What Is Greatness in Torah? (Column 682)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

In one of the more embarrassing threads on this site about drafting Haredim, Erez wrote the following sentence:

I have become convinced today from a conversation with that kollel man that there are no “Gedolim” who are not Haredi, and that our crown, the late Rabbi Kook (the Ra’ayah), was the last “Gadol B’Yisrael” whose outlook was not Haredi.

These words come straight from the mouth of a “high priest,” a person whose understanding of Torah is roughly like my understanding of ancient Chinese. Yet he is deeply and emphatically convinced of this because he spent one evening with a Haredi kollel man who spoke (nonsense) “eloquently and persuasively.” Since it cannot be denied that such a feeling exists among many (and of course among all Haredim, though not only them), I thought it appropriate to try to understand where this comes from. Therefore, I wrote a column that will touch on the question of who is a Gadol in Torah.

Infants Captured by Themselves

More than once I have written (see for example Columns 655, 680, and more) that the Haredi public conducts itself childishly (=infantile). The arguments advanced to justify its path are generally foolish and reflect a basic lack of understanding in various fields of knowledge as well as in halachic application. In many cases, social pressures determine truth and understanding. This is a public of “infants captured,” except that they are captive to themselves. But even in such a situation, and perhaps precisely then, it is apt to say that “a prisoner cannot release himself from prison.” Why do I mention this here? Because this too is intimately connected to the question addressed in this column: what is greatness in Torah.

The initial trigger for writing this column arose a few days ago, when I read an article by Yehuda Yifrach in last Shabbat’s supplement of Makor Rishon, “‘Put pressure on us’: Rabbis from the heart of the Lithuanian world talk about the conscription issue” (for those who want to read it as a file, see PDF). The article is certainly interesting, and the headline gives a sense of the depth of the captivity in which the Haredi public finds itself. However, it is worth noting that the term “rabbis” in the Haredi context means married men, sometimes kollel fellows and sometimes Ramim (teachers) in some yeshiva high school or major yeshiva. There is no reason to think these are the words of Haredi leaders.

These things join what Rabbi Elchanan Nir brought in an article from about nine months ago, in which he recounts a meeting he and Rabbi Tamir Granot had with a well-known Haredi rabbi about conscription and more (this time it was indeed a fairly prominent Haredi leader):

Recently I had a long visit, together with my friend Rabbi Tamir Granot, with a recognized Haredi Gadol. “Come and be part of the people of Israel,” we cried in his ears. He understood and even agreed that we were right. “But if I go out publicly and say that you are right,” he justified, “they will persecute and boycott me.” And then he added candidly: “We are a community of children; you are a community of adults. We will not be able to mature on our own. The internal mechanism will cut off any attempt at change. You will have to give us a kick; only that way will we grow.”

Anyone familiar with Haredi conduct does not need these descriptions. There is no doubt that these feelings exist even among the highest rabbinic leadership, which is itself captive. You can sense this from Yifrach’s descriptions of the clandestineness required for some of his interlocutors to agree to be interviewed anonymously. I too have previously brought similar descriptions. You understand that a society that operates this way—where one cannot raise opinions for open discussion and everything runs under fear—is a distorted society. Of course, one cannot take seriously anything Haredim say. There is no way to know what a Haredi person really thinks, even when he speaks in a private forum. And certainly there is no way to gauge their religious devotion and worldviews, since outwardly there is always a perfect façade (see Column 680, in the section “A brief discussion on the price of insularity,” which deals with the myth of Haredi survivability).

The absurdity here is that we are dealing with a public that follows its leaders who are themselves captive to the public and its activists, and so on in a vicious circle. They are in a loop one cannot escape from—at least if they are unwilling to take steps and pay prices (see the end of Column 680)—and they continue to fear their own shadow. Each one there fears the other, creating a community whose distorted conduct is based on mutual fear. Therefore, even those already willing to sound the alarm and admit the problematic situation continue to hide and to release declarations from the closet through journalists and non-Haredi people. They are begging for someone to save them from themselves, since after Baron Münchhausen who pulled himself up by his hair and got himself out of the pit, we have not found a prisoner who frees himself from jail.

But here I wish to touch on a point that arose in Yifrach’s article, almost as a side remark (I don’t know why it is customary to write mesiach, as in “speech in distraction”)—a point that brings us to our topic here.

On the Difference Between Haredim and the RZ Public: The Ills of “Hardalism”

I will begin with a passage that made me write this column. Within the article, Yifrach brings the following words:

“For the average Haredi, there is only one scale by which to assess whether you are a good Jew: how much Gemara you learn, the quality of your scholarship, the level of your observance of the commandments. He cannot imagine a conception that has two scales. He cannot grasp that there is a yeshiva student who prays with devotion because he reads poetry, and that military service is a realization of an authentic Jewish value. And there is nothing to be done: up against the Haredi scale—the Mizrachnikim will always lose. The Zionist yeshivot—in the hours when they study Gemara—do what we do, only in a far less serious manner. Your rabbis acknowledge this superiority. There is no Zionist rabbi who will erase the Haredi Gedolei HaDor.”

This passage is instructive. Beyond the essential value question of what is truly most important (scholarship and mitzvot versus other matters), note the factual assumption so deeply embedded in them, as if it were self-evident. They all (including Yehuda Yifrach himself, of course, who did not think to comment on it) have internalized well the Haredi propaganda according to which Haredim engage in scholarship, they are professionals, whereas the “Mizrachnikim” are at best amateurs whose concern is devotion and poetry, civic engagement, military service, and self-sacrifice (and the meticulous, like Yifrach’s interviewees, add: “which is certainly worthy of appreciation”). Their attitude toward RZ rabbis is roughly like ours toward Reform rabbis.

It cannot be denied that communities that do not engage in halacha and study—certainly Reform but also some Orthodox—appoint rabbis and rebbetzins who are evaluated on other planes, unrelated to learning. Those who can speak, quote Tanakh, play beautifully and stir hearts, deliver sermons and preach ethics, quote poets and authors, and tell and explain the aggadot of Hazal. Rabbis are evaluated by charisma and pastoral ability, by understanding and empathy for the community, and less by scholarly level. I am not saying a congregational rabbi need be a superb scholar, nor that the aforementioned traits are unimportant; but this colors the conception of “greatness in Torah” in general (see my article on this). Unfortunately, this illness of cheapening the title “rabbi” has penetrated deeply into the Religious-Zionist camp as well, where everyone receives the title “rabbi” by virtue of various merits (some indeed praiseworthy), but they cut corners on scholarship and classic halachic-Torah knowledge. Therefore this public rightly gets hit by Haredi criticism.

If I return to the description from the article, the latter part is certainly correct: additional planes beyond scholarship are worthy of appreciation. Mitzvot and good deeds, ethics, the ability to deliver and speak, and so forth—all these are fine and important virtues. But these do not come in place of knowledge and scholarship, only in addition to them. Yet here I arrive at the point that it is precisely the former part that upsets me more. Clearly a Judaism of scholarship alone is distorted and flawed, and such Torah is not worth much. But the assumption that the Haredi model reflects “greatness in Torah” in the scholarly sense is also distorted. I argue that there is distortion even on the factual plane that appears in the article, namely that the Gedolei Torah are Haredi (as in Erez’s claim at the start). In my view, the RZ—and particularly the Hardal—inferiority complex is at play here, whereby it is clear that the real Gedolei Torah are Haredi. No one dares to question this “fact.” Well, except me (the heretic), of course.

The root of the problem is the model of greatness in Torah. Again, I am not speaking about the need for deeds beyond learning and observance in the Haredi, narrow sense. That is self-evident. To call Haredi life “meticulous observance of mitzvot” is a joke, since some of the most important mitzvot and moral values are trampled there in a disgraceful manner, and the desecration of God’s name that results drags down to the abyss any shred of value there is in their deeds and learning. As the prophet already said: “Why do I need your many sacrifices?” But here our subject is greatness in Torah in its direct sense. I want to dispute even that.

The Hardal model of greatness in Torah is borrowed from the Haredim. They can declare marvelous and broad statements from Rav Kook until tomorrow. But at the end of the day, deeply embedded within them are the narrow Haredi concepts of greatness in Torah. Their model is essentially the Haredi model, and it is no wonder that in that arena they lose. No one can be more Haredi than the Haredim. If you compete on their field, you lose. One cannot compare the number of scholars and the scope of scholarship between the two worlds. The Haredim invest all their energy, their best people and talent in this, and of course trample everything else. As it is said: “I was never defeated except by a master of one craft.” Therefore the Hardal inferiority complex is so deep—and rightly so. You cannot be more Haredi than the Haredim. When the competition is on their field, you will certainly lose. Incidentally, hence the disgraceful cooperation of the Hardalim with Haredim and their distortions, as we have seen in recent years in the political arena. The discourse, of course, leans on respect for those with different positions and their spiritual and rabbinic leadership (nahara nahara u-pashtei), closeness to “our brothers” in Torah and mitzvot, and other honey-dripping slogans. But fundamentally lies a very deep inferiority complex born of their model of greatness in Torah.

In my eyes, incidentally, this is the deepest attack that “Hardalism” inflicts on the RZ conception and public. The implicit adoption and entrenchment of Haredi standards as the ideal model (despite minor declarations to the contrary), as you can see in Yifrach’s article—both among the interviewees and the interviewer. Hence, of course, any other model is seen as “lite,” as Mizrachnik amateurism. The Hardalim try with all their might to imitate Haredi devotion to Torah, the narrowing of Torah (along with hatred and dismissal of academia, for example), while at the margins there is a controlled and cautious engagement in the “white Shas” of Rav Kook (and for the meticulous, also in Emunat Iteinu of Rabbi Tau, the writings of Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda, etc.). Well, no one is perfect.

I have recounted here in the past that after a period when we lived in Bnei Brak, I developed the feeling that a rabbi with a knitted kippah cannot truly be a scholarly figure. It was clear to me that each of them could sit in my class and learn something about scholarship. It took me a very long time to free myself from these inferiority feelings and from clinging to external markers like modern Hebrew, reliance on common sense, non-Torah sources, and the like. None of these necessarily indicate that you are not a scholar. In the end, the process I describe in this column led me to the opposite conclusion. These are conditions for greatness in Torah.

As I wrote in response to Erez’s words, in my view the situation is the reverse: there are almost no Haredi Gedolei Torah. A lad could count them. To understand why, I must describe my model of greatness in Torah. And I stress again: I am not speaking of greatness in character traits, devotion, mitzvot, and good deeds. My concern here is greatness in Torah—who is a talmid hacham. My claim is that the Haredi (and by extension the Hardal) model of greatness in Torah is crooked and distorted.

Who Is a Gadol in Torah: Three Additional Features

As noted, no one disputes that in the Haredi world there are many more people who master all the treasures of the Ketzos HaChoshen, Reb Chaim, and the Rashba. Some are people with excellent analytical abilities whose general lectures are a pleasure to hear. There are poskim there with complete command of the halachic literature in its branches. This is the figure of the scholar and the posek in the Haredi model. But is this the full realization of the concept “greatness in Torah”? I emphasize that what follows is written out of deep appreciation for these abilities, and out of deep disagreement with the cheapening of the title “rabbi” and distributing it to people who are not endowed with such knowledge and abilities—rabbis and rebbetzins whose scholarly ability is roughly like that of a third-year yeshiva student. But precisely from such a view one must beware the opposite error: seeing these skills as the entirety of greatness in Torah.

In my view, greatness in Torah must certainly include knowledge and scholarly skill and analytical ability. But beyond that, it must include at least three more things (which are interrelated): common sense, good familiarity and understanding of the world, and reasonable literacy in other disciplines (certainly recognition of and respect for them). These three are greatly lacking in those whom the Haredim call “Gedolei Torah.” On the contrary, from their perspective a reasonable measure of these is not an advantage but a disadvantage; it shows that such a “Gadol” is not truly immersed in Torah. A Gadol in their view should be cloistered in a room full of faded brown and black books in Rashi script, with gold lettering on the cover: Darkei Yechiel, Nachalat Mahalalel, Birkat HaZevach, Ta’alulei Mechuyal, and the like. They must be written in archaic language, neither sharp nor clear, and Heaven forbid to use modes of thought not handed down from our ancient teachers. And if they peek at another book—only under the table where no one knows, and certainly never to make any use of it.

You will forgive me if I do not bring sources and citations here—from the Rambam on Ma’aseh Bereishit and Merkavah, through the Gra on the need to master the seven wisdoms, and so on. Why do I need a verse? Reason suffices! I don’t even think those wisdoms are merely “spices and cooks” for Torah. In my view, they have intrinsic value. In Brisker terminology, I have often distinguished between “Torah in the person”—the totality of the wisdoms, including aggadah, ethics, and thought—and “Torah in the object”—study of halacha and Talmudic analysis in halachic sugyot. Haredi Torah is indeed Torah in the object—the core of the concept “Torah”—and it is important not to mix it with other fields. But as I have explained, this division does not necessarily reflect a difference in importance but in essence (whether the value of study is objective or subjective). It is hard to elaborate here; I have written at length elsewhere about the root of the matter.

In Column 655, I discussed the traits of Haredi thinking, both about the world and about study (see Column 680 on how the Haredi duality and detachment from common sense begins in their Torah study and from there moves to worldly matters and general ideas). At times you will find logical arguments there whose conclusions indeed follow formally from their premises. Haredim examine an argument or scholarly construction by its coherence, but look less at whether it holds water from the standpoint of common sense. In their eyes, contradiction to common sense is even a virtue, for “the opinion of householders is the opposite of the opinion of Torah.” Any idiot in the street can state common-sense notions, but absurd ideas based on valid arguments are the skill of “Gedolei Torah.”

I have previously cited the words of Rabbi Benny Lau, who said that a Rosh Yeshiva delivers his lectures before an audience of brilliant students who scrutinize the consistency of the structures he presents. But they are too young to tell him “this doesn’t make sense.” Thus is created an ideology that produces a Torah detached from common sense and sound reason—a Torah that anyone looking from the outside understands is not “our wisdom and understanding in the eyes of the nations.” And the rabbinic leadership is the one that excels in this detached thinking. This has become the model of greatness in Torah.

Detachment from other fields of knowledge leads to a lack of conceptual clarity in the yeshiva world. The habit of defining concepts and analyzing them a priori before using them in scholarly constructions is a blessed academic habit that has not penetrated the yeshiva world. Much of the analytical pilpul could be avoided and clarified were we to precede it with conceptual analysis. It also places the scholarly idea you are dealing with in a broader context with implications in other disciplines. Thus clarity is achieved, coherence of thought, and greater depth. The technical pilpul gains flesh, skin, and sinews, and ceases to be a detached logical structure. I dealt with all this in my lectures on conceptual analysis (see for example here).

A General Note

Before I continue, I must sharpen an important point. Clearly ascetic greatness cloistered in four cubits of faded books is also very important. This is a possible and important model of greatness in Torah, and I do not come to deny it. On the contrary, in my view it is important that there be such people and to encourage their growth. Here I wish to argue three claims: 1) This is not the only model of greatness in Torah. 2) Such a Gadol must not be given roles and authority of leadership. 3) In many cases, a Gadol of this type lacks common sense and breadth of horizon, which harms even his rulings and scholarship in the narrow sense. If these are lacking, it is hard to truly regard him as a Gadol in Torah. On these matters, see here a clip from my conversation with Roi Yozevitch, Column 163, Column 139, and the article on two models of the rabbi, and more.

Example: What Is a Plague?

One of the clearest examples of the limitations of narrow greatness is the criminal conduct of R. Chaim Kanievsky and his flock during COVID-19 (my conversation with Yozevitch above was held in its wake). I am not dealing here with whether there is an obligation to obey the law, nor whether the doctors’ guidelines were necessarily correct. I am also not talking about R. Chaim’s “holy spirit” and whether in the end he was proven right. Here I am talking solely about the narrow approach that led to the problematic decisions he made for the Haredi public at large, and the terrible desecration of God’s name they caused.

I can surmise that when R. Chaim came to decide on opening educational institutions during the pandemic, he examined the matter with the halachic-Torah tools he was accustomed to using. I am not speaking about the fact that the approach to a plague is influenced by Scripture and Talmud, which see it as divine punishment, the main way to cope with which is prayer and study (yes, yes—there is also “hishtadlut,” of course). According to this, it is no wonder that precisely during a plague one must not cancel children’s Torah study, no?! But here I address a different aspect.

If you check the Talmudic definition of a plague, you will find it in Ta’anit 19a:

What is considered an epidemic? A city that sends out five hundred [able-bodied] footmen and three dead are taken from it on three consecutive days—this is an epidemic; fewer than that is not an epidemic.

And so rules the Rambam, Hilkhot Ta’aniyot 2:5:

As for an epidemic—what is an epidemic? A city that has five hundred able-bodied men and three dead are taken from it on three consecutive days—this is an epidemic. If they die on one day or over four days, it is not an epidemic. If it has a thousand and six dead are taken over three consecutive days—this is an epidemic. If on one day or over four days, it is not an epidemic. And so proportionally. Women, children, and elderly men retired from work are not counted among the city’s men for this matter.

And in the Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 576:2:

And similarly for an epidemic: what is an epidemic? A city that has five hundred able-bodied men and three dead are taken from it on three consecutive days—this is an epidemic. If on one day or over four days, it is not an epidemic. If it has a thousand and six dead are taken over three days consecutively—this is an epidemic. If on one day or over four days, it is not an epidemic; and so proportionally. Women, children, and elderly men retired from work are not counted among the city’s men for this. If there is an epidemic in Eretz Yisrael, the other diasporas fast for them (and specifically if it is throughout the whole, not part) (Ran, ch. 3 of Ta’anit). If there is an epidemic in a province, and caravans go to and from it to another province, both fast even if they are far from each other.

We have clear numerical criteria by which to determine whether there is an epidemic. Without entering how sharp or binding this is, it is very plausible that this would be the basis guiding the typical Haredi posek in deciding such questions.

However, I surmise that R. Chaim, like other Haredi poskim, had never heard of the concept of an “exponential process.” A plague is such a process, and therefore its growth rate is not really grasped by one unversed in the matter. To illustrate, I will bring an example I once heard (I have brought it before). Think of a very large sheet of paper. You fold it and its thickness doubles. Fold again, and it quadruples, and so on. How many times must one fold such a sheet so that its thickness reaches from the earth to the moon?… Well, the answer is not a million billion times, nor even a thousand. It is forty folds. Note: forty (!!!) folds of a sheet one millimeter thick bring us to a thickness approximately the distance from the earth to the moon. Just to give a feel: the last fold (after 39 folds) adds another half of the distance from earth to the moon (it doubles the thickness, thus getting us to the moon). Exponential processes are very surprising. They begin slowly: another millimeter and another millimeter. But very quickly you get to an addition of kilometers and millions of kilometers in a single fold.

Now consider a plague in which on day one one person dies. So too on day two. On day three, two people die. All these are fluctuations around an exponential process which, if not monitored immediately, will very quickly produce thousands and hundreds of thousands of dead every hour. The criterion of “how many die each day” is in no way relevant to such processes. Diagnosing them is difficult and requires expertise (and even that does not always succeed, as we saw with COVID), and understanding their significance requires minimal familiarity with mathematical calculations. Therefore, one unfamiliar with exponential processes cannot make decisions in such questions.

This is not merely a technical matter. It is part of greatness in Torah. Understanding the world, familiarity with other disciplines, or at least awareness of problems and readiness to consult, to know whom to consult (hint: not Gafni and Deri), and to understand what the advisors say. This requires familiarity with and appreciation for such fields. A posek who sits cloistered in his room with the same musty books and makes decisions by “holy spirit” without consulting can bring disaster. But beyond the outcomes, here I claim first and foremost that he rules halacha incorrectly. It is not only a practical problem and a danger; it calls into question his greatness as a halachic decisor.

Further Halachic Examples

Consider a halachic question about forming a minyan over Zoom. I have previously written that in my opinion it is possible to combine into a minyan people who are in a shared Zoom meeting, even if physically they are in different and far-flung places. The reason is that such an encounter is considered as being in the same place, i.e., a site (makom). It is not for nothing that a “place” on the web is called a “site,” since those in it feel a shared presence, just as do those in the same room. One can, of course, argue with this claim, but one who has never experienced this cannot understand it. You cannot pose such a question to R. Chaim Kanievsky or to Rav Elyashiv, because they lack the tools to understand it and answer it.

The same holds for questions concerning women’s status in synagogue or generally. Consider a question about attending a performance by a female singer. A typical Haredi posek will surely forbid it out of hand. Even if the questioner explains that he enjoys the musical quality of her singing, that posek will surely dismiss it and think that he is just trying to find a heter. To that posek it is obvious that the desire has a sexual component; otherwise, why would someone want to listen specifically to a woman singer? He has never heard a woman sing and does not understand the musical value people see in such singing. Therefore, in his view listening to a woman singer is certainly a desire to arouse forbidden thoughts.

So too regarding a question about a woman being called to the Torah, or even whether to allow her to deliver a dvar Torah (what is the problem with that at all?). A posek who will address such a question must understand the situation, understand the significance of the matter for the woman and the community, and a typical Haredi posek has no way to answer such a question because he does not understand the situation. In principle, he could do so if he were attentive to the questioner’s words and descriptions and gave him credit that he is not merely seeking a heter but describing things as they are.

I do not intend to claim that every posek unfamiliar with a situation is disqualified from judging it. I refer to extreme unfamiliarity, namely a situation far from the posek’s world (see my article here). Beyond that, he must be willing to listen and to evaluate the situation through the eyes of the questioner. In such cases, I very much doubt you will find this among conservative poskim. Their very conservatism and closedness do not allow them to consider such arguments seriously, even when there is room for such considerations.

A Haredi posek will sometimes completely ignore the needs of people in his own community. Poskim who forbid women to drive, or yeshiva boys to travel during intersession and to learn to drive, to attend (Haredi male) music evenings, and the like. It seems they are entirely detached from understanding the needs and atmosphere, and they impose an impossible burden on their flock. This reflects detachment from understanding the Haredi world itself.

Many more examples can be found. One might argue that it is unreasonable to demand that every posek be familiar with every situation he judges. My claim is that there is no such demand, though it is fitting to be familiar with common situations (like using computers and the internet) and certainly situations in the Haredi world itself. In any case, he must be willing to listen to those who live that situation and to take their descriptions into account.

To the same extent, it is important that a posek who makes public and political decisions (like those guiding the Haredi parties) understand how a state is run (as opposed to a community)—a point sorely lacking in Haredi rabbinic leadership. It appears that poskim do not understand the difference. You can see this in the arguments for exempting Haredim from conscription (see, for example, the absurd discussion here). Haredim argue that there is currently no real danger, since there are enough soldiers to handle the problems (and if not, they should draft Hesder students during yeshiva periods, or further extend compulsory service and reserve duty—just as our reckless government, run by Haredim, in fact did). And what if a real danger arises of a multi-front war? Well, then we’ll enlist. They completely ignore the terrible burden on reservists and its economic and social ramifications. They ignore that a modern army cannot operate by drafting when there is danger. We are not in biblical times; when the enemies are at the gates, we cannot then recruit people and train them for modern warfare. These arguments are not only those of rank-and-file kollel men. I am quite sure their leaders see things this way too. They do not understand how to run a state, nor the difference between it and a community. In their minds they are still in Warsaw or Vilna.

Failures in Narrow-Minded Scholarship

All these are failures in halachic decision-making. A Gadol in Torah who is mandated with leadership and halachic rulings must certainly be evaluated by these parameters as well. But what about the scholar (Rosh Yeshiva)? He gives lectures and writes scholarly works, but is not a posek and does not rule in practice. Is there a problem of narrowness for him? I think there are also flaws and defects in the scholarship of narrow-minded rabbis. Broader and deeper understanding of sugyot is achieved by those whose horizons are wider. The scholarly depth and breadth of perspective are affected by familiarity with logic, history, philosophy, psychology, economics, and other sciences and wisdoms—each according to his inclinations and skills. Again, the intent is not that a scholar must be expert in all wisdoms. That is almost impossible. But he must have some footing, understanding, recognition, and appreciation of them. Unlike halachic decision-making (as in an exponential epidemic), here even consulting experts will not help, since usually there is no concrete question he himself will recognize as demanding consultation.

I think there are several examples on this site of scholarly thinking nourished by ties to other disciplines. Let us take two examples. Consider the kal va-chomer of “included in two hundred is one hundred.” A regular kal va-chomer derives conclusions from a strict/lenient relationship between two contexts. For example, in Mishnah Bava Kamma 24b we learn that a horn is liable in the victim’s courtyard by a kal va-chomer from tooth and foot. Such a kal va-chomer can be refuted by counter-arguments showing that horn is not necessarily stricter than tooth and foot, or that the victim’s courtyard is not necessarily easier to obligate than the public domain. But there is another type, called “included in two hundred is one hundred,” which several Aharonim assume cannot possibly be refuted. For example: “If one is liable for opening [a pit], all the more so for digging.” Opening a pit obligates the owner to pay for damage caused in it. So one who dug the entire pit and not only opened it is certainly liable. Here the relation between opening and digging is not only stringency/leniency but inclusion: every digging includes within it opening, and therefore all the laws of opening must certainly apply to digging as well. As noted, some Aharonim believe that a kal va-chomer of this type cannot be refuted, since it is not a relation of stringency but of inclusion. But in Column 318 I showed that this is not so. Philosophical understanding, generalization, and a broader view that sees also legal and scientific dimensions can help the learner understand this.

Another example is concepts of authority. In several places I have distinguished between two different concepts: formal authority and substantive authority. Substantive authority is the authority of an expert; it arises from the fact that he likely knows more and is more skilled than I in that field, and therefore is probably correct. Formal authority is authority granted to a person or institution based on who they are, like the authority of the Knesset or of the Holy One Blessed be He. Many entanglements in sugyot of authority arise because people do not distinguish between these two types. Among other things, the authority of the Talmud is presented as a result of the Amoraim’s spiritual charisma and supreme abilities (each could revive the dead). The need for such rationales indicates that people think it is substantive authority (the sages of the Talmud cannot err). But the truth is that their authority is formal, not substantive. And the proof is the many errors found in the Talmud, not only in scientific and mathematical matters. Another pitfall deriving from the failure to distinguish is attributing the authority of “lo tasur” to the sages of our generation—based, of course, on the “da’at Torah” they have.

These are, of course, two random examples among very many. Thus, for instance, analyzing the Rambam and Ramban’s disputes in the first two shorashim must be done with awareness of the legal implications of the two approaches, yet in the (very sparse) literature interpreting the Shorashim you will not find this. The entire book Yishlach Shoreshav is full of scholarly ramifications from other fields of knowledge for understanding the Rambam’s meaning in the Shorashim. We have not yet spoken of understanding the methods and rules of derash—especially the logical rules (kal va-chomer, binyan av, and the refutations against them). Logical analysis of these rules resolves many difficulties that the average scholar has no way to cope with. Economic knowledge can, of course, be very helpful for understanding sugyot such as those in “Perek HaZahav” (about money and goods and the meanings of various transactions—see Columns 522–525), for understanding the scholarly concept of “chalut” (see my article here), for understanding the meanings of various clashes between halachic rules (like “a positive commandment overrides a negative one,” etc.) and moral rules, the analysis of halacha-and-ethics sugyot, issues of probabilistic evidence (226, 228), of the different kinds of majority rules, such as kavua (several columns on this site), and much more.

In many sugyot, scholars make analytical calculations and build tall and complex structures describing the positions in the sugya, whereas a preliminary conceptual analysis would have saved a substantial part of the work, and placing the matter in a broader context would illuminate it brilliantly (see the lecture series on conceptual analysis).

Some Complementary Remarks

In general, as I understand it, greatness in Torah is no different from any other field in its nature. It is specialization in a disciplinary field like any other. There are two main differences from other fields:

1. Scope. Greatness in Torah requires, beyond mastery of the material itself and the skills of analysis and synthesis, also intellectual greatness that is as multi-disciplinary as possible (I mentioned earlier several fields that may be important, but in principle any field may be). While broad intellectual horizons are a value in themselves beyond greatness in Torah, they do not necessarily contribute to the specific disciplinary field one engages in (sometimes they do). The statement that someone is great in Torah has a different meaning and weight than the statement that he is a great mathematician.
2. The more essential difference is not in the nature of greatness but in the following questions:

• How important it is to be great in Torah as opposed to greatness in another field. Greatness in Torah is a value, while greatness in another field is less so (if at all). At the very least, one is value in the object and the other in the subject.
• In Torah study it is important to apply what one learns (“to learn in order to perform”) and to conclude with practical conclusions (“study that leads to action”). A mathematician is not a triangle, and this does not harm his mathematical quality, but a talmid hacham must apply his Torah, and if he does not, that is a defect.

Here I will only note that I do not mean to claim that the goal of study is application, i.e., that learning has only instrumental value. On the contrary, greatness in Torah is a value in itself, not the creation of a living encyclopedia whose purpose is to help fulfill halacha. The very holding of Torah and delving into it is a value of its own. See Column 479 and my article here.

One practical ramification of this picture is that there is no added value to studying the laws of Shabbat over studying Kodashim and Taharot. Both should be studied aliba de-hilchata in this sense. As I understand it, intellectual pilpul in Torah is the very essence of the matter and of greatness in Torah—except that pilpul must be done properly, broadly, and from deep horizons, with common sense, and concluding in practical outcomes.

In a WhatsApp discussion I held on this matter, the statement of the late R. Avraham Shapira was raised—that a Gadol in Torah is one who can permit agunot. I replied that in my opinion the release of agunot is not the most complex field in halacha. It is no more complex than issur ve-heter, the laws of damages and Choshen Mishpat, and the like. It has that reputation because of the heavy responsibility borne by those who engage in it, i.e., because of the significant implications for women (it is roughly like saying that medicine is the smartest and most complex science—nothing could be further from the truth. There too the responsibility is heavy, but the depth and complexity are hardly prominent compared to other sciences, to put it mildly. A doctor is a mechanic of a complex machine with weight and value). I added that even in the field of permitting agunot, it is not a matter of halachic knowledge in the narrow sense. Understanding the world is very important; common sense no less; and even statistical and scientific understanding (see Columns 612–614).

Conclusion

As I wrote above, this column is not meant to undermine the greatness of people who devote themselves to Torah study and are cloistered in their four cubits of halacha. My claims are that such greatness is not suitable for public leadership (contrary to the myth that devotion to Torah leads a man to the right answers even without familiarity with the world and the relevant fields of knowledge), that it comes to propose other models of greatness, and also to argue that this model in many cases is lacking, mainly because of three things: unfamiliarity with the world, unfamiliarity with other fields of knowledge, and a lack of common sense. These matters are sharpened all the more in our time, when the weight of Torah knowledge diminishes and the weight of all these rises (until GPT arrives and empties even that of content).

All these deficiencies are not offset by encyclopedic knowledge and analytical pilpulim. I write this as one who highly appreciates these abilities. Rabbis who lead their flocks in such a detached and childish way are not Gedolei Torah—at least not in the relevant sense. These are children with impressive analytical abilities. My aim in this column was to break this infantile model and the unjustified inferiority feelings toward it. For this reason, I insist on not playing the honor games toward the leaders of all Haredi and conservative streams. This entrenches that inferiority complex and embeds it among Haredim and Religious-Zionists alike.

The assumption that total focus is a necessary condition for greatness in Torah may be correct, but it is a necessary (and not entirely so) and certainly not a sufficient condition. Knowing the world—including literature, thought, and science—is a very important component of greatness in Torah. This, of course, does not require every posek or scholar to earn an academic degree (though in my view it is very desirable), but to know, to be conversant, and to appreciate—most definitely yes.

In conclusion, I now propose to re-examine the assumption that most Gedolei Torah are Haredi. This depends, of course, on your model of greatness in Torah, but I think that by the parameters presented here, the answer will be entirely different from the prevailing answer that takes for granted the Haredi-conservative model.