Debate on Faith – Yaron Yadan and Rabbi Dr. Michael Abraham – Transcript

[Moderator]
“Women are light-minded”—at least that is what the Sages said; that is how it was stated. Yose ben Yochanan reinforced this, apparently quoting his teachers, the sages or rabbis before him: “Whoever engages in excessive conversation with a woman brings evil upon himself, neglects words of Torah, and in the end inherits Gehenna.” This is found in Pirkei Avot 1:5.
This somewhat dismissive attitude toward women is also found among later legal authorities. For example, Maimonides says something—very unlike what people today imagine Maimonides would say, since many see him as the greatest of them all—and he wrote: “A man may do whatever he wishes with his wife: he may have intercourse whenever he wishes, and kiss whatever limb he wishes; he may have intercourse with her in the natural manner and in the unnatural manner.”
Unfortunately, this outlook appears even today as well—at least in some circles and in much of public opinion in Israel. One can see this in one of the lectures of Israel’s Chief Rabbi, Rabbi Yitzhak Yosef, who said: “Women are subjugated to their husbands: to cook for them, to wash for them,” and so on.

In the Talmud there are quite a few aspects one could say are not exactly respectful toward women. But there are also positive things—positive sides that can be seen. For example, Rabbi Akiva, the greatest of the tannaim—everyone knows him; in religious circles people grew up on his stories, at least—said about women: “By the merit of righteous women Israel was redeemed from Egypt, and by their merit they are destined to be redeemed.” In Berakhot 45a it says: “The Holy One, blessed be He, gave woman greater understanding than man.”
And to complete the picture regarding Maimonides—again, a later legal authority, not from the Talmud but certainly influenced by it—he wrote: “The Sages likewise commanded that a man should honor his wife more than himself and love her as himself. If he has means, he should increase her welfare according to his means. He should not impose excessive fear upon her; his speech with her should be gentle. And he should be neither sad nor angry.”

So as we have seen, there are two sides in the Talmud—one positive toward women and one negative toward women. But the Talmud is not necessarily what ultimately matters to me, whether I am religious or not; because whether the Talmud is true or false—reliable or unreliable—that is not the main thing. Of course we will discuss the Talmud here, but what matters even more is not the Talmud, but the Bible. The Jewish conception says that the Bible was written with divine inspiration—or that God Himself wrote it; at the very least, the word of God is presented there, right?
The Bible represents some kind of truth—some kind of holiness. And in the Bible too—at least according to certain interpretations—different moral facets are evident. I have just given the “women” side, all right? At times the Bible contains aspects that are not especially flattering to women. True—there were prophetesses and queens; there were genuinely great women in the Bible. Ruth and Esther—entire scrolls were written about women! But of course there are also sides that are not attractive.

For example, in the Torah—in Numbers, I think—Zimri, a prince in Israel, decided to sleep with a Midianite woman. In the portion of Pinchas, the supposedly religious zealot “went berserk,” and instead of turning to Moses—who at that time was “law, justice, and order”—he took a spear, stabbed them both, and killed them. Or take the severe punishment that Moses and the Levites imposed on Israel in the portion of Ki Tisa, after the sin of the calf. They sinned—you would expect a reasonable punishment; but no—three thousand Israelites were killed that night by the Levites and by Moses.

Yaron Yadan—our guest, being interviewed by Eyal—says that the Plague of the Firstborn was so disproportionate that he does not know where to begin justifying the killing of all Egypt’s firstborn. In his eyes it is completely irrational.

And since we have already touched on the central topic—let us talk about the sanctity of the Torah: whether the Torah is the word of God, whether the Talmud is moral, the political implications of these views, and atheism and theism in general—today I have the honor of hosting Yaron Yadan.

Yaron Yadan is a former head of a kollel who left the religious world, an atheist, and the operator of the YouTube channel and movement “Da’at Emet,” whose aim is to promote critical thinking and combat religion. Opposite him we have Rabbi Dr. Michael Abraham: holder of a doctorate in physics, who teaches at the Werha Institute at Bar-Ilan University; a wide-ranging thinker, autodidact, and author.

We are about to discuss exactly the issues I have raised. And for Yaron Yadan, I have the first question with which we will begin. The first question is this: Yaron, I would be glad if you would present your position regarding the sanctity and origin of the Torah: how does one define a book as “holy,” and more broadly, how can one say there is a reasonable possibility that a book is the word of God?

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[Yaron Yadan]
First of all, I want to begin by saying that the word “holy” is a dangerous and misleading word. It effectively cancels critical thought. The moment something is “holy,” and we, as human beings, are not holy—we are always obliged to cancel independent thought—to cancel the image of God, as religious people call it.
In any case, the biblical text is a text of words—definitions, concepts, stories, laws. To check whether this is a book written by human beings in particular periods or not, one simply has to read it and understand its words. Anyone who reads the Bible and removes this thing called “holiness,” removes “God,” and begins examining whether it is divine or human—the moment a person makes that move—[music]—that shift in perception and approach to the Bible: if he strips away the concept of holiness, removes God, and begins examining the text as it is—just as a physicist examines the mechanism of nature in physics, or as any scientist studies nature from within nature without attributing holiness, anger, desire, and so on to nature—so too one must approach the text of the Torah.
How can it be that a reasonable person reading the Bible thinks it was written by something beyond the human? In religious terms—by God? I always say to religious people: today you define God, at least, not as the Sages defined Him (like… children, to be honest)—today you define Him as Maimonides did: He has no time, no place, no beginning and no end; He is causa sui; He created all the galaxies and this amazing nature—and then suddenly you say: “Oops, He wrote this book.” That is such a dissonance, such a gap.
What is written there? What stories? The whole of Leviticus deals with sacrifices—God wants people to bring Him sacrifices: to slaughter sheep, cattle… At the dedication of the Tabernacle the offerings of the tribal leaders are spelled out—there are twelve leaders, and they offered the same thing—and then it repeats, eight verses for each one, again and again. Seriously?
And the contradictions, the duplications… is this how God tells stories? But above all, the substantive matters: the calendar—there is no guidance at all. The laws of menstruation—nothing. There is no ritual bath, no obligation to immerse—and only the Sages say: “It is a law given to Moses at Sinai that ritual slaughter is required,” because the Torah itself does not require ritual slaughter; in fact it implies that hunting is permitted. On the central matters—like the thirty-nine categories of Sabbath labor—God is silent. But what matters to Him? Washing the feet of the patriarchs’ attendants; house leprosy; the leper—things limited to a certain time; nine chapters repeating the Tabernacle—again and again.
How can a normal person think that suddenly God says to Moses, “Take a census of the children of Israel,” and then they are counted four times in the Torah—four times! What does God have with censuses? And He threatens that if you count without giving a half-shekel per person there will be a plague. What is this? How can anyone take seriously such a confused text—with errors like the list of the animals said to “chew the cud” when they do no such thing, or the claim that the Euphrates and the Tigris come from the same place as in Genesis; the duplications, the contradictions—and above all the unimportant things—instead of opening humanity to freedom. Where are human rights? There are none.
What matters? That Pinchas killed the Midianite woman, as you mentioned in the introduction, Eyal—and then God says to him: “Behold, I give him My covenant of peace” and “a covenant of eternal priesthood.” What is that?
Can you give more examples of things you see as immoral in the Bible? Maybe expand on Pinchas and Zimri?
Everything is immoral—the stories. Abraham—God asks him to bind Isaac. It is dramatic, a classic hit—but what is the meaning of the binding? To cancel paternal conscience and plain common sense before the divine will. It erases reason and natural moral conscience. And what does Abraham do? “Abraham rose early in the morning…” and takes the knife to slaughter his son.
How does he expel Hagar? Sarah tells him Hagar is no good, and God says, “Whatever Sarah says to you, heed her voice,” and he sends Hagar and Ishmael into the wilderness. Is that serious?
And the sin of the calf—Moses says to kill three thousand. They kill 3,000.
And more: he abandoned Zipporah—left his wife and children with Jethro, priest of Midian, an idolater. He left his family there—what about the education of the children? Moses does not care—it is unbelievable. And God is constantly killing, cursing—“If you do not obey—blight, mildew; every disease that I did not place on Egypt I will place on you…” Curses and more curses—almost two full chapters of curses in Leviticus, and then again in Deuteronomy. It is all sacrifices, sin offerings—again and again—and because of the repetitions and duplications there are also contradictions about which offering to bring. And then the commentators—what absurdity, what tragicomedy: the Torah was edited carelessly—they pasted together different versions, so there are double and triple stories and contradictions between them.
Why is it comedy? Because the Sages and medieval commentators—Ibn Ezra, Saadia Gaon, and another half-dozen—try to reconcile the contradictions. Because of careless editing, Jews go around in circles: “he says this, and he says that,” and the Talmud explains in midrashic readings why this contradicts, and then why the Sages said one thing here and another there—it is “full throttle in neutral.” That is the tragicomedy.
And that is what I show in my videos—I go portion by portion and show the absurdities. Anyone who follows my videos sees, portion after portion, contradictions, duplications, absurdity.

For example, “and you shall not stray after your hearts and after your eyes”—the early authorities learned from this that it is forbidden to think critically about faith, that one must not dare to question. Look what a closed circle they created: they invented a religion, called it “holiness,” defined holiness like someone who takes a stone, carves it, says, “This is God—do not touch it or I will kill you.” So too here: they took a text composed by several people, called it holy, and said that anyone who doubts has no share in the world to come; anyone who reads “external books” has no share. Why? Because “you shall not stray after your hearts and after your eyes”—one must not think thoughts that lead to doubt. It is like a closed cult—you may not leave the walls, may not doubt, may not criticize, may not think.

I want you to address exactly that, Yaron: how does one define a book as “holy”? Can one say that the Bible is a book written by the word of God—that is, is it reasonable to say that God wrote it? And how does one decide whether a book is holy or not?
Not only is it not reasonable—it is absurd. That is what I am saying: it is absurd to assume—leave “holy” and “God” aside for a moment—that even a serious person wrote Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. Even a serious person—say—I cannot imagine Michael Abraham writing such a book. He would write a far more orderly book; then the commentators would not need to say, “There is no earlier and later in the Torah,” because the Torah, due to careless editing, is constantly moving forward and backward: the journeys of the Israelites—one moment in the second year after the Exodus, and then suddenly back to the first year. The average reader who does not study carefully comes away completely confused.
So leave God and holiness aside. A reasonable person—and Michael Abraham seems reasonable—would write a far more organized book. Holiness—these are human words: totems, magic; stories about how they fought Amalek—Moses raises his hands, Aaron and Hur support his hands: when the hands are up, Israel prevails; when they are down, they fall. What is this nonsense? What kind of stories are these? What magic? Unbelievable.
I can explain why people believe this absurdity—like in the story of the emperor’s new clothes: the tailors sew him a splendid garment—and in fact he is naked, but whoever says the king is naked is imprisoned. So everyone “believes” in the beautiful garment. Education, brainwashing—religious and nonreligious—create paradigms that prevent people from seeing reality. That is my only explanation for why reasonable people believe this absurdity—as if there were some wisdom there.

[Moderator]
Rabbi Michael Abraham, I am sure you have a great deal to say. Please share: why do you think this is a holy book—or better, a book that simply represents the word of God? And how do you reconcile the immoral or even scientific contradictions in the Bible? And of course, respond to what he said.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham]
Indeed, many points were raised here—it does not seem likely that I will address them all, but I will try to explain the principles as I understand them. First, regarding “holiness.” My own relation to that concept is actually close to Yaron’s relation to it: it is a concept whose harm exceeds its benefit, because it may cause people—mistakenly, of course—to lose their critical sense. In that respect, I fully identify with Yaron’s basic move: one must never lose critical thinking—even in a religious world, a believing world, a world of “holiness,” if you like. I do not really know what that concept means—but one must not lose criticism. The question is: to what plane is that criticism directed; what is “criticism”?

You began by asking what leads me to think that a certain book is “holy” or “the word of God.” The term “holy” bothers me, but let us use it. For me, “holy” means: you do not throw it in the trash—nothing more. The real question is: how do I reach the conclusion that this book is the word of God, that it has value—that I must learn from it, obey it, and so on.
Here I disagree with Yaron’s basic assumption. In my view, it does not depend on the content at all. It does not matter what the content is—that is not the criterion for my attitude toward the book. If it is a book that Yaron or I wrote—I hope he is right that I know how to write good books—then indeed I will judge it by its content, because such a book has no inherent authority over me. If there is something wise or interesting in it, I will learn from it; if not, not. I judge such a book by its content. But I do not judge the Torah by its content.
If someone tells me that he concluded the Torah is divine because of the great wisdom in it, I would ask for examples, because I have not encountered an example so decisive that the force of its wisdom compels a transcendent source. I conclude that this book is “holy” because of its source, not because of its content. If I conclude—and that is already another dispute—that there was a divine revelation, that there is a God who revealed Himself and transmitted to us, through some tradition, a text or a message—if I reach that conclusion, then such a text has a certain status for me: it is the word of God.
Now I ask myself: fine, what is written in it? There are contradictions, morally difficult events, and so on. Very well—there are difficulties; one must resolve them and work on them. But I think everything depends on the starting point.
There is a mishnah in Avot—“Judge every person favorably.” They attribute to Rabbi Chaim of Brisk that when he was asked why the Holy One created “crookedness,” he answered: “In order to judge favorably.” You see someone committing a transgression? Use “crookedness” to acquit him—to show that he was really fine. That is a mistake. If you look at the mishnah—and there is no need for commentators—it is clear that this is not the meaning. To judge favorably means to give the correct and straightforward interpretation; not to follow the impulse to paint someone as wicked when there is no real basis for saying so.
For example: you see Mother Teresa running down the street with a drawn knife after a fleeing girl. Two possibilities: she is about to stab her—or here is my “crooked” interpretation—she forgot her knife in the girl’s kitchen and is chasing after her to return it. If you know that this is Mother Teresa, the straightforward interpretation is the second one—even if, without that information, someone would say it is “crooked.” In other words, “straight” versus “crooked” depends on your starting point.
If your starting point is that the text is holy, you will find solutions to most of the difficulties—perhaps not all. As Thomas Kuhn said about scientific theories (against Popper), one falsifying example does not bring down a theory; we do not replace paradigms over every anomaly. Only when a threshold is crossed. There are difficulties; you think about them. Only when they pass a threshold do you abandon the theory.
So the main thing in determining your attitude toward such a book is not its content, but its source. Having said that, I now approach its content with full critical freedom. I look at it critically—as the Sages did and as commentators throughout the generations did—sometimes not according to the simple sense, sometimes offering interpretations that Yaron will call “comic,” and I say that this is like the case of Mother Teresa: if you assume that this is the word of God, you are justified in interpretations that are not the plain meaning of the text—because it is a divine text and it cannot be nonsense, cruelty, and the like. The starting point drives most of the story.

Now, examples—how this works. Yaron asks why essential things are missing while marginal things appear. He says: ritual bath—missing; Sabbath labors—missing; but skin afflictions and sacrifices—present. I am willing to bet—without having known Yaron beforehand—that if ritual bath had been written there, he would say: “Look, there is ritual bath—what a foolish thing.” When it is convenient, what is missing is “important,” and what appears is “unimportant.”
I will tell you my criterion: if the book is holy, then what appears in it is, by definition, what is important. Then I can ask why it is important. Here is a very important point for what follows: I make a categorical distinction between Jewish law and morality. In my view, these are two orthogonal categories, each independent of the other. I do not evaluate Jewish law in moral terms. It is not meant to lay out moral principles; it lays out principles of Jewish law.
For example: the beautiful captive woman—the permission to take a beautiful captive woman and sleep with her; in context, that is in effect rape, not consent. Every now and then there is a public uproar—some rabbi said something about it.
When one looks at the passage, it is not dealing with morality; it is dealing with Jewish law. What the passage says (and early sources say as well)—and even the Sages say, “The Torah spoke only in response to the evil inclination.” It is a permission after the fact—not an ideal from the outset. What troubled them was not the moral problem of rape—they do not discuss that at all—but the very fact of intercourse with a gentile woman, which is a prohibition in Jewish law. How does the Torah permit this? The answer: only after the fact—because there was no alternative.
And what about the rape? The moral problem of taking a helpless woman and raping her? The answer: you must not—it is forbidden. But it is forbidden morally; Jewish law is not speaking about that. So Jewish law says: intercourse with the gentile woman—there is no problem in terms of Jewish law in this case. You ask me: if an IDF soldier did such a thing today—he should be hanged, imprisoned—because he committed a moral crime. But this passage is not dealing with morality; it is dealing with Jewish law.
So what is more important—morality or the legal rules governing sexual relations with a captive? Both are important; but there are things that do not require the Torah, because we already know them. Things—like do not murder—were known even before “Do not murder.” God rebukes Cain for killing Abel even before any prohibition had been stated—on what basis? There still was no commandment. The answer: it is supposed to be self-evident—it is immoral.
When the Torah says “Do not murder,” it adds that beyond the moral evil there is also a religious evil here. The moral question is separate. In matters of morality, every person, by way of his conscience, can know—and usually there is broad agreement—what is moral and what is not. The Torah, especially in its legal sections, generally does not deal with that.

[Yaron]
So what do we need Jewish law for, then? If we can grasp things ourselves? I did not fully understand.

[Rabbi Michael]
Because morality we grasp ourselves—through conscience. The nations of the world did not receive the Torah, and yet we still expect them to behave morally. There is no need for Torah in order to have morality. People who do not know Torah can behave morally—and must.
Jewish law comes to tell me the things I would not know on my own. It gives norms that may seem “esoteric” and that are not matters of morality. Not anti-moral—but amoral. Because Jewish law teaches what I could not have known by myself.
So: is sleeping with a captive woman a matter of health? Ecology? No. It is immoral—that is one axis. On the axis of Jewish law: is it a transgression of Jewish law to sleep with a captive woman in that case? No. But that does not mean it is moral. Jewish law is a category—like health or ecology. One can say of something that it is permitted or forbidden in terms of Jewish law—regardless of whether it is moral. Two completely different questions. I would decide the moral question exactly as Yaron would (subject to disagreements in gray areas). Jewish law does not guide me there and does not claim to.
Therefore one must be careful with critiques of this kind. Again, it rests on my starting point: if the starting point is that the text is the word of God and tells me what Jewish law requires of me, then—just as a medical text tells me what health requires of me, without issuing moral rulings—I do not expect moral teaching from Jewish law. Morality is another category. As for raping a captive woman: it is outrageous and immoral; whoever does that deserves severe punishment. That is an entirely separate question.

[Yaron]
I think I more or less understood your argument. But the problem is this: you have invented a nice idea that is not really religious—it contradicts the prevalent religious conception. You invented a division between Jewish law and morality—contrary to Maimonides and the Hazon Ish, who say that Jewish law determines the rules of the permitted and the forbidden within the sphere of morality. To argue that there is a distinction—it sounds strange, and wrong.
But all right—I will argue on your terms. If, as you say, morality is entrusted to a person’s conscience, what do you do when Jewish law and morality clash?
For example: the Shulchan Arukh rules that in the case of a pregnant gentile woman on the Sabbath, one does not desecrate the Sabbath in order to deliver the baby, because saving a life overrides the Sabbath only for a Jew who keeps Torah and commandments. But in the case of a gentile, it is forbidden to desecrate the Sabbath. So whoever saves a gentile violates Jewish law.
What do you do then?

[Rabbi Michael]
First of all, throughout the generations commentators have addressed this in different ways. The simplest, theologically, is reinterpretation: to adjust the legal reading so as to avoid contradiction with a moral principle—for example, because of enmity, for the ways of peace, and therefore one desecrates the Sabbath to save a gentile. One can ask whether there really stands a moral principle behind this—or whether it is only an interpretive opening.
Second—and I have written about this (and I am not the first): the Meiri in the fourteenth century already wrote that talmudic statements regarding gentiles are directed at certain kinds of nations in their own context. Modern nations, which behave decently, are not included in that category. So the old rules do not apply.
But suppose none of that worked, and there really remained a conflict between a norm of Jewish law and a moral norm. Then what? Notice that even within morality there are conflicts between two moral norms. Sartre tells of his student in occupied Paris: should he care for his elderly, sick mother, who has no one but him, or should he join the French Resistance to fight the Nazis? Two moral commandments—but it is impossible to do both.
From my point of view, a conflict between morality and Jewish law is identical to a conflict within morality: two values to which I am committed. If I cannot solve it by interpretation, then I have a conflict. How are value conflicts resolved? That is a large question in moral philosophy.
A religious person like me has more in his “arsenal” than the set of moral values Yaron has. I too have that set, and in addition I have further values. From that point onward, my situation is no different: conflicts may arise between two moral values, or between a moral value and a value of Jewish law. And what do we do? There is an entire field devoted to this—even within morality alone.
Sometimes morality will prevail—and that is not a “change in Jewish law”; I will violate Jewish law because morality says so. That is what the Talmud calls “a transgression for the sake of Heaven.” Other times I will violate the moral value because I think the value of Jewish law prevails. Not because I am not committed to morality—just as in Sartre’s case, choosing one moral value does not negate commitment to the other.
A quick analogy: one person says to eat chocolate because it tastes good; another says no—it is fattening. Who is right? Both. It tastes good and it is fattening. So what do we do? One prefers the criterion of pleasure over health; the other the reverse. Conflicts arise because we are committed to both.

[Moderator]
It seems to me that Yaron’s point is this: the very existence of a legal-religious value such as “do not save a gentile on the Sabbath” is the problem—not only the conflict. A value like that should not exist at all.

[Rabbi Michael]
Which brings us back to my opening point: there is independence between Jewish law and morality. In religious terms, desecration of the Sabbath is very grave. And indeed, according to one talmudic opinion, one does not desecrate the Sabbath even for a Jew because of the value of life as such, but in order that he may keep many Sabbaths in the future.
A secular person will say: desecration of the Sabbath is meaningless—therefore a moral value overrides it. He asks, “Why should such a value exist at all?”—because he recognizes only moral ends, not religious ones.
From my starting point, desecration of the Sabbath is a profound evil—metaphorically, it “destroys worlds”—and morality is also extremely important. Therefore I have a real dilemma. I did not say what will win—sometimes this way and sometimes that way, each case on its own. There is an entire theory for deciding such conflicts.

[Yaron]
You did not grasp the depth of the question. It is not two values within one moral system—it is two sources of authority for conduct. There is the authority of Jewish law and the authority of conscience (morality). It is like in epistemology: two sources of authority—reason versus scripture. Maimonides, Rabbeinu Bachya, Saadia Gaon—they all say that when reason and scripture conflict, the authority of reason prevails over the written text. That is my question: since these are two different sources of authority for you, which prevails?

[Rabbi Michael]
First, this “doctrine” is not my invention; perhaps I formulate it, but it follows from clear facts. I have written about it in many places. And also, if you are arguing with me, why bring Maimonides or Saadia? Argue with me.
Third, I do not accept that the authority of morality or its source is human. I claim that the authority of morality comes from God. I do not need His revelation in order to know what is moral—because the conscience He implanted in me tells me what is right and what is not. But ultimately, the authority of morality is His.
Therefore, when I stand before a conflict between Jewish law and morality, it is a conflict between two values from the same higher source—divine expectations of me. There is no difference between that and a conflict between two moral values.
There is an entire debate (I had one with David Enoch) over whether morality can have human authority; I say that it cannot—by definition morality requires divine authority. There are arguments for this—but this is not the place.
So again: conflicts between religious and moral values are resolved in the same way as conflicts within morality—by recognizing that usually they have no common measure, that they are incommensurable. Give me your method, and I will copy-paste it into my case.

Returning to the gentile on the Sabbath: in practice, I am not in a dilemma, because I am convinced that the Meiri is right. With regard to nations that conduct themselves properly today, one desecrates the Sabbath in order to save them—the Meiri already wrote this; and others, such as Rabbi Kook, continue in that line.
But even if not, even if such a reading were not possible—and that is rare—it is possible that I would still save the person. Why? Because in the absence of direct speech from heaven, as Abraham had at the binding of Isaac, my certainty regarding the legal-religious value is not high enough to justify paying the price of a human life. Had there been a direct revelation, it is possible that the divine command would override the moral value, painful though that would be.

[Moderator]
When, then, would Jewish law prevail for you over a moral value?

[Rabbi Michael]
As I said: where it is written explicitly in the Torah. Anything that comes from the Sages—I am not 100 percent certain of; the Sages can make mistakes. Therefore, when the moral cost is clear and heavy, I need a very high degree of certainty in order to override it.
There are things written explicitly in the Torah—there I think one must sacrifice a moral value. Usually not in matters of life and death—but in principle, even that. For example, the annihilation of Amalek is an enormous moral problem—and I do not buy the apologetics about a “higher morality” that we do not understand. My conscience is the basis—and therefore this is a moral problem. But there is also a religious value. If it is written explicitly, it appears that this is God’s will.
If you want a less extreme case: a priest’s wife who was raped must separate from her husband. She is a victim; beyond the trauma, she must divorce—destroy the family, even though everyone wants to remain together. In a case like that, I would very likely say: they must separate, painful though it is, because if the Torah said so—this value prevails over the moral pain.

[Moderator]
So in a certain sense, it is like training soldiers: they are taught not to kill, but for the sake of defending the state and its citizens—the goal for which they enlisted—they may at times have to do things that are morally terrible. And sometimes war requires harming innocent people. If your heart does not ache, you are vile; but the pain does not mean that you will not do it. Sometimes other considerations matter more. So too in the conflict between Jewish law and morality.

[Yaron]
All right, I will move to the second point I wanted to raise: I see a contradiction in your opening assumptions. On the one hand, you say that a person must engage in critical thinking—even as a religious person. On the other hand, your foundation is that the source of the Torah—Genesis through Deuteronomy—is divine. Do you apply critical thinking to that assumption? Because when I do, it seems absurd to me to think that the source is God.
I understood that you believe in revelation—the giving of the Torah. Do you apply critical thinking to that? Because when I do, I arrive at the conclusion that it is a tragicomedy to claim that this is divine. You hinted that you believe in revelation. I am asking: do you apply critical thinking to the story of revelation?

I once argued with a Hasid. I asked: on what do you base the belief that God wrote the Torah? He said: he himself was at Sinai—in reincarnation; he was there. Like an eyewitness to a traffic accident who refutes a police officer—he knows. With a person like that, there is no discussion.
But if someone does not think he was there and relies on the written text—when that very text is itself the subject of the inquiry—it is a book written carelessly. Any reasonable person sees that human beings wrote and edited it carelessly. On what basis do you think this confused book is divine?

[Rabbi Michael]
Two levels. First, everyone has conclusions by which he lives. For example, those who think that murder is wrong, that life has value—one can ask whether they apply critical thinking to those beliefs. Maybe yes, maybe no—but almost no one arrives at a different conclusion. Merely holding a conclusion does not mean that you have abandoned critical thinking. I arrived at the conclusion that there was revelation. You can ask about the basis—but the conclusion itself does not mean that I am not critical.
Second, as I said at the beginning, I do not arrive at that conclusion from the content. And I also do not accept your claim that the tradition about revelation rests on the text itself. The tradition is a story that accompanies the text—a story transmitted orally, which conveys the text together with the story around it. If that tradition is broad in scope—that arouses something in me… well, it has to be discussed; I am not claiming that it is airtight. But it is a broad tradition.
Since I concluded that the book is divine on the basis of the context, I now discuss its content.

[Yaron]
All right, but please lay out the rational-critical path that led you to “divine source.”

[Rabbi Michael]
I wrote a book about this; I will sketch it briefly. From philosophical arguments I conclude that there is a God—detached from any particular religion. On a parallel track, I conclude that God is the source of moral authority—He implanted the moral obligation in me. It follows that He has expectations of me—He created the world and me for a purpose.
Before revelation, I ask: what does He want? If He wants morality—that is the obvious option, since I already felt that obligation—still, it does not seem likely that this is the goal; morality is a means to a functioning society, not an end in itself. Therefore, it seems likely that there are religious ends beyond morality—ends that I could not know unless He told me.
And now, from the other direction, comes a tradition that God revealed Himself and gave a Torah with dos and don’ts. If I had only the tradition, I would be very skeptical—there is no shortage of mythologies. But since I already, from philosophy, expect a revelation that would convey what He wants, and now a tradition says that this happened—those two tunnels meet. Each gives the other far more reinforcement than it had on its own.
There is no certainty in this world—including the claim that there is no certainty. But it is reasonable enough to live by—while recognizing the limitations: my certainty is not 100 percent, and therefore the price I will be willing to pay for these values is limited by that uncertainty (as I said earlier).

[Yaron]
Is there anything—an argument or a fact—that could, even theoretically, lead you to retract the assumption that the Torah is divine?

[Rabbi Michael]
In principle, yes. If someone were to show a flaw in my philosophical arguments for God’s existence or for the need for divine moral authority, that would undermine the first stage. Or if someone were to show, historically, that the tradition is a fabrication—that would undermine the other tunnel.
What would not refute it? The content of the text—because my claim does not rest on the content. To look for a refutation in the wrong domain is a category mistake.

[Yaron]
Suppose that from the content of the Bible I show that there was no such tradition—for example, verses hinting that there was no continuous transmission—would that refute it?

[Rabbi Michael]
If you bring real evidence—perhaps. There are complex cases—for example, “It is not in heaven” with respect to Jewish law—but that concerns legal decision, not the origin of the law at Sinai. The finding of the “book” in Josiah’s days, or other events—people cite this in order to argue that there was no tradition. I do not think that follows. True, many kings sinned—that does not mean there was no tradition or no sense of obligation; there were human desires and failures.

[Yaron]
Then if the Torah explicitly says that a father may sell his daughter as a maidservant and marry her off while she is still a child—what do you do? Or that the High Priest must marry a young girl—say, age twelve?

[Rabbi Michael]
First, regarding the Maimonides passage you quoted earlier—Forbidden Relations 21:9—“His wife is permitted to him”—that is a mistaken reading. Jewish law opens: “His wife is permitted to him”—that is, forms of intercourse are not themselves forbidden; it is not dealing with coercion of a woman. Issues of coercion and marital rights are found in Laws of Marriage, not in Forbidden Relations. If the woman objects, that is not the subject here. And even if, hypothetically, it had said what you claimed—it would mean legally permitted, not morally right. A court can prevent it because morality forbids it.
With regard to selling the daughter: the Torah gives this authority in order to secure her future in a world in which women could not support themselves without a family framework. If a father uses it arbitrarily and immorally—the moral sphere intervenes; the court can stop him. Jewish law says “permitted”; morality may say “forbidden.”

[Yaron]
But then the will of the Torah depends on the period? I thought a divine text was eternal; now it seems dependent on time.

[Moderator]
One can see that the two guests are operating within different conceptual frameworks. Those frameworks affect politics—how values shape society. If I am a hard-line religious zealot, I will want everyone to keep the Sabbath, even by coercion. If I am a liberal atheist, I will care less about how people worship their God, but I will care that morality and liberalism prevail.
Rabbi Michael, please present how, according to your position, state policy ought to look. And then Yaron, your turn.

[Rabbi Michael]
We need to split the question. First, the state as it is today—most of whose citizens are, in effect, not fully committed to Torah and commandments. Second, an ideal state in which everyone keeps Torah and commandments—in such a state, the practical legal code would look very similar to today’s, though not identical. Practical realities outweigh principles; Jewish law recognizes that as well.
As for the state of today: most people are not fully obligated by Jewish law. There I apply the two categories I spoke about—morality and Jewish law. Morality is universal; my expectations of the state are the same as Yaron’s: fairness, decency, liberal democracy. I support liberal education and a democratic, liberal, secular state—not as a compromise, but as an ideal. I will fight for that against those who want to impose religious values on the conduct of the state.
As for Jewish law: in a state like today’s, it is not relevant; I oppose the coercive imposition of Jewish law—not only because it does not work, but because it is immoral. A commandment performed under coercion has no religious value. Therefore, regarding the state of today: my vision is very close to Yaron’s—with the usual political disagreements that exist between any two citizens.

[Yaron]
I am glad to hear that. I hope his thinking will influence many religious people, especially ultra-Orthodox Jews—so that we may have a shared, liberal, secular state, which is critical in these difficult days.
But I want to sharpen the point with Miki: what happens when the liberal, secular state legislates laws—and every law is coercion—that contradict Jewish law? For example, equal inheritance for women and men, on grounds of human equality; or animal welfare—if the state were to conclude that ritual slaughter causes suffering and were to order a more humane method. Suppose Miki agrees that it is more compassionate—what then?

[Rabbi Michael]
We must distinguish between “thin liberalism” and “thick liberalism.” With respect to the public sphere—such as allowing people to bequeath equally to sons and daughters—I will fight for the law to allow that. Does the law need to require it? I am not sure I would join that, not because it necessarily bothers me, but because one must also take into account those whose commitments are not liberal. The boundary is delicate—it depends on the costs and on the weight of the value.
As for ritual slaughter: that is not a head-on conflict. It would simply mean that religious people would have no meat to eat. I am vegetarian anyway, on moral grounds. If there were solid findings that ritual slaughter causes severe suffering, the state should prohibit it; if so, then no one would eat meat—or we would develop cultured meat, and so on.

[Moderator]
Right—that connects to what you said earlier: Jewish law and morality are different axes, and policy navigates between them.

[Conclusion]
I very much enjoyed the conversation. I understand what Yaron wants; I understand what you want, Rabbi Michael Abraham. In the end, you presented a compelling framework for Jewish law and morality—compelling to me, although Yaron of course is not convinced. It is good to hold discussions like this. Thank you very much—Eyal, Miki—goodbye.

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End of transcript.