Nitzavim–Vayelekh (5760)

With God's help, on the eve of the holy Sabbath, the Nitzavim–Vayelekh Torah portion, 5760

On Sin and Repentance: 'Weakness of Will'

In the Nitzavim portion the Torah writes: 'And it shall be, when all these things come upon you, the blessing

and the curse … and you shall return to the Lord your God and heed His voice' (Deuteronomy 30:1–2). Some interpret these verses as a command to a person

to repent of his sins, and some interpret them as a prophecy of what will happen in the future, that Israel is destined

to repent. The subject of repentance is timely today, a week before Rosh Hashanah, and therefore I will discuss it

briefly. This subject raises many difficulties, some of which are rooted in the problematic nature of the concept of 'choice'

(see my remarks in issue no. 3 of 'Atid', which appeared about a year ago).

I would like to discuss briefly one of the most basic problems in understanding the concept of repentance, a problem that stems from a difficulty

in understanding the human psychic structure, or in fact in understanding the process of sin. This problem is very

popular in modern philosophy, where it is called the problem of 'weakness of will'. The intent of this expression

is to describe a situation in which a person sins (later I will note that this problem does not concern sins alone, but rather

many human actions characterized by weakness of will), and he feels that he has failed. That is,

in fact he did not want to do this action, and nevertheless did it. A common expression for such

a situation is the statement: 'My willpower was not strong enough.'

This problem can be presented as follows. First, let us define 'an action that expresses weakness of will' in

the following way: an action X that is performed consciously and in full awareness, where the person believes that

an alternative course of action Y is open to him, and when, in light of the overall balance of considerations, he judges and decides that the

best course for him is דווקא to do Y, and nevertheless he does X.

We now present the following three claims:

If a person wants to do X more than he wants to do Y, and if he feels free to do either of the two

actions, then he will choose to do X.

If a person judges, in light of the overall balance of considerations, that from his standpoint it is preferable to do action X rather than

action Y, then he wants to do X more than Y.

There are actions that express weakness of will (= actions as defined above).

Despite their being highly intuitive, each on its own, it is completely clear that these three claims

do not fit together. The meaning of this is that if we wish to preserve

our simple intuition that there are actions in which weakness of will is expressed

(= claim 3), we must give up one of the first two claims. The philosophical approaches

differ from one another in deciding which claim to discard, and why.

It seems that simple intuition tends to give up claim 1. An argument that ostensibly supports such a

position would say that sometimes a person very much wants to do some good deed, yet he has an evil inclination,

that is, a tendency nevertheless to sin, and therefore he still does not choose to do so. Incidentally, the problem

apparently exists in every domain, not only the religious or moral one. Even a person who knows that chocolate is harmful

to health, and nevertheless chooses to eat it, describes his failure in terms of 'weakness of will'.

There too the person wants to be healthy, yet he yields to an impulse that causes him to prefer immediate

gratification.

This argument is not at all simple. Ostensibly, the person who ate chocolate chose to prefer immediate pleasure

over long-term health. That is a principle he chose, and therefore this is not weakness of

will but a choice of immediate pleasure. If the person acted not by choice, but under an irresistible

impulse, then this is not an action of weakness of will (as defined above), and if so, in the context of

transgressions (religious or moral), there is no place to punish him for it. On the other hand, if the impulse was

resistible, then the person chose to yield to it, that is, he chose immediate pleasure over long-term

benefit. If so, he is not weak-willed; he simply wants to eat chocolate. From a

health standpoint he wants to eat vegetables, but from the standpoint of immediate gratification he wants chocolate.

The overall balance in his case points to a choice in favor of immediate pleasure.

So too in the context of sin: a person who sins chooses momentary pleasure over moral-religious benefit,

and therefore this is not weakness of will but a desire to sin. One should note that in the definition above of an action of

weakness of will, a condition was included that the choice be made according to the 'overall balance of considerations', and not necessarily

according דווקא to moral-religious considerations.

Despite all this, it seems to me very difficult to give up the intuition of weakness of will, namely

that sometimes a person does things he does not want (contrary to claim 1 above). Beyond

that, if we do indeed give it up, it is not clear how a process of repentance can be possible. If indeed I want

to sin, why should I decide to repent? Such a decision דווקא indicates a desire and a decision to do

good. There is no room here to elaborate further.

It seems to me that a possible solution to this problem lies in distinguishing between choosing a particular act and

choosing to exercise choice itself. When a person experiences weakness of will, he chooses not to choose. He chooses to be carried along

after an inclination that is not his genuine will. On the one hand, there is a choice here; on the other hand, this is not a choice

of the bad act itself, but a choice to be carried along and not to be a genuine chooser. This claim requires

a more detailed analysis, and here I will make do with a schematic description that leaves food for thought for readers. In any event,

it is clear that in order to understand the essence of repentance and to have the ability to carry it out, it is important to understand the

mechanism of sin and its meaning in terms of our psychic makeup.

Have a peaceful Sabbath

May be deposited for respectful disposal in any synagogue or yeshiva. Comments and responses are welcome.

Bitton56.doc

With God's help, on the eve of Rosh Hashanah 5761

A Culture of Self-Examination

Rosh Hashanah is a time when we are judged before the Creator of the world for our deeds. Before the Holy One, blessed be He, examines

our deeds, we ourselves are commanded to do so. The month of Elul, and following it the Ten Days of Repentance,

is a time of self-examination for every Jew. Self-examination can be undertaken by any person, religious

or secular, in order to examine the totality of his actions, to try to judge in what he succeeded and what he must

repair. It is customary to make such an accounting with respect to material achievements. Every person responsible for something

must do this if he wishes to draw lessons. So too it should be with respect to

moral-spiritual achievements.

A good friend once told me that he fasts every Yom Kippur, although, as I knew him, he had absolutely no

connection to observance of the commandments. He did this not because of the commandment, but דווקא because he recognized

that this is an act necessary for every thinking person. In recent years, he told me, he stopped fasting.

Apparently it is hard to persevere in conducting a real and incisive self-examination every year, without the dread of judgment

imposed upon us, and without the feeling that a person has someone before whom he must render an account.

There is sometimes an added value דווקא to self-examination undertaken not because there is a commandment to do it. A religious person,

who is accustomed to observing commandments because of his sense of duty toward the Holy One, blessed be He, sometimes loses

the authenticity of the content of those commandments. A common phenomenon is that various leaders stir

an observant public to self-examination and to a feeling of the dread of judgment. These feelings sometimes disappear

precisely because of the religious commandments and obligations imposed upon the Jewish person at these times.

A person continues to observe these commandments as well, just as he observes every commandment throughout the year,

and therefore it is דווקא difficult for him to feel the special content of each such commandment. A Jew who does not observe

the commandments, and who engages in self-examination because of the sense of importance of such an act and not because of the obligation imposed

upon him, can sometimes do it better, do it 'for real'.[1] It may be that this

is the reason some of those who enumerate the commandments did not count the commandment of repentance as an obligation within the framework

of the 613 commandments. The simple reason for this is that this is an obvious obligation, and therefore there is no need

to command it. However, it seems to me that there is more here than that: the command itself can undermine the process

of self-examination and repentance, as described above.

For these reasons, perhaps Rosh Hashanah can be adopted as a national occasion (perhaps not a festival). Let us try to make

a social-moral self-examination of our achievements and failures as individuals and as a society. The civil New Year

is generally exploited for foolish revelry and empty partying. It is time for the Hebrew New Year

to receive a different character, beyond wishes for a good year and various folkloristic ceremonies

(eating symbolic foods, going to synagogue, and the like). It may be that those ceremonies themselves can serve as a point

of departure for discussion and deeper reflection on the content of this occasion, and for extending it to more universal planes.

It is true that in the world of Torah and Jewish law, Rosh Hashanah is not specifically a day of self-examination, but rather

a day on which we crown the Holy One, blessed be He, as King. On this day we are specifically not occupied with repentance and self-examination,

despite its being the Day of Judgment. Those are characteristic of Yom Kippur. In any event, around Rosh Hashanah

and in preparation for it, or during the Ten Days of Repentance, and certainly on Yom Kippur, it is fitting to designate such a time in which

we will occupy ourselves with the questions that truly matter.

The State Comptroller's report could be submitted at this time, and deal also with foundational problems and not only

with technical questions. Various review committees could present their conclusions in the different areas of our lives

at that same time. The newspapers, like the public as a whole, would engage in a moral and social summary of

the year and not only in a summary of achievements in sport, politics, art, or literature. If we are already

engaged in summaries, we ought to make them on the planes that truly matter. In these days it is also possible

to examine the disagreements among us on a more rational plane, and not only with the emotional polemics

that characterize public discourse throughout the year.

Incidentally, regarding the matter of self-examination, it should be noted that even when we engage in public self-examination, the matter

is usually aimed at finding culprits. Very rare indeed is self-examination undertaken in order to improve

ourselves, and within ourselves. It is true that it is important for a person to feel responsibility for his deeds, and also for his omissions,

yet the search for the guilty does not always lead to greater responsibility. In our day it seems that it leads

more to covering one's backside out of fear of a commission of inquiry, than to genuine improvement of

the mechanisms. It seems to me that the various systems דווקא deteriorate more than they improve as a result of this process.

This is a cultural question more than a procedural one. If a culture of self-examination is built

properly, its consequences too will be proper. If people draw conclusions, and each matter is examined on its own merits,

and not only in order to look for culprits, a public atmosphere more conducive to processes of improvement

and repair will be created.

A good year, and may you be sealed for good

May be deposited for respectful disposal in any synagogue or yeshiva. Comments and responses are welcome.

———————–

[1] Clearly, part of the self-examination must be undertaken with respect to faith and the observance of the commandments themselves. It is

not advisable to suffice with a one-time decision—if there ever was one at all—regarding the position one should adopt with respect

to these questions.

Bitton57.doc

With God's help, on the eve of Shabbat Shuvah, the Ha'azinu portion, 5761

'To Know Wisdom and Moral Instruction'

In the Ha'azinu portion several profound insights are embedded regarding human nature and history

in general, and the history of the people of Israel in particular. We have a tradition from our rabbis that in this portion

the entire history of Israel until the end of days is embedded, and all matters of the Torah are hinted at in it.

In the Vayelekh portion there is a commandment to write the Torah, which appears in the words 'Write for yourselves this song'

(Deuteronomy 31:19). Some interpret 'song' literally: the Song of Ha'azinu.

And some interpret it as referring to the entire Torah. According to our remarks above,

the song that appears in the Ha'azinu portion is the essence of the Torah, and therefore, at a deeper level,

these two interpretations converge. I would like to discuss one point that is hinted at almost in passing in this wondrous portion.

The Torah asks: 'Will you thus repay the Lord, O base and unwise people?' (Deuteronomy 32:6). There is here an unclear connection between

'base' and 'unwise'. 'Base' is a designation for one who commits moral wrong, and 'unwise' is

a designation for a person who is not intelligent. The base person is judged in the categories of good and evil,

and the wise person in the categories of correct and incorrect, or truth and falsehood.

In philosophy it is customary to distinguish among three domains of evaluation: in ethics (= moral theory) the evaluation

is in terms of 'good' and 'evil'; in aesthetics the basic evaluation is made in terms of 'beautiful'; and in other

areas of philosophy and science, evaluation is in terms of 'correct', or 'true'. To be sure, linguistic statements

in the realms of ethics and aesthetics are also examined in terms of truth and falsehood, but ostensibly

this is only a borrowed usage. To claim that helping another person is a 'correct' act sounds like a borrowed use

of the concept 'correct'. In order to examine the truth of this statement, we are not commanded to examine something

in the world and see whether the statement corresponds to it. Such a statement and others like it are evaluated in relation

to abstract principles of justice and morality, and not by correspondence to objective reality. By contrast, the correctness

(truth) of a statement such as 'This object weighs twenty kilograms' is measured

by experimentally examining the correspondence of the statement to reality (= weighing the object).

If so, it is not clear why the Torah links lack of wisdom with baseness, that is, with doing wrong.

We have seen that in language too we sometimes say of a moral act that it is a 'correct act',

and vice versa. Here too we must ask ourselves why a moral act is evaluated also in categories of

'correct', and not only in categories of 'good'.

There are those who wish to argue that even the concepts of truth do not mean correspondence to the objective world, and perhaps

even deny the existence of such an objective world (especially the world that is the subject of metaphysical

statements). In this way one might perhaps identify moral evaluation with scientific evaluation (and especially

metaphysical evaluation). It seems to me that the identification the Torah makes is based on the opposite view. The claim is that even

moral principles have an anchor in reality. These principles are existing entities, about which,

as the sage says in Pirkei Avot, the world 'stands'—'stands' literally. A person's looking 'into himself'

in order to examine whether his deeds fit moral principles is a looking toward something that exists. The concept

'looking' in this context should be understood almost literally.

It may be that this connection between the 'good' and the 'true' is one of the consequences of the sin of

Adam. After eating from the forbidden fruit, the Torah says that Adam and his wife became 'knowers of good

and evil' (Genesis 3:22). Good and evil became objects of knowledge, and not abstract principles,

or social conventions (to the extent that one can at all conceive them as such in a human society numbering two

individuals).[1] Reference to moral principles in terms of 'knowledge' also emerges clearly from the verse

from Proverbs that appears in the title of this article: 'To know wisdom and moral instruction' (Proverbs 1:2).

This view has a great many consequences. Our sages teach us that our grasp of wisdom

improves as our human qualities improve. A more moral person is also wiser, because

he is a better vessel for Torah ('The fear of the Lord is wisdom'—Job 28:28). The verse from the portion that opened

our remarks points to the same phenomenon: the wise person is also more moral, and one who is base is also not

wise. This is also the meaning that emerges from the verse: 'The villain says in his heart, There is no God' (Psalms 14:1). Ostensibly we would

say that this is a mistaken conclusion, not that he is a villain. King David teaches us that one who errs

in his philosophy is also afflicted by a deficiency in his moral character.

A further implication of this view is the understanding that moral behavior is not merely obedience to gut

feelings or pangs of conscience, but the result of profound intellectual clarification, of engagement in wisdom. About this

our sages said: 'An uncultivated person cannot fear sin, and an ignoramus cannot be pious' (Pirkei Avot 2:5). Profound

study of the Torah improves moral insight.

Rabbi Yisrael Salanter used to say that the first commandment with which every Jew is charged, a commandment that is also

a condition for all the other commandments, is this: do not be stupid. As we stand on the eve of Yom Kippur, it seems to me that

we are called upon to try to internalize this moral perspective. We must understand that 'Return, O Israel' (Hosea 14:2) does not

mean only to be more moral, but also to be wiser. This understanding itself is the beginning of wisdom,

and therefore perhaps from it itself one can begin a process of repentance. This sentence is not a

linguistic-logical trick, but, in my humble opinion, a profound truth.

And at the hour of the closing of the gate, our plea lies before the Creator of the world: Open a gate for us, for the day is waning.

Have a peaceful Sabbath, and may you be sealed for good.

May be deposited for respectful disposal in any synagogue or yeshiva. Comments and responses are welcome.

———————–

[1] We once mentioned in this context the parallel interpretations of the author of Nefesh HaChaim and of Maimonides

in the Guide of the Perplexed regarding these consequences of the primordial sin. At least according to our conceptual world,

it seems that in the wake of that sin there was also an elevation of the world, and not only a decline.

Bitton58.doc

With God's help, on the eve of Sukkot 5761

What Is the Difference Between the Citron and the Willow? Or: The Importance of the 'Koisheleh'

The festival of Sukkot is characterized by several commandments unique to it, in addition to the regular commandments of every festival.

One of the commandments is taking the four species: palm branch, citron, myrtle, and willow. The early sages

disagreed about the rule 'the lulav requires binding', that is, whether we must bind the four species together. Although

the law rules that 'the lulav does not require binding', that is, that one is not obligated to bind the species to

one another, we customarily do bind them in order to beautify the commandment. A well-known Midrash explains

that the four species symbolize four kinds of people within the people of Israel, the taste and fragrance of each species being compared

to Torah and commandments. The citron has taste and fragrance, and therefore it symbolizes people who possess Torah

and commandments, Torah scholars. The willow, by contrast, is a plant with neither taste nor fragrance, and therefore it

symbolizes people with neither Torah nor commandments. According to

this interpretation, the commandment to bind all the species together symbolizes the obligation that unity prevail among

all these groups.

So far these are ancient points, even somewhat hackneyed ones, though it does no harm to repeat them from time to time. Here

I want to point out that the form of the binding introduces a certain reservation regarding that sweeping interpretation

above. The palm branch, the willow, and the myrtles are indeed bound and tied together, usually inside a structure

made of palm leaves called in Yiddish a 'koisheleh', but it is worth noting that the citron stands apart. When

one takes the four species, one adds it to the group, but even then it remains separate and is placed

next to them outside the koisheleh. According to that same interpretation, this form of binding indicates

that even when one binds together all the different kinds of people, the Torah scholar must remain somewhat outside.

Connected, but from outside. Such a model has many implications, and it is impossible here to discuss all of them, but

I will try to touch on a few of them briefly.

Usually people tend to criticize Torah scholars for being detached from the society around them, and see this as

a factor that causes misunderstanding and disregard for the needs of that broader society, and certainly an impediment to the ability

to influence society. And indeed, a Torah scholar—at least one who issues rulings for the public—must not be

cut off from society in an absolute way. We must place the citron adjacent to the bundle, but, as stated,

it must be attached from the outside.

When the Torah scholar is actually inside, there are two main consequences to this: a. he tends to say

things that will sound pleasing to the ears of his listeners, that is, he is influenced by them.

b. The others too feel that they have a legitimate position, and can express it as an alternative equal in value to the positions of

the Torah scholar.

In the yeshiva world the saying is common: 'The outlook of laymen is the opposite of the Torah outlook' (its source is in Sefer

Me'irat Einayim, one of the major commentators on the Shulchan Arukh, Hoshen Mishpat, sec. 3). Many times the views

of Torah scholars ('the Torah outlook') seem strange and incomprehensible

to ordinary people ('laymen'), and the latter certainly do not spare their criticism

on the various issues.

Criticism is a legitimate thing, provided one does not lose proportion. It is not reasonable that a person

whose concepts in Judaism and Torah are superficial, if he has any at all, should express positions in every field, and certainly in clearly

legal-Torah areas. Today it seems that no amateur is bothered by speaking out on any subject that belongs

to these areas, and doing so with an assertiveness that would not embarrass even distinguished Torah scholars. Everyone,

even if he has barely learned to read and write, has a firm position in Torah matters, although they

require training and deep study of many years. Every citizen understands how one ought to rule on the issue of

the sale of land in the sabbatical year, on the issue of the Sabbath, on Judaism's relation to ideas of pluralism, graves,

the status of women, and many other complex Torah subjects. Everyone feels free to criticize

the Torah scholars who do not speak or act in accordance with his firm positions, and sometimes

to side with those who voice things pleasing to his ears.

This phenomenon is ridiculous and borders on the absurd, for in no other field would people allow themselves

to speak in this way, certainly when they do not have the slightest background in the field under discussion. In medicine,

or in any other scientific field, no one allows himself to announce that all the experts are speaking

nonsense, or that his own opinion is like that of one expert or another. There it is clear to everyone that if he did so,

he would make himself ridiculous. In physics, for example, there are ideas no less absurd than those

in Torah fields: an object can be both particle and wave at the same time, and it has no velocity when it has

a position, and vice versa. I now invite the reading public to formulate its positions in this field in light

of the extensive background it has accumulated by reading the line above. Is that not ridiculous?

The Torah domain, beyond being a field that requires the greatest expertise, contains a dimension that is almost

not found in other fields, and certainly not to the degree that it is found in the Torah domain:

Torah intuition is a very important component in Jewish legal decision-making. Broad Torah learning,

and sometimes even monumental learning, is not enough to formulate a reasonable Torah position. The principal dimension

by which a great Torah scholar is judged is Torah intuition. In the age of modern information sources

and indexing, one can say that knowledge has become less and less important relative to mode of thought.

This aspect deepens the gap between laymen and Torah scholars.

It seems to me that this absurd phenomenon stems from the feeling that the Torah scholar is inside; he is one

of us.

We must not forget the koisheleh!! The citron must be connected, but from the outside.

Have a peaceful Sabbath, and a favorable verdict

May be deposited for respectful disposal in any synagogue or yeshiva. Comments and responses are welcome.

Bitton59.doc