MiMidbar Matanah – 1999

With God's help

A. The confrontation between Greece and Israel in the Hasmonean period has received many interpretations, some on a national-cultural basis and some on a religious basis.

In the words of the Sages, there is an ambivalent attitude toward Greece and its wisdom. On the one hand, "And darkness was upon the face of the deep"—this is the kingdom of Greece, which darkened the eyes of Israel.. And further: "Cursed is one who teaches his son Greek wisdom". On the other hand, "May God enlarge Japheth", May the beauty of Japheth dwell in the tents of Shem., and the like.

There are various resolutions to these contradictions. Some distinguish between the Greek language and Greek wisdom, or between different branches of Greek wisdom and others. It seems that despite these distinctions, one cannot ignore a certain ambivalence that exists toward Greece. It is highly plausible that Greek wisdom has positive aspects. Can one condemn engagement with logic, when quite a number of the great sages of Israel engaged in it and even defined it as one of the foundations of wisdom and thought?

Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner, in his book 'Pachad Yitzchak' (on Hanukkah), describes the struggle between Greece and Israel as a confrontation between two forms of thought. In the terminology of Rabbi HaNazir in his book 'Kol HaNevuah,' this can be described as a confrontation between auditory logic and visual logic. This struggle, if understood broadly, takes place in different forms throughout history and continues to this very day. Sometimes it is not entirely clear who stands on which side of the divide, and it is important to clarify the picture somewhat, for it has great relevance to processes and developments in the present as well.

The Greeks mark the beginning of the age of systematic philosophy in its various branches, to the point that some have claimed that the entire history of philosophy is nothing more than a collection of notes to Plato and Aristotle. It is also important to recall in this context that Alexander the Great, founder of the Greek empire, was Aristotle's personal pupil in his youth. Historians tend to view him as an 'enlightened' conqueror, for part of the purpose of his conquests, beyond the mere accumulation of power, was to bring the 'light' of Greek culture, founded by his above-mentioned teacher and master, to all corners of the world.

The Greeks (and especially Aristotle in the 'Organon') also established and transmitted to the world the field known as the 'science of logic.' This field deals with the basic forms we use in our rational thought; it serves as the fundamental basis of mathematics and also underlies the structure of the modern digital computer.

Rabbi HaNazir calls Greek logic 'visual logic' (or 'ocular' logic, from the word for eye), since it represents the visible aspect of logical structures, that which can be seen from the outside. Opposed to it stands 'auditory logic,' which describes what is hidden behind the visible things. A voice can be heard from behind a wall, but one cannot observe the appearance that lies behind that same wall. Hearing therefore represents attentiveness to the hidden, the intuition that discerns truths without explicit and manifest reasons, without formal argumentation.

According to this description, it would seem that the assertion that the few defeated the many, that Israel prevailed over Greece, holds only on the national plane. On the plane of the struggle between modes of thought, it seems as though Greece was at least not defeated, and perhaps even triumphed. Greek thought still occupies center stage in culture today, at least in Western science and thought. Beyond that, even in the study hall itself there is a sense that we use Greek thought and Greek logic just as in every other field of thought. Logical analysis is a first-rate tool in analytic study in the study hall as well, and often it is not clear what the real difference in methods is, if indeed there is one, between sacred and secular fields of study.

In fact, one can say that Torah thinking has become more and more 'Greek' over the years. We are well aware of the difference between the mode of study of later authorities in our own time and those who preceded them, and between them and the medieval authorities, between them and the Geonim, and so on back to the period of prophecy in the Hebrew Bible (Tanakh), and perhaps even earlier. This can be described as a gradual transition from intuitive thought in the earlier stages of history to formal-logical thought in the later stages. A parallel process is occurring in world thought as well (at least in the West, which is directly influenced by ancient Greece). Here the question arises with even greater force: who won, the good or the bad? Who, on the plane of ideas and ways of thinking underlying historical events, are the good and who are the bad? Did the 'wicked Greeks' indeed defeat the 'righteous Jews'?

There is an interesting, and entirely non-accidental, historical correlation between the end of the age of prophecy and the spread of the Greek empire. The author of Seder Olam says (chapter 30): "And a mighty king shall arise, etc., and when he stands, he shall be broken, etc. (Daniel 11)—this is Alexander of Macedon, who reigned for twelve years. Until this point, the prophets prophesied through the Holy Spirit; from this point on, incline your ear and hear the words of the sages." (and see Seder Olam Zuta for greater detail). Prophecy is the essence of auditory capacity, and when it comes to an end, Greek, logical thinking can—and perhaps even must—enter. Shimon the Righteous, who inaugurates the age of the Oral Torah (as one of the last members of the Great Assembly), is described by the Sages as one whose likeness triumphed before Alexander the Great in all his wars.[1]

Greek culture reaches Israel precisely at the moment when it is needed more than ever. When prophecy has ended, and we no longer possess that auditory-prophetic capacity to which we had been accustomed until then, we require the assistance of Greece's logical tools. In certain respects this is a substitute for the original auditory, prophetic mode of thought.

Paradoxically, it is Greek logic that saves the wisdom of Torah from the destruction that awaits it without the aid of 'auditory' prophecy. In science and mathematics too one can find people who can arrive at the results of a long calculation by intuition alone, results that others, who have not been granted that same degree of intuition, must struggle mightily to reach. When we lose our original intuitive ability, we require an alternative 'compensation' in the form of logical tools of analysis.

The beauty of Japheth enters the tents of Shem and is absorbed there as an organic part of the wisdom of Torah. The dialectical historical process expands Torah from intuitive thought toward a formal logical formulation of intuitive principles. This is a more complete form of Torah, to which the Holy One, blessed be He, is leading it.

If so, it seems that the Greeks indeed 'won.' Their logic today rules even in the study hall. There is now a feeling as though Torah is a subject of study and not a method. The method of study appears universal-Greek, as in all other fields, except that in the study hall it is applied to the Torah domain rather than to some other scientific (or 'speculative,' in both senses) domain.

Nevertheless, there is a distinction between the domains on the level of method as well, and not only in content. There is a Torah mode of thought, and not only Torah content. We must be aware that there are auditory remnants in Torah study in the study hall; unlike academic, 'Greek,' study of Torah, we must not lose them.

It seems that the Sages' condemnation of Greek wisdom is not directed at wisdom as such, but at the conception of its role and place. Greece represents the view that all thought is exhausted exclusively by its logical-formal component,[2] whereas Israel and its Torah do not deny the use of logic itself, but only its exclusivity. The auditory claim is that there are further components to the form of thought, both Torah thought and thought in general, beyond Greek logic.

To complete this schematic description, it is interesting to note that although Israel apparently surrendered to Greek visual-logical reason, precisely in the last century the Greek conception suffered a severe and painful blow, and precisely in its most 'Greek' field, mathematical logic. Several theorems formulated and proved by the German logician Kurt Gödel, known as the 'incompleteness theorems,' establish that in many mathematical systems there are propositions that are necessarily true and at the same time unprovable. The meaning of this claim is that there is a distinction between the 'provability' of propositions and their 'truth.' This is a deathblow to the Greek conception, which holds that only logical proof is the sole way to reach truths.

B. The implications of the picture sketched here are very numerous and touch on various fields. Here we will try briefly to indicate several of the implications in the realm of Torah study and halakhic decision-making.

One of the essential characteristics of a visual-Greek mode of thought, which holds that a true proposition is only a proved proposition, is an inability to make decisions and attain certainty. Every proof is based on first principles (axioms) that themselves cannot be proved. If one views this simple fact through 'Greek' eyes, one immediately arrives at the view prevalent today in the Western ('Greek') world that there are in fact no binding and absolute truths. Each person has his own first principles, and consequently also the conclusions that follow from them. There is no way to decide disputes between different systems of assumptions, since assumptions, by their very nature, are not subject to logical examination. On the other hand, an 'auditory' understanding by its very nature leads to decisions. Of course there are disagreements, but one can decide between the positions by intuitively discussing the first principles themselves. The use of intuition makes it possible to open even the axioms that underlie the different conceptions to discussion, something that formal logic cannot do.

The well-known words of Nachmanides in his introduction to Sefer HaMilchamot are that the wisdom of our Torah is not like the sciences of astronomy and geometry, whose demonstrations (= their arguments, their proofs) are cut and clear, that is, precise and unequivocal. Usually this quotation is brought to support halakhic pluralism, in which every position has legitimacy—"These and those are both the words of the living God". It seems to me that Nachmanides' intention in these words is exactly the opposite. Even when the demonstrations are not cut and clear, and perhaps especially when that is the case, one can reach a decision. When one does not expect a logical proof to decide the dispute, but rather sees intuition itself as a subject that can also be discussed, only then is there a chance of reaching decisions in disputes that appear, at first glance, to have no way out. From such a point of departure, precisely because we are not looking only for logical proofs, we are not forced into a situation in which 'everyone has his own truth.' In Torah there is also an 'error in an explicit Mishnah.' Despite the absence of a proof against him, he is mistaken.

Torah study in its essence requires decisions. In earlier generations a halakhic decisor would generally decide in accordance with his own reasoning, and each person had a clear position on most halakhic questions. Today it seems as though no one has a clear position. Decisions are made more and more through considerations of legal ruling among the positions of earlier decisors, and not by clarifying the decisor's own position. In the realm of analytic study this is far more pronounced. The story is well known of Rabbi Chaim, who sent a question to Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan Spektor of Kovno and asked him to answer only with 'yes' or 'no.' Rabbi Chaim feared that if Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan were to explain the ruling, he would be able to raise an objection to every argument from every side. This is a symptomatic state of affairs for analytic study in the yeshiva world today, which, as is well known, was shaped to a great extent by Rabbi Chaim.

One often hears the claim that we are not of sufficient stature to thrust our heads between the mountains and rule on questions over which the greatest halakhic decisors—and certainly the medieval authorities—disagreed. It seems to me that this is not a full description of the situation. In practice, not only do we not dare to decide between opinions; we are simply incapable of doing so. With the highly developed logical ability that exists today in the world in general, and in yeshivot in particular, we can analyze every approach among the medieval authorities and the decisors and set it upon logical foundations, until in very many cases the student has no clear position at all, not even a personal inclination to one side or the other.

The 'decisors' (such as Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan), as distinct from the 'analysts' (Rabbi Chaim), are considered to possess the capacity to decide between different halakhic positions, and generally they are indeed less inclined to the logical analysis common in yeshiva scholarship. It seems as though these two forms of study are rivals to one another. In broad terms: one who knows how, or wants, to analyze cannot, or does not want to, decide, and vice versa. Thus the modern distinction arose between 'analysts' (often heads of yeshivot) and 'decisors' (who generally are not heads of yeshivot). In the past the situation was not like this; the analysts were also the decisors. The books alone divided into categories of legal ruling and commentary, but the authors were the same authors.

This state of affairs affects the form of study and halakhic decision-making today. Torah study, by its very essence, means conduct in accordance with one's scholarly conclusions. Its purpose is to bring abstract analysis down to the level of practical behavior, and to elevate everyday life to the abstract plane of analysis. A joining of upper and lower worlds. This is perhaps the most essential characteristic of Torah study, the thing that distinguishes it from the other 'external' branches of wisdom. Today the situation is not like this. Analytic study consists of abstract conceptualizations that serve to understand all the approaches of the commentators and decisors, whereas halakhic ruling is generally done through an independent consultation of law books (the Shulchan Arukh, Mishnah Berurah, and the like), adopting stringency in accordance with most of the prevailing positions, and an almost mathematical, that is, Greek, mode of thought on the basis of those rulings. Very often the analytic conclusions are not what guide practical behavior, and more than that: there are almost no analytic conclusions, only halakhic decisions detached from the analysis. This situation enables the student to propose conceptualizations with which he is not at peace and whose truth he does not genuinely feel, for he has no obligation to act in accordance with them. A person who desecrates the Sabbath on the basis of his own reasoning will, naturally, be very careful in formulating that line of reasoning.

It seems that there really is no way out of this state. As noted, the ability to decide has been almost entirely lost to us, and very often we do not succeed in deciding between opposing positions on the basis of reasoning.

One of the starting points for solving the problem is the reintroduction into halakhic deliberation of the realm of thought that stands at the root of Jewish law. This is the auditory logic hidden behind the visible layer of the discussion. When one understands the conceptual reason behind some halakhic statement (and I do not mean the 'rationale of the verse,' but understanding the words of the Talmud and the medieval authorities), it will be possible to try to decide between the sides. There is a certain reluctance toward such a form of legal ruling, mainly because the realm of thought appears more flexible and less defined and precise than the halakhic realm. Yet if well-formed methods and defined schools of study are created in these areas, it may be that the capacity for decision will improve, and we will restore the auditory crown to Torah study. If, after stating an analytic conceptualization, the student asks himself one further 'why?' question, he will immediately find himself in the realm of thought. There is hardly any analytic conceptualization that does not conceal behind it an entire philosophical world. I do not mean only areas usually classified as 'thought,' such as free will, providence, divinity, the election of Israel, the meaning of Torah, and the like, but also philosophical questions such as: Is time composed of parts, or is it continuous? Is there only one cause for every result, or not? Questions of this kind occupy philosophy today as well, and philosophy too has undergone a significant process of expansion. A similar process of the sort proposed here will also expand the field called 'Jewish thought,' which still generally concentrates on 'religious' questions of divinity, free will, providence, and the like.

Rabbi Chaim dealt mainly with definitions. They say that he taught one should ask only 'what,' and not 'why' (I do not entirely agree that this is indeed what he did): to describe, not to explain or understand. In fact, as is commonly said in the yeshiva world when an explanation is proposed for some law, this is the definition of the law and not its reason. The distinction between these two concepts is very difficult, and it also arises in the context of the philosophy of science, which today, in line with the above, holds that science describes and does not explain. This is precisely the picture described above, according to which Torah and science alike no longer try to understand, that is, to provide an 'auditory' reason, but only to describe, that is, to provide a 'visual' definition.

If nevertheless we also try to understand, and we test that understanding against different laws in the way that we test an analytic conceptualization, perhaps we can arrive at a systematic meta-halakhic philosophy. In order to reach such a state, it seems that in many cases thought must emerge from the laws themselves, and not, as is customary today, as though it were an autonomous body originating in the thinker's own ideas and detached from the halakhic corpus.

Beyond that, it seems to me that in a situation in which the student has an inclination toward one side, consideration should be given to allowing him to act in practice in accordance with his conclusion. This, as is well known, was Maharal's approach in his polemic against the Shulchan Arukh, and such an approach also appears in several places in the writings of the Chazon Ish. This is a joining of upper and lower worlds that ought to be the core of Torah conduct, but, as noted above, it would also affect the quality of analytic study.

It is clear that every student needs guidance as to from what stage he may begin to rely on his own auditory intuition and act accordingly in practice, and under what circumstances ('authorization' for a person to rule Jewish law for himself). But as a principled model to which every student should aspire, one should present such a conception of halakhic decision-making emerging from analytic study. The goal of analysis should not be only to understand the various approaches as such, but also to try to decide between them. It seems to me that this is an acquired skill, one that can be sharpened and deepened. We must remember that the principled path to halakhic ruling should not be a search in the Mishnah Berurah, but clarification of the Talmudic passage and conduct in light of the conclusions that emerge from analyzing it (while also taking into account what is written in the Mishnah Berurah). In many cases, when the answer is not found explicitly in the Mishnah Berurah, the proper course is to adopt an independent position and not always to be stringent in accordance with every view, unless one is truly in a genuine state of doubt. It seems to me that this model of halakhic decision-making can also be persuasively grounded within Jewish law, but this is not the place to elaborate.

Jewish law, thought, and analysis are today three separate Torah domains. One must reconnect the chain of thought-analysis-law in order to recover the capacity for decision and the joining of upper and lower worlds mentioned above. That will be Israel's final victory over Greece, and then the beauty of Japheth will be in the tents of Shem, and not the reverse.

C. The joining of Jewish law and thought (aggadah) has already become a somewhat worn slogan, and what is lacking now are practical examples. This is not the place to elaborate on that, and clearly the matter requires broad and exhaustive development by the Torah world as a whole; nevertheless, I will not refrain from offering here one example (which arose in our study of chapter 8 of tractate Yoma last year) of the distinction I noted above between definition and reason, and its implications for the ability to decide.

There is a well-known inquiry in 'Binyan Tzion' as to whether a person who ate on Yom Kippur must continue fasting, or whether, once he has broken the fast, he can no longer complete it. The basis for the side that understands the obligation as a fast extending throughout the entire day is the verse "From evening to evening you shall observe your Sabbath", which describes the command to fast on Yom Kippur.[3]

There are later authorities who describe this inquiry in terms of definitions, that is, descriptions that are as it were 'Greek': Is Yom Kippur one unit of time, or is it composed of parts? If it is composed of parts, then clearly if we did not fulfill our obligation at one moment, that does nothing to diminish our obligation to continue fasting during the remaining moments. But if it is one unit, then once we did not fast throughout the whole day, we did not fulfill the commandment at all, and there is no point in continuing to fast. In such a 'Greek' form, it seems that the inquiry cannot be decided. How can we examine whether Yom Kippur is composed of parts or is one unit? Definitions cannot be tested beyond their own consistency. Even if we try to examine the definitions through the practical halakhic ramifications, almost every inquiry can be reconciled on both sides with all the data. If so, the attempt to develop an intuition that will help us decide often cannot advance very far through this type of analysis of definitions.

In order to examine our position on this question, we must move to the plane of reasons and ask why there should be such definitions at all for the obligation to fast on Yom Kippur; what could be the 'reason' for each such 'definition'? Here one can proceed along two paths: 1. To examine halakhic concepts of time, and to arrive at conclusions regarding the essence of halakhic time in different contexts. There have been several such attempts (the Rogatchover, Rabbi Amiel, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Kasher), and this is the direction I described above as an expansion of the field of Jewish thought. 2. One can examine the matter through understanding the essence of the obligation to fast on Yom Kippur. Along the second path, one can ask whether a 'fast' can be defined with respect to a moment, or whether perhaps it is a state that must endure (Rabbi Blumenzweig's opening lecture on Yoma dealt with this point). In such a question one can reach decisions through understanding the essence of the obligation to fast on Yom Kippur (cessation, as from labor; assistance in repentance; and the like). The plane of reasons seems more accessible to intuition.[4]

As an anecdote, though one of considerable significance, one can point to a surprising phenomenon in this example. Generally we would expect there to be no difference between the halakhic implications of the definition and those of the reason, for these are two parallel planes of description. Prima facie, if they are indeed corresponding definition and reason, such differences should be impossible altogether.

Let us consider a minor who reaches majority in the middle of Yom Kippur. According to the definition that describes the obligation to fast as one unit of time, it is clear that there is no point for that minor to fast for half a day. By contrast, if the obligation applies to each moment, it is clear that he is obligated to fast for the remainder of the day. Yet if we notice that this same minor fasted as part of his halakhic training during the first part of the day as well, then by continuing to fast he will realize the concept of a 'fast' in its plain sense. If the meaning of a 'fast' is a duration of time, and not a collection of moments, since that is what a requirement to fast means, then after all, when the minor finishes the fast, he will indeed have fasted. If so, according to this reason the minor certainly should continue fasting. Yet this very reason seemingly underlies the definition of the obligation to fast as one unit of time, whereas according to that definition our conclusion was that this minor has no obligation to continue fasting. It seems that there is some carelessness here in the transition from definition to reason, a phenomenon symptomatic of the dangerous process of following reasons. But this is not the place to elaborate.

[1] Many scholars have noted that, from a historical standpoint, the meeting described in the Talmud between Alexander and Shimon the Righteous does not fit their respective periods of life and activity. There was no overlap between their lifetimes. Against this background it becomes all the clearer that this was not merely a chance historical meeting, important though it may have been. This aggadah comes to illustrate the essential connection between the two. The end of the age of prophecy is the beginning of the age of the Oral Torah. The Greeks encounter us at the historical 'seam' between prophecy and the Oral Torah.

[2] See the well-known comment of Nachmanides in parashat Acharei Mot concerning the Greek and his wicked disciples, who have the audacity to think that whatever they did not attain through their wisdom simply does not exist.

[3] If we have spoken about decisions, it seems that one can say unequivocally, on the basis of the Talmudic passages and the medieval authorities, that there is a clear obligation to continue fasting, but this is not the place to elaborate.

[4] Although it seems to me that intuition here tends to decide contrary to the Jewish law. As I noted, according to Jewish law the obligation to fast applies at every single moment. It is interesting to examine what this says about that particular intuition, and about the use of intuition in general.