all these temporary commandments, as one can see in the various commentators on the Torah. If so, it is not clear why those lessons are not counted within the framework of the tally of mitzvot.

Between instructions and commandments

It would seem that these commandments are not essentially different from many verses in the Torah that recount events that happened, or deal with matters that have no direct halakhic or practical implication. One may ask what the status is of directives that arise from the interpretation of such verses by various commentators, or by the sages themselves. If Nahmanides or Rashbam learn from a certain passage in the Torah that we ought to behave in a certain way, does that way of behaving immediately become a biblical commandment? At first glance, it would seem that it should. After all, to the best of our understanding, the Torah wanted to teach us precisely that lesson, and that is what God expects of us in such a situation. Of course, even if there is concern over interpretive error, this amounts to no more than a doubt about a biblical matter, which normally requires stringency. And such doubt can exist with respect to the interpretation of explicitly imperative verses as well. Therefore, on the principled level, the possibility of interpretive error cannot serve as an argument against granting biblical obligatory status to what is learned through such interpretation.

It seems that there is a distinction here—primarily formal in character—between a commandment and a biblical lesson or concern. A commandment enters the formal halakhic system, whereas a biblical concern is a mode of conduct that God expects from each of us, but which is not located within the formal legal system. A discussion of biblical concerns that are not formal halakha lies beyond our scope here, but it is clear that such a Torah category exists. Even examples like doing what is right and good, and going beyond the strict letter of the law, are examples of demands that do not belong to the sphere of formal halakha.¹⁹

If so, it is very plausible that there are lessons learned from every temporary commandment that is not counted, but those lessons belong to the category of biblical concerns. They are guidance, not commandments. The boundary is sometimes very fine, but it certainly exists. The prohibition against giving unfair advice follows directly from the command “You shall not place a stumbling block before the blind,” and not merely as a general lesson. But is that really a more direct interpretation than the lesson that one should be harsher in punishing someone who does not honor father and mother, by analogy with the stubborn and rebellious son? Clearly the latter would not be regarded as a halakhic command. Part of the picture lies in the existence of tradition, which can determine the boundaries of interpretation for each command. But it is clear that this element does not solve a large part of the difficulty. The line between interpreting a lesson or guidance and interpreting a halakhic obligation is quite blurred.

Considerations rooted in biblical style

Perhaps the difference lies in the way the verses appear in the Torah. Command-verses appear in the form of commands, and that tells us something about their nature and content. With regard to prohibitions there is even a rabbinic rule that “take heed,” “lest,” and “do not”—and the early authorities added even plain “not”—are biblical formulations that express the warning language of a prohibition. Verses that appear in another style, without command language, do not command but describe. They are declarative verses and not imperative verses.

If we derive something through interpretation and ask whether the result is halakhic or not, it may be that the answer depends on the character of the verse from which we derived it. If the verse is an imperative verse, we assume that its result is also a halakhic command, and not merely general guidance. And if the base verse is a declarative verse, we assume that the result is not included in the binding halakhic system, but is only guidance.

Now, temporary commandments do indeed appear as commands, but they are commands for their own time. The interpretation that we learn from them is not an interpretation of that command itself, but the extraction of a lesson for us from it. The boundary here is therefore less clear than in the other cases, because there is indeed an imperative verse here. Yet it is a description of a command that was given in the past, not the presentation of a command addressed to the current reader. In their essence, then, these too are declarative and not imperative verses. That is why Maimonides refuses to count them in his tally.

A note on Maimonides’ method

It should be noted that on Maimonides’ method, it is somewhat easier to understand the difference between interpretation and lessons on the one hand, and counted mitzvot on the other. As we saw in our article on the second root, Maimonides defines only laws explicitly stated in the Torah as biblical laws. Any law that emerges from interpretation, or from some other indirect exegetical process, does not receive that status. According to this, it may be that specifically according to Maimonides there is an easier solution to our problem. Maimonides would say that such lessons are extensions of the Torah, and their status is like that of laws derived by interpretation, which in his view have the status of rabbinic law.

It follows that interpretations of temporary commandments or events that appear in the Torah are in the category of extensions to Torah law and are not written there explicitly. This is especially true of verses that are not even written in imperative language. Here we have added that temporary commandments too have such a status. It therefore follows that interpretations and lessons from the narrative sections of the Torah, or from temporary commandments—which are likewise narrative sections recounting commands that once existed—may indeed obligate in some halakhic sense, but only on the rabbinic level.

It may be, however, that only formal exegetical derivations count as extensions of the halakhic part of the Torah, and therefore receive that status. Interpretations are extensions of the non-halakhic part and are therefore not halakhically binding at all, even though it is certainly proper to conduct oneself in accordance with them.

Broader implications: the meaning of a command

One may perhaps explain the matter differently, on the basis of the distinction that we encountered in our articles on the first two roots. Following the article by Rabbi Elhanan Wasserman on repentance in his Kovetz Ma’amarim, and following Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, whose remarks are cited there, we distinguished between two aspects present in every commandment or transgression: the aspect of repair or damage brought about by the commandment or transgression, and the aspect of obedience or rebellion in relation to the command itself. In this way we also explained the rabbinic statement that one who is commanded and performs is greater than one who is not commanded and performs. One who is commanded and performs realizes both aspects, whereas one who is not commanded and performs may indeed improve reality or the soul, but does not thereby fulfill a command.

The distinction between a commandment and a directive parallels the distinction between law and a moral norm. Law obligates citizens by virtue of the fact that it was duly enacted. Its binding force does not depend on whether it is moral or just—except perhaps in extreme cases of a law that is flagrantly unlawful, and even that is far from simple. It is the command that defines the obligation to obey the law, not the beneficial—or harmful—results of complying with it. The offender who is prosecuted for violating the law stands trial for not obeying the command, and not for his wickedness or for the damage he caused.

There are disputes about various laws that do not concern the question whether they are good or bad, but only the question whether it is appropriate to include them in the statute book as binding law. For example, the law based on “Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor” was the subject of sharp controversy in the Knesset, even though not a single member of parliament argued that the law did not point to proper and desirable behavior. The controversy concerned chiefly the question whether it is appropriate to establish this principle as a binding legal norm, or whether it is preferable to leave it at the voluntary level and to the citizen’s discretion.²⁰

We can now understand our topic better. In lessons or directives learned from non-halakhic passages in the Torah, there is no element of command. By contrast, imperative verses legislate laws for us, and our obligation toward them arises from the very fact that there is a command. The command creates the obligation. In declarative verses that do not command, there is no command. Even if some norm is learned from them, it is not a binding norm like law, but a guiding norm, like a moral norm.

Accordingly, such directives may indeed contain an aspect of repairing the world, just like fully halakhic mitzvot, but they lack the aspect of command. Therefore there is no basis for including them in the tally of mitzvot, even though of course it is important to heed the guidance that emerges from them for our own time as well.

This picture helps us understand why temporary commands were written in the Torah even though we do not derive from them binding halakhic duties. The Torah contains not only commandments and laws, but also moral and other forms of guidance that are not binding in formal halakhic terms, even though it is certainly proper to observe them and live by them. In this way, the circle opened by the questions at the beginning of our discussion is now closed.

The connection to dependence on time

Up to this point we have seen that temporary commandments are commandments that depend on time itself—direct dependence, not indirect dependence. We have also seen that such commandments cannot be included in the tally of mitzvot, according to all the early authorities. We are now suggesting that these commandments come to teach certain forms of guidance, but not commands. What is the relation between the first claim—that of direct dependence on time—and the second—that these are directives rather than commandments?

Above we suggested that dependence on time itself reflects some higher spiritual reality. Time is an entity that belongs to a higher world, and therefore here it appears to us as abstract and elusive; that is also why some maintain that time does not exist at all. If there is direct dependence of a halakhic obligation on time, this means that the commandment does not merely repair a set of circumstances in our world, for at another time, in the very same circumstances, the commandment would not apply. It presumably also repairs something in higher worlds.

From this one may propose that such a repair cannot be included within the system of mitzvot, because the purpose of mitzvot is to repair our own world. Actions in higher worlds, by their very nature, belong to the realm of values and guidance rather than to that of binding halakhic duties. That is why the meditative intentions of the Ari, and laws learned from mystical literature, often do not enter the system of binding halakha.²¹

Conclusion

Finally, let us note that our discussion suggests that this root too deals with the question of what counts as a command and what does not. In that respect it joins several other roots—the fifth, the eighth, the tenth, and the fourteenth—which belong to the fourth category. Those roots concern the definition of a command, and we shall discuss them, God willing, later in the year.

As for the question of the nature and character of the axes of time, we will discuss it, God willing, from additional angles in our next article.

Footnotes