On Dividing the Torah Between Morality and Halakha (Column 621)

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.

This past Shabbat (Parashat Bo) I spoke in the synagogue about this parashah as a watershed that divides the Torah into two parts of different character. This led me to various aspects that have already come up here, yet there is nonetheless an overall picture that is of interest in its own right.

Rashi’s first comment on the Torah

The starting point is the well-known words of Rabbi Yitzḥak that appear in Rashi’s first comment on the Torah, and I think it is no accident that he chose to preface his entire exegetical project with precisely this passage:

“In the beginning — Rabbi Yitzḥak said: The Torah need not have begun [with anything] but (Exodus 12:2) ‘This month shall be for you,’ for that is the first commandment that Israel were commanded. So why did it begin with Genesis?”

Already here a question arises: Why does Rabbi Yitzḥak assume that the first five books and a quarter (i.e., Genesis and the opening of Exodus) are superfluous and that their appearance in the Torah requires explanation? What is there in the section “This month shall be for you” beyond all that preceded it? Rashi himself explains: “for that is the first commandment that Israel were commanded.” In other words, Rabbi Yitzḥak assumes that the Torah is supposed to contain only commandments (halakha). Torah is from the root “instruction,” meaning that its essence is halakha. Anything beyond that is not self-evident and requires justification.

Rabbi Yitzḥak’s answer also seems partial and lacking (and rather weak):

“Because (Psalms 111:6) ‘He declared the power of His works to His people, to give them the inheritance of nations,’ so that if the nations of the world say to Israel, ‘You are robbers, for you conquered the lands of the seven nations,’ they can say to them: ‘All the earth belongs to the Holy One, blessed be He; He created it and gave it to whomever was right in His eyes. By His will He gave it to them, and by His will He took it from them and gave it to us.’”

According to him, the first five books and a quarter appear in order to arm us for a future dispute with the nations who will claim that we stole the land from the seven nations who inhabited it (=the Palestinians). God is the owner, and therefore it is His prerogative to give the land to whomever He wishes. Convinced? Now you already understand why, for millennia, we have been drilling the book of Genesis into our poor children? Well, I must say that this is not especially persuasive to me. But let us leave the weakness of this answer aside and focus on its content. It is quite puzzling. One can find in Rabbi Yitzḥak’s words an explanation for the appearance of the first chapter of Genesis, the one that describes Creation itself: God created the world, and therefore it is His right to grant any part of it to whomever He chooses. But what about the rest of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus? What, according to Rabbi Yitzḥak, justifies their inclusion?

I think Rashi felt this and hinted at the broader answer when he wrote “to whomever is right in His eyes.” If the Torah had contained only chapter 1 (the account of Creation), then the argument would be a power claim: God is the owner because He created the earth (He holds copyright), and He may give it to whomever He wishes. But God also wished (?) to equip us with a moral-ethical rationale, i.e., a substantive justification. He wants to show that the decision to give us the land is not arbitrary (even though it is within His rights to decide so). I think that when Rashi writes “to whomever is right in His eyes,” there is more than a hint that Genesis is called by the Sages “Sefer ha-Yashar,” the “Book of the Upright” (see Avodah Zarah 25a). In the Netziv’s introduction to his commentary Ha‘amek Davar on the Torah, he explains that this is because the book is intended to teach us uprightness and morality that preceded the Torah. It is “the book of the upright,” meaning the Patriarchs, who were upright. If so, the purpose of the book is to show that they conducted themselves ethically and morally even before they had commandments — and that is what is described in Genesis.

Accordingly, it is quite possible that Rashi’s words explain the appearance of everything prior to “This month shall be for you.” To defeat the wicked nations, a mere account of Creation and a power-based claim do not suffice. The Torah must also include the “Book of the Upright,” namely the entire process up to the Exodus in Parashat Bo, because it has to show, in addition to the power-based right, two further things:

• That our forefathers were upright and that the land is rightfully theirs (whereas the seven nations, as is known, were not — “for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete”). It is no accident that R. Moshe Ḥaim Luzzatto’s ethical work is titled Mesilat Yesharim (“Path of the Upright”). Uprightness is an expression of morality.
• It must also show our descent from them — that we are their offspring who justly inherit what they received from God. It is no accident that there is a medieval anonymous work on the history of humanity and our people called Sefer ha-Yashar. That follows the second message of Genesis: the historical message.

The first chapter shows the power-based right, and everything that follows is meant to show that the Patriarchs were upright (morality) and who came forth from their loins to inherit their rights (history). It seems he deserves it even if he is not as upright as they were. How convenient…

The meaning of this for dividing the Torah

The upshot of Rashi’s words is that the Torah is essentially divided into two parts, with the watershed at the section “This month,” in Parashat Bo: Until that section, the book’s aim is moral and historical. From “This month” onward, the book is primarily halakhic (of course with historical and moral components appended to it).

It is no accident that “This month” is said to the people of Israel at the very last moment before the plague of the firstborn and the Exodus. Ḥazal and the commentators after them (especially the Maharal) elaborate on the significance of the Exodus as the birth of the people of Israel (see, for example, the discussion here). At the moment of departure, the collective is formed and takes shape; the process then continues and perhaps culminates at the Giving of the Torah (some will say upon entry into the Land, but in my view that stage is not very significant for future generations, despite Rabbi Yitzḥak’s point). Until that moment, every Jew was part of humanity as a whole and, as such, was obligated in what every person — Jew or gentile — is obligated in, namely predominantly morality, which is by its nature universal. From then on the Jewish collective comes into being, born out of Egypt, and it departs the universal category and receives a particular identity. Therefore, at that very moment, the basis of the particular Jewish identity must also be created. I have already pointed out more than once (see my article here and Columns 130, 336 – 339, and more) that this identity is exhausted in halakha; therefore it is established in “This month,” which is the first halakha with which we were commanded. On the eve of the nation’s birth, one must pour the mold that defines its identity — and that is what happens in “This month”: the beginning of command and halakha.

But the division between these two parts is not only historical or textual. It has substantive significance for our day as well. What emerges is that we are dealing with two independent parts of the Torah: on the one hand, halakha, which is the particular part; and on the other hand, morality and values (I set aside history, which is of course its own category and not subject to dispute), which are universal. Many tend to see halakha as the expression of “Jewish morality,” but I have argued more than once that there are two mistakes here: (a) There is no such thing as “Jewish morality.” Morality, by definition, is universal and binds all human beings. (b) Morality and halakha are two independent categories. Halakha is not concerned with morality, and vice versa. They are transparent to one another. These two mistakes are two sides of the same coin, and both have been discussed here more than once. So here I will only summarize briefly what concerns us in order to complete the picture.

A. Morality is universal

When Cain murders Abel, God addresses him with a claim: “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground.” There is a charge against Cain for murdering his brother, even though the commandments regarding murder had not yet been given. “You shall not murder” appears only in the Ten Commandments at Sinai, and even “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed” is said much later, in Genesis 9:6 — in the middle of Parashat Noah. In God’s and the Torah’s view, every person should understand that murder is forbidden. It does not depend on a command, nor on differing moral theories. The same goes for every other moral value (including obedience to God. Remember that the sin of Adam and Eve — i.e., their obligation to obey God — is also taken as self-evident). My claim, essentially, is in favor of moral monism and against moral pluralism: there is one morality, and it binds everyone.

Of course one can speak of descriptive pluralism — namely the fact that there are disagreements and different views in the world regarding moral values. But that does not touch the question of substantive pluralism (the existence of multiple truths). I do not intend to deny the existence of disagreements in the realm of morality. Clearly they exist — within the Jewish/Torah world and certainly outside it. In this sense one can perhaps speak, at least conceptually, of a Jewish morality (and even that only with many reservations, given the multiplicity of opinions and the lack of uniqueness in Jewish views). But that is pluralism only on the descriptive-factual plane.

Indeed, there is disagreement between different people’s opinions. But the existence of a disagreement does not necessarily indicate the existence of multiple truths (substantive moral pluralism). One can maintain monism without denying the existence of disagreements. If there is a disagreement — one side is right and the other is wrong (moral monism). In the end, the correct moral directive binds all humanity. Some will not observe it because of their evil inclination, and others will not observe it due to an error in their moral conception (and then they are, apparently, coerced by their mistaken understanding). But monism maintains that all are obligated to the same moral truth, and all disagreements strive to clarify it.

What I have shown thus far is that the existence of disagreements between differing views is compatible with monism but does not necessarily prove it. Now I will take one step further. If there truly were no single (universal) moral truth, there would be no point in engaging in moral debate and discussion. Such a debate presupposes that there is a truth toward which we all strive, even if there are different opinions about it. The goal of the debate is to try to clarify the moral truth — that is, who is right and who is wrong about it. If there is no moral truth, then each person has his own subjective hallucinations. What is the point of arguing?! Therefore, not only do moral disagreements not refute moral monism; they actually corroborate it.[1]

Why do I claim that the morality that emerges from the Torah, to the extent that there is such a thing, is not “Jewish morality”? For two main reasons: (1) One cannot truly extract moral principles from the Torah beyond the trivial. (2) Even if this were possible, it would be the Torah’s claim regarding universal morality, but by no means a “Jewish morality.” I will now briefly expand on these two points.

I have often argued here that extracting moral conceptions from Scripture is very difficult. Aside from a few very basic matters that are hardly disputed, you will not truly succeed in deriving from Scripture unique moral principles (true for our day; I am not interested in biblical innovations vis-à-vis the ancient world). You can easily verify that almost always, engagement with biblical passages that touch on moral values is colored by the interpreter’s own hues. If you believe in value X, you will — quite miraculously — find value X in Scripture (X may be feminism or chauvinism, universalism or particularism, Zionism or ḥaredi-ism, and so on). Moreover, if you find a place where your moral values are contradicted by Scripture, then in your view this is a Torah-morality problem, and you will seek to reconcile it. You will not even consider abandoning your moral conception merely because your study of Scripture yielded a different outlook. This means that people do not truly bend themselves and their moral conceptions to the conclusions that emerge from their biblical study. The situation is the reverse: morality is clear to us regardless of the Torah, and, if at all we deal with the Torah’s morality, it is mainly attempts to impose our morality upon it.

But even if it were possible to derive moral conclusions from Scripture, it would still be incorrect to see it as “Jewish morality.” It would be a moral system that the Torah asserts to be true, and as such it would bind all humanity, not only Jews. Just as Kantian or Platonic morality does not bind only Kant or Plato — rather, they are claims about morality that binds everyone. The morality derived from the Torah could perhaps be considered “Jewish” in terms of its source, but not in terms of its scope. You cannot claim, “I am a Jew; therefore I am obligated to act in such-and-such a way because that is what emerges from the Torah.” If that is what emerged for you from the Torah, you will make that claim toward anyone who acts otherwise — Jew or gentile. This, of course, is unlike halakha, which obligates only Jews and addresses only them. This brings me to the next point.

B. Morality is independent of halakha

In Column 541 I presented a full picture of the relationship between morality and halakha and touched there on the two questions discussed here (mainly the second). My main conclusion was that these are two independent categories, both part of God’s will. The halakhic category is designed to advance religious aims and values (and is therefore particular), whereas the moral category is designed to advance moral aims and values (and is therefore universal).

To clarify this, I divided halakha into three categories: (1) Moral halakhot — those that appear to align with moral principles, such as: “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” honoring parents, charity, etc. (2) Anti-moral halakhot — those that appear to contradict morality, such as: the status of a mamzer, the prohibition on a priest remaining married to a wife who was raped, and so on. (3) A-moral halakhot — those that seem disconnected from questions of morality, such as: dietary laws, purity and impurity, sacrifices, Orach Ḥayim, etc. My claim is that the third category — a-moral halakhot — shows that at the foundation of halakha lie values in addition to moral values, which I called “religious values.” These commandments do not seem to aim at realizing moral values; therefore, apparently, halakha aims at other values (at least: also at other values). From this, I argued that the difficulty regarding the second category, the anti-moral halakhot, disappears, since these are halakhot aimed at religious values that, in this case, conflict with the realization of certain moral principles. I explained that, in this picture, we are speaking of a conflict and not a contradiction — that is, a practical problem that must be solved (what to do in practice), but not a conceptual one (the system is not inconsistent). Note that conflicts exist between two moral values as well, and, in fact, in almost every value system. Therefore, the existence of conflicts between halakha and morality should not surprise us nor give rise to special difficulty (beyond the practical difficulty: what to do). Take the matter of mamzerut, for example. The claim is that achieving the religious values requires applying a status of mamzer to the person. But, equally, morality requires not doing so. There is no contradiction between these two principles, but they certainly create a conflict on the practical plane. One must decide whether to apply such a status or not.

From this I also drew a conclusion regarding the first category. Even the moral halakhot are not necessarily (and, in my view, not at all) intended to advance moral values; there too, there are religious aims and values. The claim is that the halakhic prohibition of murder comes to add a religious dimension atop the moral dimension of murder. The same applies to theft, etc. From here follow the differences between the parameters of the halakhic and moral prohibitions. For example, one who causes death by indirect means or through various evasions is a murderer in every way from a moral standpoint, but not from a halakhic one. There is no different moral conception here, but rather a second, religious, storey atop the first, universal (moral) storey. As we already saw, Cain is charged with the prohibition of murder even without a command. The moral prohibition preceded the command and is not dependent on it. Seemingly, the question arises: Why is a command needed here at all — “why do I need a verse, since reason dictates it?!” But within the picture described here, we can understand why the Torah commands these as well and does not suffice with the moral reason that existed beforehand. It comes to add the religious storey atop the universal-moral one.

This completes the picture and leads us to the conclusion that emerges from these three categories: halakha does not deal in morality, even if there is partial overlap between them (the first category is the overlap). From here we can also understand that moral prohibitions like murder are universal and are independent of command and hence of halakha. As noted, these two points are two faces of the same coin: if morality is independent of halakha, it is very likely universal (moral monism); and if it is universal, it is clear that it cannot depend on halakha (which is particular).

A reflection of this in the enumeration of the commandments

This can also be seen in the enumeration of the commandments. At the beginning of Parashat Kedoshim, the Torah ostensibly commands us, “You shall be holy.” Maimonides, in the fourth shoresh (root) of his principles for counting commandments, explains that the intent of this command is to reiterate the obligation to keep the commandments in general, as in “And you shall keep all My commandments,” and therefore it is not counted separately in his enumeration. In his words, these are “commands that encompass the whole Torah.”[2] But Naḥmanides, in his commentary to the verse (though not in his glosses to the fourth shoresh), explains that this negates the state of a “naval birshut ha-Torah” — one who indulges in food and intercourse, etc. This verse teaches that although such behaviors are not halakhically prohibited, the Torah nonetheless expects us not to engage in them. The question is: Why does Naḥmanides himself not add this as a positive commandment in addition to Maimonides’ enumeration (within the commandments he adds at the end of Maimonides’ Sefer ha-Mitzvot in most editions)? I previously explained this by a logical consideration: if it were counted as a positive commandment, a person who violated it would be negating a positive command, i.e., committing a halakhic transgression. But then this would no longer be “licentiousness with the permission of the Torah”; it would be licentiousness without the Torah’s permission (since he would be negating a positive command). In short, the Torah has an interest in leaving these behaviors outside halakha; therefore it is careful not to command them formally. Naḥmanides apparently understands that “You shall be holy” is an expectation of the Torah from us, not a command, and as such its content remains outside halakha. Halakha consists only of what emerges from explicit commands.

And what about “You shall do what is right and good”? Naḥmanides, in his commentary there, explains that this is a command to act morally. Note that this does not overlap in content with “You shall be holy,” which concerns human and personal baseness (similar to what I called in Column 154 “aesthetic values”). “What is right and good” deals with moral values, mainly vis-à-vis one’s fellow (see also Maggid Mishneh at the end of Laws of Neighbors). Why is this command not included by any of the principal enumerators of the commandments? Here there is no paradox, yet the answer is quite similar. It is not included because the enumerators understood that moral values cannot be part of halakha. These are two foreign and independent categories, and it is not appropriate to insert moral values into the framework of halakha. Counting the “right and good” as a command would turn moral values into a halakhic obligation. The conclusion is that this verse, too, is an expectation of the Torah from us, not a command.

This is another indication that morality is very important to the Torah and derives its force from God’s will, yet, to the same degree, it is important to the Torah to separate it from halakha. Morality belongs to the first part of the Torah (up to “This month shall be for you”), the universal part, whereas halakha, the particular part, begins thereafter. These are two foreign and independent categories.

A look at the “commandment” of the sciatic nerve

I think Maimonides’ well-known claim in his Commentary to the Mishnah (Ḥullin 7:6) is connected to the same matter. The Mishnah there cites a Tannaitic dispute about the prohibition of the sciatic nerve (gid ha-nasheh) in non-kosher animals:

“It applies in [animals that are] pure and does not apply in [animals that are] impure. Rabbi Yehuda says: even in [those that are] impure. Rabbi Yehuda said: But the children of Jacob were forbidden the sciatic nerve, and at that time impure animals were still permitted to them! They said to him: It was stated at Sinai, but written in its [chronological] place.”

Rabbi Yehuda argues that the sciatic nerve cannot apply only in kosher animals, for the children of Jacob were already commanded regarding it, and at that time there was no distinction between kosher and non-kosher animals. The Sages answer that it was said at Sinai and only later, in the redaction of the Torah, was it arranged in Genesis according to its historical place. Where in the Torah is it written after Sinai? I do not know of any other verse beyond what appears regarding Jacob and his sons. It seems the Mishnah means (and so says Bartenura there) that that very verse was written later, but in editing the Torah it was placed in Genesis according to its historical context. But that part of the Torah deals with history and universal morality, not with halakha.

Maimonides, in his Commentary there, rules like the Sages against Rabbi Yehuda and explains their position thus:

“And the halakha does not follow Rabbi Yehuda. Turn your mind to this great principle brought in this Mishnah — namely their statement ‘It was forbidden from Sinai’ — which is that you must know that everything we avoid or do today, we do only because of God’s command through Moses, not because God commanded the prophets who preceded him. For example: We do not eat a limb from a living animal not because God forbade it to the children of Noah, but because Moses forbade it to us by what he was commanded at Sinai, that a limb from a living animal remains forbidden. Likewise, we do not circumcise because Abraham circumcised himself and the members of his household, but because God commanded us through Moses to circumcise as Abraham did, peace be upon him. And likewise the sciatic nerve: we do not follow the prohibition of our father Jacob, but [rather] the command of our teacher Moses. You will see that [it is said], ‘613 commandments were said to Moses at Sinai,’ and all these are among the commandments.”

His claim is that what is written with the children of Jacob is not the binding command for us. We do it because of the command to Moses at Sinai. True, you will not find this explicit in the Torah, but he apparently understood there was a tradition that it was forbidden at Sinai.

The basis for his words can be the principle we saw above. Halakha is created by command. The commands indeed begin with “This month shall be for you,” but, essentially, halakha as such was instituted at Sinai when the Torah was given to us. The earlier commands, too, then received their halakhic force. Everything prior to that does not obligate and does not constitute a command. Part of it comes to teach history; another part — morality; and the prohibition of the sciatic nerve with the children of Jacob is perhaps a good practice or a custom worth adopting, but until Sinai it should not be seen as a halakhic obligation.

Indeed, the Rashba, in his novellae to Aggadot, already wonders how the Sages establish a negative commandment for the sciatic nerve. What troubles him is not the timing (before the Giving of the Torah) but the formulation: “Therefore the children of Israel do not eat the sciatic nerve to this day.” It lacks any of the key words of negative commands (“beware,” “lest,” “do not,” “lo”). This “command” does not look like a standard halakhic command. The Rashba explains that the Sages likely received a tradition that there is a lav (negative command) here even though there is no command in the verse. But it is possible that the reason this prohibition is not written in the language of command is precisely what we saw above: it is not truly a binding halakhic command but merely a custom. That custom became a command only at Sinai. Until then it was not — and could not be — a halakhic obligation.[3]

This may also be the intent of the Gemara in Sanhedrin 59a, which states:

“Rabbi Yose b. Rabbi Ḥanina said: Any command that was stated to the children of Noah and repeated at Sinai — [applies] to both [Israel and the nations]. [If it was] stated to the children of Noah and not repeated at Sinai — it was said to Israel and not to the children of Noah. And we have only the sciatic nerve, and [that is] according to Rabbi Yehuda.”

This seems somewhat counterintuitive: A command stated before Sinai and not repeated afterwards was said only to Israel (and not only to the children of Noah). The Gemara there explains this as follows:

“[If it was] to the children of Noah and not repeated at Sinai — [one might say] it was said to the children of Noah and not to Israel. On the contrary: since it was not repeated at Sinai, [that shows] it was said to the children of Noah and not to Israel? — There is nothing that is permitted to Israel and forbidden to a gentile.”

The Gemara here establishes that there cannot be a case of a command that applies only to the children of Noah and not to Israel. But the only example the Gemara finds is the sciatic nerve, per Rabbi Yehuda. Two difficulties arise: (a) Even according to the Gemara’s explanation of Rabbi Yehuda’s view, the reason it is said only to Israel is still unclear. There is a technical matter that there is no command that binds only gentiles, but substantively there is no explanation for why something would be written only before Sinai if it is said only to Israel. (b) We saw that, according to the Sages as well, this command does not really reappear in the Torah after Sinai; so why does the Gemara say this is true only according to Rabbi Yehuda? Seemingly it would be true also according to the Sages (though according to them, perhaps, it applies to gentiles too, as the sciatic nerve would also apply in non-kosher animals).

My claim is that, according to the Sages, what is stated before Sinai cannot be a commandment in the full sense at all. That belongs to the part of the Torah that precedes “This month shall be for you,” and there there are no commandments and no halakhot. Therefore, according to them, this can be at most a good practice. When the tradition later arrived that instructed us that this is a commandment, clearly only then did it become a binding command, and that occurred only at Sinai. Therefore, this prohibition is addressed only to Israel, because halakha is a particular matter. According to Rabbi Yehuda, there are commands even before Sinai; therefore, even if it did not recur after Sinai, it can still be a commandment. Still, in his view too, commandments are said only to Israel (he does not claim that gentiles are forbidden the sciatic nerve). The practical difference is that the prohibition would also apply in non-kosher animals, because, to his view, the command was given before Sinai and thus did not distinguish between kosher and non-kosher. According to the Sages, if this is a halakhic command, it must have been given only after Sinai; consequently, in their view it applies only to kosher animals. It appears that in things that were stated both before and after Sinai, the repetition after Sinai turns what was said before into a halakhic command as well. Now there are halakhic commands to both gentiles and Jews — unless obligations toward gentiles can be commandments by virtue of a pre-Sinai statement. Maimonides, at the end of Laws of Kings, ch. 8, explicitly writes otherwise.

Incidentally, the general meta-halakhic principle established here in the Gemara itself reflects the picture I described: There cannot be a prohibition that applies only to the children of Noah and not to Israel, because morality is by definition universal (and therefore applies to both gentiles and Jews), and halakha is by definition applicable only to Jews. Therefore, no norm — halakhic or moral — could apply only to the children of Noah and not to Israel.

Conclusion

The conclusion is that there is not — and cannot be — a category that binds only gentiles. As Publius Terentius Afer said: “I am human; nothing human is alien to me.” Every Jew is also a little gentile, and as such he is obligated in everything that gentiles are obligated in. The first part of the Torah is not “Jewish” but universally human. Judaism begins with “This month shall be for you.” From this perspective, Parashat Bo is the watershed that divides the universal from the Jewish. I don’t know about you, but to conclude I must say that Rabbi Yitzḥak did not really persuade me. At least metaphorically, I tend to begin learning the Torah only from “This month shall be for you.”[4]

[1] Of course, this does not prove moral monism; at most it shows that we are all monists (though perhaps mistaken).

[2] Not as a few later authorities erred in understanding his words and hung upon them the omission of the commandment of settling and conquering the Land on the claim that it is an “encompassing command.” That is nonsense. Not only is settling the Land of Israel not an encompassing and so foundational a command (contrary to the above-mentioned Rabbi Yitzḥak), but an “encompassing command” for Maimonides is not a foundational commandment at all but, quite literally, a command that reiterates and commands the other commandments; therefore there is no point in counting it. I do agree that there is a category of commandments not counted because of their foundational nature, but that is unrelated to the fourth shoresh. See my article on sevarot and more.

[3] The wording of the verse needs some examination, as it implies that this is the reason that they eat (read: do not eat) the sciatic nerve “to this very day,” and plainly the intent is not merely until the Giving of the Torah but up to our own day. But this does not affect my explanation specifically. In any case, according to Maimonides, the Sages would still need to account for this. This touches somewhat on the well-known question regarding several biblical verses that are formulated “to this very day” (seemingly indicating that the text was written long after the events). That question is discussed by Rabbi Amnon Bazak in his book of that very title, and I will not enter into it here.

[4] The rest, in its essence, is “Torah in the person” (be-gavra) and not “in the object” (be-ḥefza). The verses of the Torah, of course, have inherent sanctity; but the study (what we do with them) does not teach us anything, and the insights we plant in it are, in essence, universal. I elaborated on this in the second book of my trilogy, Ein Adam Shalit ba-Ruaḥ, and also here on the site regarding “Torah in the person” versus “in the object.”