The Role and Authority of the Mara De-Atra (Column 393)

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.

Yesterday I was sent a article about problematic conduct by the rabbi of Moshav Nehalim, who forbade Rabbi Ilay Ofran (the rabbi of Kibbutz Yavneh) from giving a lecture in the moshav, and in effect demanded that the lecture be held outside the public buildings (I assume because he has no authority to forbid a lecture in the open air). Rabbi Ofran deals quite extensively with safeguarding against sexual harassment and abuse, primarily in the religious community, and in that framework several residents of Nehalim invited him to present the topic and its implications in their moshav. Rabbi Greenwald apparently didn’t like the topic, and from his words it seems he liked the speaker even less (according to the article he even attached some unflattering descriptions to him, though he himself denied this). In any case, the statements quoted in the interview don’t look like the pinnacle of proper collegial respect toward a fellow rabbi (which is fine by me in principle—see a note at the end of the column).

I should note that this is not the first such case I’ve heard of, in which the rabbi of a religious (non-Haredi) locality behaves in a manner common in the Haredi public (in the negative sense): prohibitions on women’s prayer (even at separate times and places), demands regarding the form of prayer in a minyan, and other bans on things he happens not to like (most of which have no halakhic problem at all, and in others there are disagreements and one might reasonably argue). This raises the question of how one ought to relate to the local rabbi, and in particular to such conduct. The basis for the discussion is the status and authority of a community rabbi or mara de-atra, and therefore I’ll begin with that.

Authority in Halakhah

More than once I have distinguished between two types of authority: formal and substantive. Formal authority is granted to a person or institution by virtue of what it is. The Knesset or the Supreme Court has formal authority, since what they determine is binding, regardless of whether they are right or not. Substantive authority, by contrast, is the authority of an expert, like a physician. There is no obligation to obey him, but common sense tells us to give weight to his words because he is knowledgeable and experienced. Substantive authority is not truly authority, since there is no obligation to obey an expert, and one who does not obey him is not committing an offense, and of course no one can lodge a claim against him. He is simply behaving irrationally. Moreover, when a person examines matters carefully and concludes that despite the expertise, in a particular case the expert erred, it is reasonable and even called for that he not heed the expert in that case (something that should not happen with formal authority, except in extreme cases). So why do I call this “authority”? Because here too I accept things because of who said them, as opposed to a case in which someone convinced me on the merits and therefore I accepted his words.

Now, the position of the Sefer HaChinuch (mitzvah תצו) is that formal authority by virtue of “you shall not deviate” (lo tasur) is given to every sage at all times. True, in the mitzvah heading he writes:

That we not rebel against the ruling of the Great Court that shall stand for Israel.

At first glance he speaks only of the Great Court (=the Sanhedrin). But at the end of his words there he writes:

This mitzvah applies with regard to the rebellious elder (זקן ממרא) in Temple times; and regarding our obligation to heed the words of our early sages and our greats in Torah wisdom and the judges of our generation—it applies in every place and at all times, to men and women.

Here he broadens it to all Torah sages in every generation.

But this is a lone view and, in my understanding, quite implausible. From the verses, the Talmud, and the halakhic decisors it emerges clearly that formal authority in halakhah is given only to the Sanhedrin and is grounded in the verse “you shall not deviate” (at least according to the Rambam. I won’t enter here into his dispute with the Ramban regarding the source of authority for rabbinic laws). If we are not dealing with the Sanhedrin but with the sages of every generation, who determines the persons or the body to whom the authority is entrusted? Whence is it derived? In his opinion, is there a law of zaken mamre (rebellious elder) against one who rebels against a court that is not the Sanhedrin? Certainly not. It is very hard to accept that the authority of a contemporary sage is “top-down” authority (i.e., from the Holy One, via the command “you shall not deviate”—below I will define “bottom-up” authority). Because of all these difficulties, one might say that even the Sefer HaChinuch agrees that formal authority is given only to the Sanhedrin, and that here he is speaking of substantive, not formal, authority.[1]

Note that this is authority granted “from above,” i.e., from God via Moses and subsequently through the process of ordination and appointment to the Sanhedrin (samukh mi-pi samukh). There is no stage in this process in which the public is involved.[2] This is not the case in a democracy, where authority comes “from below.” Regarding formal halakhic authority, it would seem the public has nothing to say. But that is not entirely accurate. For example, the authority of the Talmud is accepted as formal authority, even though the Amoraim were not ordained and of course did not sit in the Sanhedrin. It is customary to base the authority of the Talmud on the acceptance and consent of the public (see Kesef Mishneh, end of chapter 2 of Hilkhot Mamrim, and Beit Yishai – Derashot by R. Shimon Fischer, §15). If this is indeed the basis, then we can see here a “bottom-up” authorization that receives formal force. The words of the Talmud are binding not because they are always correct (presumably they are not; we are all human), but because the Talmud received a canonical, binding status in halakhah. An interesting question is what underlies this mechanism, and to the best of my recollection R. Fischer ties it to the standing at Sinai (there, too, we received the Torah “from below,” by our consent). I note that, as in other cases, the source of these ideas is R. Kook (R. Fischer—like quite a few of Jerusalem’s Haredi greats—somehow tends not to put that on the table).

In any case, the great early authorities and decisors (see at length the Rosh, Sanhedrin ch. 4 §6, whose conclusions are also brought in the Shulchan Arukh §25. See also my article on autonomy and authority in halakhic decision-making, and a related discussion in column 304) have already pointed out that all post-Talmudic sages do not possess formal authority; at most they have substantive authority. They are halakhic experts. This means there is no obligation to heed them—great as they may be—though their words certainly carry significant weight. A person can conclude that, in a given matter, it seems to him they erred or that their words do not pertain to him—his time, place, and circumstances—and act differently from what they rule. If he erred, he will answer before God, but there is no claim against him merely for deviating from their words. This is certainly true regarding non-halakhic pronouncements—matters of outlook or other domains. In such matters, halakhic sages (in my view, halakhah is the only field in which there is distinct Torah expertise) do not even have substantive authority, since it is doubtful to what extent “expertise” applies in such realms (to my mind, it does not), and even more doubtful to what extent the experts in those fields are the halakhic scholars, rabbis, or decisors (again, in my view, they are not).

Beyond all this, note that substantive authority does not depend on public acceptance or any formal procedure. If a person is an expert, he is an expert. This is a factual question, not a matter of public recognition, and the like. Therefore there is no comparison between the authority of a post-Talmudic decisor and formal authority by virtue of “you shall not deviate,” or even the authority of the Talmud.

Mara De-Atra

The mara de-atra is a hybrid creature, and it is unclear where he sits on this map. As a sage of our time (assuming he is a sage; not all are), he has substantive authority as an expert. But in this he is no different from other sages of our generation. However, it is commonly thought that at least vis-à-vis the people of his locale he also has formal authority. His words to them are not merely advice or an expert opinion; he has authority to decide and rule for his congregants. Whence did this authority sprout for a person or body that is not the Sanhedrin?

One thing is clear: this has nothing to do with “you shall not deviate,” for, as we saw, that verse deals only with the Sanhedrin. I think the only reasonable explanation is that it stems from the acceptance of the public (not all Israel, but the members of his community). In other words, the authority of the mara de-atra is founded on the community’s consent to accept his directives and fulfill them. This is “bottom-up” authority, and it is apparently grounded in the law of contracts. There is a contract between him and the public, by virtue of which they accept upon themselves his authority and directives, irrespective of whether he is right, and regardless of the fact that there are other halakhic sages greater than he. This is akin to the mechanism of “they accepted upon themselves” (kiblu alei-hu), by which the public—or two litigants—can accept upon themselves a judge or a witness who would otherwise be disqualified by law. That mechanism, too, apparently operates under the law of contracts.[3]

Implications

If so, the authority of the mara de-atra is very similar to the authority of the Talmud, but with one fundamental difference: here there is a contract, and a contract has two parties—and both are still with us. This has several implications:

1. The authority of the sages is granted “from above,” i.e., from God, and therefore it is not conditioned on public consent (see a reservation below). But with respect to “bottom-up” authority, logic dictates that “the mouth that forbade is the mouth that permits.” Therefore, even regarding the Talmud: if all Israel decided it no longer accepts its directives, its authority would indeed lapse. But for that one would need a consensus of all Israel (or all the sages of Israel; see Rambam, Hilkhot Sanhedrin 4:11). Likewise, regarding a community rabbi, his standing depends on the consent of the public who chose him, and the public can, of course, decline to consent. For the Talmud this is rather hypothetical, while for a community rabbi it is entirely practical.
2. Moreover, authority is granted to the mara de-atra only in areas for which he received a mandate (it is reasonable that not for internal, private matters, but only for the public affairs of the community). The flip side actually benefits the mara de-atra: he may have been given authority also in matters of leadership and not only in purely halakhic issues, and in this his authority is broader than that of the Talmud. This depends on the contract between him and the community (which is not always written explicitly and sometimes must be inferred implicitly).
3. Beyond this, a private individual can say that, with all due respect to the community rabbi, he has other rabbis (his personal ones—including the rabbi he meets in the mirror every morning—were it not for the issue of a woman’s implement on a man, of course), and therefore, at least in his personal domain, he is not obligated to comply with the mara de-atra’s directives.
4. As an extension of the previous point, this contract does not necessarily override every other consideration, and certainly not the truth. If a person concludes (by himself or after consulting other rabbis) that the community rabbi is mistaken, then while the contract obligates obedience to his directives, truth obligates not to do so. In such a case there is a conflict, and—as annoying as conflicts are—they always have two sides. Therefore, the conduct required in such a situation is not necessarily compliance with the rabbi’s orders.

Conclusions

In light of the above, the public’s obligation to obey the directives of the mara de-atra in situations like those described in the opening is anything but obvious. In the course of deliberating, the community should decide on several planes: (a) Do these directives belong to halakhah (even if the rabbi says they do—rabbis typically do not insist on distinguishing between halakhah and what lies outside it; it’s very convenient to neutralize potential criticism that way). (b) If it is outside halakhah, is it included in the mandate given to the rabbi by virtue of the contract (explicitly or implicitly—sometimes one must look at the prevailing practice in communities of that type). (c) Finally, even if it is included in his mandate, is there not here a grave error that would justify even a breach of the contract. Take note.

I will conclude with two more general remarks.

The Rabbi’s Role

In part ten of the third book of my trilogy I argued that the role of the decisor (not necessarily a mara de-atra, but simply a sage who answers people’s questions) is not to determine the halakhic ruling. The decisor is a halakhic expert and, as such, provides halakhic counsel. His role is to convey halakhic information—that is, to point out the costs and implications of each course of action a person may choose. But the choice itself belongs to, and is imposed upon, them. They must weigh all the possible paths together with the price tag that comes with each and decide what they will do. In many cases there are several halakhic avenues, even if there is a hierarchy of preferences among them, and the decision of which to choose is entrusted to the person himself, not to the rabbi. I brought proofs there and explained the logic. I cited decisors who argued that a rabbi should present the questioner with all the options, including those he himself does not favor (R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach in Minchat Shlomo said this regarding rabbinic laws, while the Ketav Sofer wrote so even regarding Torah-level laws).

The conclusion is that, contrary to common belief, a rabbi does not “decide the halakhah” but rather advises the person and lays out the different options, and he is the one who decides. From here you can understand that people who come to a rabbi to “get a permit” (heter) simply misunderstand his role (and the rabbi who gives such permits likewise misunderstands his role). The rabbi cannot grant a permit. His words neither add nor subtract. What halakhah says does not depend on whether such-and-such “permits” are granted or not. The rabbi’s statement does not change the halakhah; therefore granting a permit does not add or subtract. If the leniency exists, one may be lenient even without the rabbi “permitting”; and if it does not exist, one may not be lenient even if the rabbi is lenient.

For example, a common situation is that a couple comes to a decisor to request a permit to postpone a pregnancy for various reasons. This is perhaps the most common context in which I’ve heard the expression “to get a permit.” But, as noted, this is a mistake. The rabbi can tell them how desirable or undesirable this is, what is permitted or forbidden halakhically, but the weighing of the different paths together with the couple’s personal situation can only be done by them. Only they know how important halakhah is to them, how great their distress is, and therefore only they can make the decision itself. For details, see my article here.

I can share from my personal experience that the figure closest to a rabbi whom I ever had was a Lithuanian (Litvish) man from Bnei Brak with whom I learned in yeshiva. I consulted with him often—certainly about learning but also about other questions—and over time it became clear to me that these consultations took on a different character from the norm. I didn’t come to ask for instructions, but to ask for help in thinking and decision-making. Only later did I realize that his conduct toward me was very different from what is common in Bnei Brak—and, I suspect, even for him. He advised me, according to my own approach, what would be wise to do and what to consider, but he didn’t give me orders (except where it was a clear case of forbidden and permitted). The best example I recall is during the elections to the 12th Knesset (1988), when the “Degel HaTorah” party was established by R. Shach, of blessed memory. At the time I was learning at “Netivot Olam” Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, a Lithuanian yeshiva under R. Shach’s presidency and guidance. R. Shach was anxious about the electoral threshold (the Lithuanians, who ran on their own as a separate party, were on the border), and courted anyone he could to get him to vote for them. I, a dyed-in-the-wool non-conformist, notified everyone, of course, that I was going to vote for Mafdal (which I had never done in my life to that point, and as far as I remember, not since either). R. Shach, who heard about this, invited me for a conversation (we had some personal connection). I didn’t go, because I knew that if I went and he instructed me to vote for Degel HaTorah, I would do so (in the end I voted for them even without that). But my point here is different. During my deliberations I spoke with that rabbi of mine and asked him what would happen in the Heavenly Court if, when I arrived there, they would come with the claim: why didn’t you vote for Mafdal? (I think both he and I restrained ourselves not to laugh in that conversation.) Would I be able to argue that I had received an instruction from R. Shach, and therefore the responsibility is his? He gave me a surprising answer: absolutely not. If I erred, the responsibility is mine. But it is reasonable to assume that R. Shach hits the truth more often than I (the “Da’at Torah” idea), and therefore it is nevertheless sensible and fitting to heed him. That was very surprising to me, especially coming from a Haredi Lithuanian rabbi. I think that was the first time I understood the rabbi’s role and the difference between substantive and formal authority. If you heeded a doctor and he erred—you will die. If you heeded the Knesset and it erred—you will not be judged, of course (aside from extreme cases like the Nazis at Nuremberg; see also Horayot 2b, “they erred in a commandment to heed the words of the sages,” and the commentaries). And what about a rabbi? He is apparently akin to a physician, not to the Knesset.

I tend to adopt this policy toward those who come to ask me. I do not decide and do not give orders. I am prepared to suggest what I think and try to help people make decisions. The responsibility and duty to decide is on the person himself, even if he is not a Torah scholar. I very much recommend that anyone serving as a mara de-atra of a community or locality adopt this healthy policy as well. His role is not to make decisions but to guide the public and individuals to make decisions correctly. His role is primarily guidance—i.e., providing halakhic information and assisting in decision-making. Sometimes there is no choice, and in issues under public dispute the rabbi may need to decide. But it is proper that he try to avoid this as much as possible. Incidentally, even where there is a dispute, the rabbi can express his opinion—or better: map the different options and then express it—and, in the end, leave it to the public to make decisions in their own way (a vote, community institutions, etc.). It seems to me that in most cases not only is this substantively correct, it is also tactically wiser.

Removal from Office

Finally, I can’t avoid an apt association that came to mind when I heard these things. As is known, the Gemara in Berakhot 27–28 (see also my article here) recounts the removal of Rabban Gamliel from his presidency. This occurred mainly because of cases in which he did not treat R. Yehoshua with respect. I won’t review the entire sequence since it is well known, but it is worth noting two important points.

• Rabban Gamliel was the Nasi of the Sanhedrin. That position is the apex of formal halakhic authority. Seemingly there is no way to touch him, for his authority is “from above” and not “from below,” and therefore there is no “mouth that forbade” calculation here. The public has no standing and nothing to say with regard to this. Moreover, in one of his disputes with R. Yehoshua the issue was the timing of Yom Kippur—that is, a matter pertaining to the calendar, something entrusted exclusively to the Nasi of the Sanhedrin, whose authority there is absolute (see Rosh Hashanah 25a, in that very context with R. Yehoshua): “It says ‘you’ three times—atem… you even if in error, you even if deliberate, you even if mistaken.” That is, what the Nasi determines regarding the calendar is the truth by definition. And yet this dispute was one of the grounds for Rabban Gamliel’s removal.

We learn from here that even where a person or institution possesses supreme formal authority, nothing is immune to the public. Bottom line: if the public decides, it can remove the Nasi of the Sanhedrin. You will ask: What is the source for this? From where did the sages derive the authority to do so? Seemingly they are violating a Torah-level positive command and prohibition of “you shall not deviate.” I do not know. Presumably from common sense. Where truth points the way, the formal consideration yields—even if we lack a clear source for it. We find this in many places in the Talmud (I have often commented on the Talmud’s attitude toward rules and its anarchic character).

• The ground for Rabban Gamliel’s removal was his attitude toward his colleagues. Beyond his conduct toward R. Yehoshua, after R. Elazar ben Azaryah replaced him, the benches in the study hall multiplied; the Gemara relates that Rabban Gamliel felt pangs of conscience for having barred entry to the study hall from those whose inside was not like their outside (in his opinion; see Berakhot 28a, and an interesting note in Yoma 72b). That is, the lack of respectful conduct toward colleagues and others was what constituted the basis for removing Rabban Gamliel.[4]

I will leave the conclusions and implications for the cases I described to the readers. And to the listener—may it be pleasant.

[1] It is the Sefer HaChinuch’s wont to make such extensions in other mitzvot as well. However, here the phrasing is different, since he includes this authority in his generic concluding section “this mitzvah applies…,” which implies he sees it as an integral part of the mitzvah.

[2] True, the consent (granting of permission) of the king or the Exilarch is required, as I explained in column 164.

[3] I am not dealing here with zabla (“זה בורר לו אחד”), which is apparently part of the core law and unrelated to the “they accepted upon themselves” mechanism.

[4] I assume some readers are thinking to themselves: He (i.e., I) is talking about respectful conduct?! To that I say: then please, respectfully remove me as well. I intend here two distinct claims:

• I do not hold a public-rabbinic office—and not by accident. One central reason is my desire to preserve freedom of speech and thought without needing to behave according to the norms that bind a sitting rabbi (from several aspects).
• Moreover, I have no criticism of Nehalim’s rabbi for acting as he did. I of course completely disagree with him, but if that is what he thinks about Rabbi Ofran and about the subject of his lecture, then perhaps he acted correctly from his perspective (though as I explained, in my assessment he overstepped his authority entirely). I’m only saying that the people of Nehalim should draw their own conclusions about him.

In short: one who takes upon himself a rabbinic role—let him act accordingly, or let him take into account that he can be removed.