On Spiritual Solipsism (Column 236)
Why Rambam did not settle here for an overlapping positive command and prohibition
Rambam generally holds that when the same content appears several times it is not counted as several mitzvot, but when a positive command and a prohibition share the same content they can still both be counted. The essay therefore asks: if so, why does Rambam not present the positive command of open your hand and the prohibition of do not harden your heart and do not shut your hand as overlapping sides of the same duty? His language suggests that he intentionally distinguishes them: in the positive command he speaks about strengthening the weak and meeting their lack, and even a poor person must give to one poorer than himself; in the prohibition he speaks about a warning against stinginess and cruelty, without mentioning the duty of a poor donor. The essay therefore proposes that the positive command is teleological and focused on the result for the recipient, whereas the prohibition is deontological and focused on the character of the donor.
Two passages in Bava Batra explain the distinction
The essay suggests that the sugya in Bava Batra is the source for Rambam. On the one hand, it says there that one who ends up giving to an unworthy poor person receives no reward; that implies that the mitzvah is measured by outcome, and if no poor person’s condition was actually improved there is no fulfillment of the positive command. On the other hand, it says that God left poor people in the world so that we may be saved from the judgment of Gehinnom; here the focus of the mitzvah is the donor. R. Abraham suggests that this is not a contradiction but a division: the first passage deals with the reward of a positive command, and the second with the punishment attached to a prohibition. So a person may overcome his inclination and give, yet still receive no reward if it turns out that he did not help a poor person at all; what he achieved was only not sinking into stinginess. Even the language of the verses supports this: open your hand describes an act of giving, while do not harden your heart points to an inner moral state.
The halakhic consequences: a fraud, a poor donor, and gifts to the poor on Purim
Several legal consequences follow from this distinction. Giving to a fraud does not fulfill the positive command, because it did not improve the condition of a genuinely poor person; but if the donor did not know that he was a fraud, it may still be that he had to give in order not to lapse into stinginess and violate the prohibition. This also explains why a poor person is obligated in the mitzvah of charity toward someone poorer than himself, since the positive command is directed toward the recipient; by contrast, a poor person who does not give because he has nothing is not necessarily violating the prohibition, because there is no stinginess here. R. Abraham also adds a possible pilpul about gifts to the poor on Purim when donor and recipient celebrate Purim on different days: if this is a positive command directed toward the recipient’s needs, the time of giving should apparently be determined by the recipient’s Purim. Throughout this, the essay emphasizes that refining one’s character traits is important in its own right and not merely a tool to ensure more giving.
When the poor person becomes an extra: a critique of spiritual solipsism
From here R. Abraham moves to a broader claim. If charity is turned into a device meant only to save the donor, the poor person becomes merely a means for my religious life, not a real person with reality and rights. This is what the essay calls spiritual solipsism: even someone who is not a solipsist in the physical world may think that, on the religious plane, he alone stands before God and everyone else is scenery and tests. He identifies the same tendency in approaches that pursue mitzvot such as sending away the mother bird merely to accumulate merit, even at the cost of the creature’s suffering, and also in the joke about choosing between lo tachmod and lo tigzol, which ignores the rights of the other person and translates everything into my private accounting with Heaven. This is also the basis of his criticism of the claim that halakha has only a discourse of duties and not of rights. In a broader generalization, he links this to the gap between an inward-turned religiosity that sees the world as a testing ground for preserving the self and a religiosity that seeks to repair the world.
Why Turnus Rufus’s claim is about the theology of the world, not about the focus of the act
The essay sharpens the point that the question why God created a world with poor people is not identical to the question what should guide me when I meet a poor person. The theological answer may be that the world was designed this way also so that the donor would improve himself and be saved from punishment; but once this is the world, the practical duty embodied in the positive command is to help the poor person before me. The prohibition gives parallel expression to the importance of refining the donor’s character, but it does not turn the recipient into a dummy. R. Abraham compares this to the Euthyphro dilemma: God’s will determines the basic structure of the world, but within the world that was created, good and evil are not arbitrary; they follow from reality itself and from the meaning of the concepts.
Neither an arbitrary decree nor a demand for emotion alone
At the end, R. Abraham qualifies his point from two directions. First, the claim that mitzvot have aims does not contradict his broader position that halakha is not simply morality; in his view these are religious values and not only moral ones, but religious values too are not arbitrary decrees. Second, opposition to spiritual solipsism is not a demand for emotion as such. One can place the other person at the center through intellect, will, and value judgment, without relying on spontaneous emotional identification. Therefore, even in the mitzvot of love and hatred one should not see human beings as mere carriers of ideas: the love and hatred are directed at actual people, because of their choices and values, and not only at abstract ideas.
With God’s help
Here is a column following remarks I made in synagogue this past Sabbath.
In the Torah portion Re’eh, we find verses dealing with the commandment of charity (Deuteronomy 15:7–8):
If there shall be among you a needy person, one of your brothers, in one of your gates in your land that the Lord your God gives you, do not harden your heart and do not shut your hand against your needy brother. Rather, you shall surely open your hand to him, and surely lend him sufficient for his lack, whatever he lacks.
Those who enumerate the commandments disagree about how to count the commandments of charity. Maimonides’ approach, which is the most prevalent among those who enumerate the commandments, is that there is here a prohibition (Do not harden and Do not shut) and a positive commandment (You shall surely open).
In positive commandment 195, Maimonides writes:
The 195th commandment is that we were commanded to give charity, to strengthen the weak, and to be generous toward them. This commandment was indeed given in varied expressions. He, may He be exalted, said (Re’eh 15:8), “You shall surely open your hand,” etc.; and He said (Behar 25:35), “And you shall support him, stranger and resident,” etc.; and He said (ibid. 36), “And your brother shall live with you.” The intent of all these formulations is one: that we should assist them in their circumstances and support them sufficiently for their needs. The laws of this commandment have already been explained in many places, most of them in Ketubot (48b–50a, 66b–68a) and Bava Batra (8a–11a, 43a). And the tradition states (Gittin 7b) that even a poor person who is supported by charity is obligated in this commandment—that is, charity—if toward someone lower than him or even someone like him, even if only with a small amount.
And regarding prohibition 232 he writes:
The 232nd commandment is that we were warned not to withhold charity and generosity from the poor among our brothers once we know the weakness of their condition and our ability to support them. This is what He, may He be exalted, said: “Do not harden your heart and do not shut your hand against your poor brother.” This is a warning against acquiring the traits of stinginess and cruelty that would prevent one from doing what is proper.
In his view, the prohibition includes both directives (Do not harden and Do not shut).
A note on overlap between prohibitions and positive commandments
In the ninth principle, Maimonides determines that commandments that repeat the same content are not to be counted separately (for example, the commandment to keep the Sabbath appears in the Torah 12 times, and is counted as only one positive commandment). But in the sixth principle he qualifies this and writes that when the duplication is between a prohibition and a positive commandment, the two commandments are indeed counted separately. For example, the commandment to rest on the Sabbath and the prohibition against performing labor on the Sabbath are both counted even though they have the same content (the positive commandment commands rest, and the prohibition forbids doing labor).
It is important to understand that if there is a substantive difference between the prohibition and the positive commandment, that is not duplication. The rule in the sixth principle deals only with cases where there is no substantive difference between them other than the fact that one is a prohibition and the other a positive commandment. In our essay on the sixth principle (in the book Yishlach Sharashav) we explained why such duplication is counted, and what the definition of positive commandments and prohibitions is in general (in light of the fact that a prohibition and a positive commandment may have exactly the same content), but I will not go into all that here.
The relation between the prohibition and the positive commandment in charity
At first glance, the positive commandment (You shall surely open) and the prohibition (Do not harden and Do not shut) in charity are another example of a duplicated prohibition and positive commandment, meaning that both have exactly the same content. Seemingly, these are two sides of the same coin: the positive commandment commands giving charity, and the prohibition forbids not giving. But on a closer look at Maimonides’ formulations cited above, it seems that here the situation is somewhat different.
Maimonides writes that the point of the positive commandment is to improve the condition of the poor and needy person, and adds that it applies even to someone who is himself poor. By contrast, regarding the prohibition he writes that its main point is to correct the giver’s trait of stinginess, and there he also does not mention that the prohibition applies to givers who are themselves poor. In short, it seems that according to Maimonides the positive commandment is directed toward the recipient, that is, its main concern is improving the poor person’s condition (the result, a teleological commandment), whereas the prohibition is directed toward the giver (that is, a deontological commandment), meaning that its main concern is improving the giver’s character traits.
If Maimonides’ view were that a prohibition and a positive commandment cannot have overlapping content, that would be straightforward. That is indeed Rabbi Saadia Gaon’s view, at least according to R. Yerucham Fishel Perla at the beginning of volume 1 of Sefer HaMitzvot of Rabbi Saadia Gaon in his edition, in his essay on the sixth principle. But as I already noted, Maimonides’ view (and that of most medieval authorities (Rishonim)) is different. According to his approach, it is possible for a positive commandment and a prohibition to share the same content (and they are even counted as two separate commandments). If so, why, in the commandments of charity, did Maimonides choose to interpret the two commandments in a way that gives them different substantive content? What is the source for his view? I will begin with the question of source and then touch on the reason.
A possible source in the Talmud
It may be that the source for Maimonides’ words lies in the discussions of charity in the first chapter of tractate Bava Batra. On 9b we find the following midrash:
Rabbi Yitzhak said: What is the meaning of that which is written, “He who pursues righteousness and kindness will find life, righteousness, and honor”? Because he pursues righteousness, will he find righteousness? Rather, it comes to tell you that anyone who pursues charity, the Holy One, blessed be He, provides him with money so that he can perform charity with it. Rav Naḥman bar Yitzḥak said: The Holy One, blessed be He, provides him with worthy people to whom he can give charity, so that he may receive reward for it. To exclude what? To exclude that which Rabbah expounded. For Rabbah expounded: What is the meaning of that which is written, “Let them be made to stumble before You; in the time of Your anger act against them”? Jeremiah said before the Holy One, blessed be He: Master of the universe, even when they suppress their inclination and seek to give charity before You, cause them to stumble upon unworthy people, so that they will not receive reward for it.
Jeremiah asks God to cause the people of Anatot, who pursued him, to stumble upon poor people who are unworthy. The Talmud says that even if they overcome their inclination and give charity to such a poor person, they receive no reward for it. This is clearly a conception of charity as a result-oriented commandment. The person did everything he could in order to fulfill the commandment, but in practice the poor man was not poor but a swindler, and therefore he has not fulfilled the commandment and receives no reward. No poor person’s condition was improved, and so no commandment was fulfilled here.
Immediately afterward the Talmud brings the following discussion (ibid., 10a):
It was taught: Rabbi Meir would say, the litigant can answer you and say to you: If your God loves the poor, why does He not support them? Say to him: So that through them we may be saved from the judgment of Gehenna. And this is the question that the wicked Turnus Rufus asked Rabbi Akiva: If your God loves the poor, why does He not support them? He said to him: So that through them we may be saved from the judgment of Gehenna.
Here there is a completely opposite conception. In fact, improving the poor person’s condition is not really our task. If that were what God wanted, He would do it Himself. The purpose of the commandment of charity is the giver: to save him from the punishment of Gehenna. Here there is clearly a deontological definition of the commandment of charity, meaning that the goal is the act of giving (of the giver) and not the result (which is the improvement of the poor person’s condition).
This raises the question: how does the Talmud bring two contradictory sayings one after the other without remarking on it at all? This is not presented as a dispute; the statements are brought one after the other in the flow of the passage. One might perhaps say that there are two aspects to the commandment of charity, and both exist within it (“two legal aspects,” in Brisker terminology), but this is a problematic interpretation. Jeremiah asks that the people of Anatot be made to stumble over fraudulent poor people, but according to Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Akiva’s conception, that would not really succeed, for they would still have the aspect of giving even in a case where the poor person is unworthy (a fraud). Moreover, the Talmud itself senses this, since the formulation there is Even when they suppress their inclination… cause them to stumble…, that is, the Talmud is aware that there is also an aspect of subduing the inclination and a value in the act of giving itself, yet it nevertheless rules that there is no reward for such an act.
It may be that Maimonides asked himself this question, and that led him to read the passage more carefully. On further inspection, one can see that the first part deals with the positive commandment and the second part deals with the prohibition. In the first part the discussion is about reward, and reward is given for positive commandments and not for a prohibition.[1] In the second part the discussion is about the prohibition, since it speaks about the punishment of Gehenna. Punishment is given for a prohibition.[2] The conclusion Maimonides drew from this is that the positive commandment is result-oriented, and therefore if in practice there was no improvement in the condition of a poor person, there is no commandment and no reward. But the prohibition is for the sake of the giver, to save him from the punishment of Gehenna. A person who does not give charity reveals stinginess and flawed character traits, and because of that he may end up in Gehenna. The prohibition is meant to save him from those flawed traits and therefore also from the punishment of Gehenna. That is why, in the first part, the Talmud says with full awareness that even if the people of Anatot overcome their inclination—that is, even where there is value in this, since they are careful not to violate the prohibition—they will have no reward. When the poor person is unworthy, there is no result and no commandment, and therefore no reward either (this is only avoidance of violating a prohibition, and for that one does not receive reward).
This can also be inferred from the wording of the verses cited at the beginning of the column. Regarding the positive commandment, the formulation is You shall surely open, that is, the commandment lies in the act of opening one’s hand and giving. Regarding the prohibition, the formulation is Do not harden your hand and do not stiffen your heart. According to Maimonides’ view, that these two are counted as one prohibition, it is clear that its main point is the hardening of the giver’s heart, that is, his stinginess. On his view, the clenching of the hand is apparently a metaphor, and its concern is with character traits and not with the act in practice.
An analysis of this passage may be the source of the distinction Maimonides drew between the positive commandment and the prohibition.
Implications in Jewish law
If we consider this distinction from a more analytic perspective, it has implications in Jewish law. We have already seen one of them: giving charity to an unworthy poor person (a fraud) is not a positive commandment.[3] Another implication appears in Maimonides’ own words. I already noted that in the positive commandment he adds the obligation of a poor person to give charity himself, something that does not appear regarding the prohibition. We may now be able to explain this in our way. If the prohibition is against holding the trait of stinginess, then a poor person who does not give charity is not stingy. He does not give because he has nothing. Therefore such a poor person does not violate the prohibition. But the positive commandment is to give in order to improve the recipient’s condition, and this obligation applies even to a poor giver (to give a little to someone poorer than he is).
In a somewhat playful exercise in dialectical hair-splitting, I once thought of another implication. In the law of gifts to the poor on Purim, if the giver is from an unwalled city (celebrating Purim on the 14th of Adar) and the poor person who receives is from a walled city (celebrating on the 15th), when should one give him the gifts to the poor? According to the conception that the giving is for the sake of the giver, we would seemingly have to give on the 14th. But according to the conception that the goal is the recipient (his Purim meal, in this case), we should give on his Purim, that is, on the 15th. I should note that in the case of gifts to the poor this is a positive commandment (by virtue of Scriptural tradition) without a corresponding prohibition, and if we parallel this to the positive commandment of charity, it seems that the conclusion is that to such a poor person we should give on the 15th. But as stated, this is a bit of hair-splitting and can be rejected.
Once one raises the two possibilities in understanding the commandment of charity, one can also ask what all this says about the intention and orientation one should have when giving charity. Here too the same implication seems to emerge: according to the teleological conception, the giver is supposed to have before his eyes the poor person and his distress, and to give in order to improve his condition. According to the deontological conception, the giver is supposed to have before his eyes himself and the improvement of his own character traits (and the reward and punishment involved in this, in this world and the next). The poor person is only a convenient circumstance, that is, a set of circumstances whose purpose is to improve my own character traits.
Two ways of looking at the world and at Jewish law
In the second conception, the poor person is merely an extra, and there is no need to relate to him when giving him charity. He is like a dummy on a firing range, standing there in order to test me and allow me to improve my character traits and earn reward or avoid punishment. Giving charity is for me and not for him. There are conceptions like this regarding Jewish law in general as well. According to them, the whole world was created for my sake, and only I stand in it before God. Everything around me is a collection of tests and circumstances whose purpose is to challenge me and see whether I rise to the task. In that conception, a person who is on Purim, or even just in a situation where he sees no poor people around him, ought to feel distressed, and perhaps it would even be worthwhile to pay some thug to make sure there are poor people available for him, so that he can fulfill the commandment of charity or gifts to the poor through them and discharge his obligation.
This reminds me that with regard to sending away the mother bird, there are conceptions (rooted in Kabbalah) that even a person who has no need of chicks or eggs should send away the mother in order to fulfill the commandment. In my view this is a preposterous conception, one that is also contradicted by the language of the Torah and by the Talmudic passages in tractate Hullin, but it certainly exists among halakhic decisors as well, and many people indeed act this way in practice.[4] Here too one can see that the person sees himself at the center of the world and everything around him as intended for his service. He does not send away the mother so that she will not suffer, for he can simply leave her the eggs and chicks and that is that. He does it in order to gain one more commandment, even at the cost of the mother’s distress. Yes, yes, I know: the kabbalists explain that the mother, stunned by grief, goes and cries out or moans in the upper worlds, thereby arousing mercy for us. In my eyes, this explanation amounts to Have you murdered and also inherited? (have you murdered and also inherited?). Now I profit twice: first, the commandment itself was done for my sake at the mother’s expense; and second, I even use the distress I created in the mother by my selfish act for my own benefit. Here one sees all the more sharply the conception that everything is done and intended for my sake, and I am at the center. Even commandments whose purpose is to act for another person or creature are really intended for me. The environment is a collection of extras or target dummies whose whole point is to advance and improve my own standing.
Another example is the joke I already mentioned here once, of a friend of mine from Bnei Brak. Once he saw a book he had been looking for for a long time in the hands of another person sitting at the next table, and he said to him as follows: I have two options before me—either to take the book from you and violate Do not steal (do not steal), or to leave it with you and violate Do not covet (do not covet). Since either way I am committing a Torah-level transgression, at least let the book be with me. There is of course a mistake here in the parameters of Do not covet (which he knew quite well), but even if this were halakhically correct, the argument suffers from a fallacy that I will call below “spiritual solipsism.” From his perspective, the question whether to take or not take the book is a question of his commandments and transgressions before God. He does not see the person facing him as someone who must also be taken into account. This is a calculation he makes between himself and his Creator. But this is a mistaken conception, since at the basis of these prohibitions stand the other person’s rights. The other is not merely an extra on the stage of my world, but an entity with independent existence and rights. My actions are supposed to take those into account as well. My claim is that even if he were right in his understanding of the parameters of the prohibition of Do not covet, it still would have been forbidden for him to take the book. This is the basis for the common and mistaken conception that in Jewish law there is only a discourse of duties and not of rights. This conception sees my relation to the other as derived from my duties and not from his rights. I elaborated on this point in my article on rights and duties in Jewish law, and I will not do so here.
Back to our issue
Is that not actually correct? Seemingly, according to the second conception of the commandment of charity, the poor person is indeed only a circumstance for me (an extra). Even before we get to Maimonides’ distinction, it is worth noticing that the two passages in the Bava Batra discussion deal with different stages of the argument. The first passage deals with the question of why God creates poverty at all and does not solve it Himself. Here the question is why the world is as it is. The answer is that this is done in order that we be saved from the punishment of Gehenna (though here too one can wonder: why not save us from the punishment of Gehenna without this?…). But now, once God has decided to create a world that contains poor people, our obligation to give to them is first and foremost for the sake of the poor person and not only for the sake of the giver. The first explanation pertains to theology and not to the reasons for the commandments or their intentions.
In a world in which there are poor people, whatever the reason for that may be, the one who ought to stand before my eyes is the poor person and not I myself. I ought to give to him in order to improve his condition. True, all this (that is, the creation of poor people and the commands concerning charity) was done in order to produce a side effect of benefiting the giver, but now the focus is the positive commandment, and it has before it the poor person and not the giver. It should be noted that improvement of character is also important,[5] and not only on the theological plane, and therefore this also has expression on the plane of Jewish law: that is what the prohibition is for.
Example: the Euthyphro dilemma
An analogy to the matter is the Euthyphro dilemma. The dilemma formulated by Plato is: do the gods desire something because it is good, or is it good because the gods desire it? Translated into monotheistic faith: is something good because God wants it and commanded it, or did He command it because it is good? Both options are problematic, for the first presents the good as arbitrary (some would say that it effectively erases the distinction between Jewish law and morality. But even that is only on the assumption that Jewish law is arbitrary. See below), while the second is also problematic because it presents the good as existing above or prior to God (God is subject to it).
I think that here too the answer lies in the distinction between the two planes: the question why God created His world in this way is a theological question, and as such it depends entirely on His will. But once the world has been created as it is, the good is intrinsic to it and is not arbitrary or the result of a command. In the world as it is, precisely these are the good and bad actions and none other. There is nothing arbitrary here.[6]
Spiritual solipsism
There is an intellectual conception of Jewish law as something mechanical, according to which actions are not intended to achieve any results at all, but simply to be done, in the sense of: What difference does it make to the Holy One, blessed be He, whether one slaughters from the neck or from the nape… (what difference does it make to the Holy One, blessed be He, whether one slaughters from the neck or from the nape?). People draw from this solipsistic conclusions on the ethical and religious plane. Even if in the physical world you are not a solipsist—that is, you believe in the existence of a world and of other people and creatures outside yourself—on the religious and spiritual plane you see yourself as standing alone before God, and everything else as extras or scenery for the field of your tests and service. It seems to me that what stands in the background of this is Turnus Rufus’s argument: the results can be achieved by God alone. The commandments are meant for the doer and not for the world. But as I explained above, this is a mistake that confuses the theological plane with the reasons for the commandments and their goals.
There is a generalization of this approach with respect to the world. From this perspective, a person should shut himself up in Noah’s ark in order to preserve himself, and the world is nothing but the flood raging outside, meant to test us and put us through various trials. This somewhat characterizes the Haredi outlook (especially the Lithuanian one. The Hasidim in general think there is no world at all. There is none besides Him—the tzimtzum is not literal). By contrast, Religious Zionism and modern religious Judaism do not understand Jewish law and religious commitment in this way. From their perspective, the goal of religious service is the repair of the world. Of course we too come out benefiting from it (at least spiritually), but that is a byproduct and not the purpose of the service itself (though as stated, it may be that the world was created in this way so that we improve. See again Column 13).[7]
The lesson taught by the commandments of charity, at least in the interpretation I suggested here, is that the solipsistic conception is fundamentally mistaken. It is based on a correct assumption at the theological plane (that the world was created as it was, arbitrarily, by virtue of God’s will), but it draws from this an incorrect conclusion at the practical plane (what is incumbent upon us in the world as it is, once it is so). Above I brought the source for Maimonides’ words from the Bava Batra passage, and here I explained the reason for it. Maimonides distinguishes between the positive commandment and the prohibition because he refuses to give up one of the aspects of the commandment of charity and see it as the whole picture. The main thing is the positive commandment—the improvement of the poor person’s condition—and the prohibition is intended only to ensure that the personal spiritual result is also achieved.
I now turn to two additional points that require clarification.
Scriptural decrees and religious values
First, what I say here seems at first glance to contradict a view I present in many places—that Jewish law stands on its own. It does not come to realize moral values. Seemingly, this should lead specifically to solipsistic conclusions. But this is a mistake. What I claim is that the commandments are not Scriptural decrees in the accepted sense, that is, not an arbitrary matter. At their root are purposes that the commandments are meant to achieve. True, in my view these are not moral values but religious values (see Column 15 and much else), but there are still purposes there of some kind (see on this my essay on the fifth principle in the book Yishlach Sharashav). Those purposes were set by God when He decided to create the world as it is, but once the world was created as it was, the purposes are no longer arbitrary. They follow from the meaning of the concept of morality and from the nature of the world.
Emotion versus intellect
Another claim that may arise here concerns emotion. Seemingly, the distinction I presented here concerns the distinction between emotion and intellect. In effect, the meaning of what I wrote is that what is required of us is also emotion and not only cold, mechanical action. Commitment to Jewish law should not be cold and alienated (merely discharging one’s obligation), but accompanied by emotional identification with the other. Here an argument may be raised on the basis of the conception presented in my article on emotions in Jewish law (see also Column 22 and elsewhere), where I maintained that emotion has no significance either in terms of value or in terms of Jewish law.
That is indeed my view, and it is in no way contradicted by what I wrote here. My remarks in this column do not deal with the question of emotion in Jewish law. When I say that a person should act for the sake of the other and not only for his own sake or for the sake of his spiritual standing, I do not mean that he must activate emotions or act on their basis. A person can understand intellectually that the other’s condition is bad and that he needs help and that it is proper to help him, and act accordingly. None of this requires emotion (I discussed this in Column 120. See also Column 122, 168, and others). My claim is that this obligation requires relating to the other and not only to myself. All this can (and should) be done through intellect and will. This is a value judgment and not merely some feeling that happens to arise. In other words, what I say can speak even to a person devoid of emotion (Asperger’s. See Column 218).
I will illustrate this through the commandments of love and hatred in Jewish law.
Example: the commandments of love and hatred
In that same article that deals with emotions in Jewish law, I discussed the commandment to love one’s fellow or the convert, and the commandment of hatred toward the wicked. In both kinds of commandment, interpretations are common according to which one must not hate the person but only his character and values. Thus I also explained there that love should be directed toward decisions and character and not toward the person himself. Seemingly, what we were commanded is to love the convert’s status as a convert and not the person himself. And likewise, we were commanded to hate the wickedness in the wicked person and not the wicked person himself (Sins, not sinners — sins, not sinners).
This is another example of relating to ideas instead of people. According to this approach, people are extras (bearers of ideas), and they themselves are not the object of our regard. Here too I repeat that this is a mistaken understanding (as I explained there, and even more so in the eleventh book of the Talmudic Logic series, which deals with the Platonic character of Jewish law). Love and hatred are meant to be directed toward the person, except that this means love or hatred of the person because of his decisions and values, and not love and hatred of values and ideas as such. In other words, here too I do not advocate spiritual solipsism. See there in greater detail in the article and column mentioned above.
[1] There are sources in which one sees that there is reward also for refraining from a prohibition, but it is clear that when reward is mentioned without qualification, the intention is to positive commandments. Refraining from a prohibition does not bring reward but only prevent punishment. See a bit of the discussion of Nachmanides’ words cited in the previous column.
[2] And again, this is only in human law. In heavenly judgment there is punishment also for neglecting a positive commandment, but the main point of punishment is for prohibitions.
[3] One may discuss whether refraining from giving to an unworthy poor person, without my knowing that he is a fraud, counts as violating the prohibition. On the face of it, yes. Therefore the people of Anatot were made to stumble here against their will. When such a poor person comes before you and you do not know that he is a fraud, you are obligated to give to him in order to avoid the trait of stinginess. If in fact he was a fraud, you lost the positive commandment and its reward.
[4] See, for example, Chavot Yair sec. 67, and many others.
[5] And its importance is not merely instrumental. That is, the problem with the trait of stinginess is not only that as a result of it people will not give charity. Stinginess is a bad trait in itself. So it is with all character traits, as I explained in Column 13 (and also 154).
[6] In this conditional sense, God is indeed subject to the good. Given that this is the world, He could not decide that the opposite would be the good. But this is a conceptual and definitional matter, just as He cannot decide that a triangle should be round.
[7] I have always wondered why, in Religious Zionist and modern religious discourse, reward and punishment are almost entirely absent, especially those of the world to come. It seems to me that the basis of the matter lies in this dispute.
Discussion
He is not my rabbi, and our paths never coincided, so there is no need for partings. There are several places on this site with my critiques of him, among other things on this topic.
I do not know how to specify the religious values; I only conjecture that they exist. See Column 15 and many other places here on the site.
Regarding the contradiction in the Gemara cited at the beginning: one can certainly say that one escapes the judgment of Gehenna only when both sides are present: you did not harden your hand, and as a result the poor person’s condition improved. After all, attempted murder does not incur the same punishment as murder, even though the act and intention of the two criminals may be identical, and the difference is only in the result. The same applies to the reward for charity. Note well: being saved from the judgment of Gehenna through charity is a reward, not the prevention of punishment. That is the meaning of the verse, “Charity saves from death.” It speaks of a person who has incurred death or Gehenna for other reasons, and the charity comes to protect him. He will merit such protection only if both sides are present.
Thank you very much!
A good, pleasant, and useful article
Regarding note 1 – Ibn Ezra in Yesod Mora, Gate 7: “Now set your mind to this: there is no burden in the negative commandments for one who has the understanding heart… And our predecessors brought proof that there is reward for refraining from negative commandments: ‘You shall not eat it, in order that it may go well with you’; and some say that the reward refers back to what was mentioned last, ‘because you shall do what is right.'” “And the reward for positive commandments is because they involve effort.”
With God’s help, 3 Elul 5779
From Turnus Rufus’s question to Rabbi Akiva, it emerges that he understands that the Jewish conception is that the Holy One, Blessed Be He, “loves the poor.” The laws of charity, which obligate not only helping the poor financially but doing so with dignity and with a pleasant countenance, and the devotion characteristic of the people of Israel, who are “compassionate and practitioners of kindness” – all these indicate that helping the poor should be done out of deep empathy.
Rabbi Akiva too wholeheartedly accepts the premise that the Holy One, Blessed Be He, “loves the poor.” Moreover, says Rabbi Akiva, the truly needy party in the encounter between the rich man and the pauper is the giver, who needs the merit of the mitzvah in order “to be saved from the judgment of Gehenna.” The poor person receives the charity as a matter of right, not of kindness. And even if a person had not opened his hand, the poor person would have received what was due him from the generous hand of the Holy One, Blessed Be He. The one upon whom kindness is bestowed is the giver.
Giving charity with this approach prevents the giver from feeling superior to the recipient. The giver feels that he is giving to the poor person because the poor person is “beloved of the Omnipresent,” and as the Midrash says on Naomi’s words to Ruth, “the man with whom you worked” – more than the householder does for the poor person, the poor person does for the householder. With this approach, helping the poor is done מתוך an inner attitude of respect toward him.
Rambam’s laws of charity likewise clearly indicate the need for the giver to invest all his thought and will in helping the poor person with maximum dignity, to the point that he determines that the highest form of charity is to help the poor person earn his own living and escape poverty.
On the other hand, in his commentary to the Mishnah in Avot, “everything depends on the frequency of the deed,” Rambam also points to the educational value of giving for the giver, and therefore says it is preferable to divide the giving into many acts of giving, since that way a person is aroused to good many times.
In other words: both are present in charity: concern for the recipient’s financial state and concern for the giver’s spiritual state.
Regards, Sh. Tz.
In paragraph 6, line 1
…also concern for his financial state…
Hello Eliyahu.
First, if that is your position, good for you. The question I dealt with was what follows from Rambam’s words.
Second, I brought textual inferences from the sugya in the Gemara that show the distinction between the prohibition and the positive commandment.
Third, according to your approach, why does Jeremiah refer only to withholding reward and not to punishment? And why does Turnus Rufus ignore the reward?
Fourth, it is not correct that rescue from Gehenna is a reward. My claim is that the punishment in Gehenna is for bad character traits (miserliness, in this case). One who hardens his heart is miserly and will be judged in Gehenna. The prohibition warns us against this and saves us from Gehenna. Therefore this is a prohibition, not a positive commandment.
I mentioned this point in the note. There are already sources for it in Hazal.
Shatzal, I did not understand your main point. It is also what I wrote (that both are present in it. I only distinguished between the positive commandment and the prohibition).
With God’s help, 4 Elul 5779
To Rabbi M. A. – greetings,
My remarks were meant to answer your claim that there is a contradiction between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbah and Rav Naḥman bar Yitzḥak. To this I answered that since in the mitzvah of charity there are two aspects – concern for the welfare of the poor person and the rectification of the giver’s soul – there is no contradiction between the words of Rabbah and Rav Naḥman bar Yitzḥak, that there is no reward for the mitzvah of giving to an unworthy person, and the words of Rabbi Akiva that God commanded charity in order to confer merit upon the giver.
Even according to Rabbi Akiva, the mitzvah of charity is because God “loves the poor” and desires their welfare (for he comes to refute Turnus Rufus’s claim), and he merely explains why God does not support them Himself; his reason is that in this way the giver also merits the mitzvah. It stands to reason that Rabbi Akiva too would agree that in one who is unworthy to receive, the mitzvah is not fulfilled.
The words of the amoraim too – that God provides money to one who pursues charity to give, and worthy poor people to receive it – indicate the divine desire to grant merit to the giver; for had God brought financial abundance to other givers, the poor person would also have received, but since God wishes to grant merit to the one who pursues charity, He provides him with the money… so that he will merit the reward of the mitzvah
Regards, Sh. Tz.
A similar idea is also expressed in Mordechai’s words to Esther: “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place.” God can bring salvation to the people from elsewhere as well, but since the opportunity has been brought to our doorstep, the obligation and responsibility fall upon us to be agents of the Omnipresent.
An interesting and enlightening post. Thank you.
Rabbi, what about the post on psychology…
One more interesting thing emerged for me from the article: theology, or at least the theology mentioned here – “Why did the Creator create poor people?” – has no practical implication at all. It is only knowledge of the Creator’s ways.
I would only amend that: it does not necessarily have an implication (but it may).
And again I repeat that these are exactly my words. Both are present in it, except that each one focused on a different aspect. I only added the distinction between the prohibition and the positive commandment.
Maybe when I have time. Probably not soon.
In practice, the whole discussion is that proper conduct precedes Torah. That is, Torah is a level of existence built one story above proper conduct, and not simply something separate from it. In other words, the Torah’s “You shall not murder” is indeed not a moral commandment (the rabbi would call it a religious one, and thus it does not stem from human moral reasoning, and therefore its details are not derived from that reasoning), but it is an “above-moral” commandment (and therefore it also should not contradict morality).
If the rabbi mentioned the joke about the fellow from Bnei Brak, I will mention the story about the Brisker from Bnei Brak who was sad on Purim because he could not find a “mehudar” poor person to whom to give gifts to the poor. In any case, since the rabbi mentioned commandments of love, it is quite clear that biblical and rabbinic language in this context did not mean romance or “love of fish” (if the rabbi knows the expression), but action. Command applies only to actions (or to states that are the result of actions. In any case, love is not an emotion. If it is a state, then it is a mental-emotional state of relation to a person: closeness, and in the case of hatred, distance). And this is a good example of how it is impossible to fulfill this commandment in the Haredi Lithuanian way. It is impossible to be an object-instance of “And you shall love your fellow as yourself” the way one is an object-instance of the four species or another ritual object. Someone who sees a person as an object-instance does not respect him, and there is no love without respect. Someone who does not respect the other cannot love him. In the commandment of love, one loves a person, not an object. And it seems to me that the commandment of charity also cannot really be fulfilled מתוך such an objectifying perspective. The most important thing for every person is basic dignity, without which he cannot develop. Charity מתוך pity or mercy – I am not sure that is charity at all. It may be financial help. Charity needs to come from understanding (that is, a mental state) the needs of the poor person – that is, from what I call love.
Even hatred cannot come from an objectifying perspective. Hatred (even emotional hatred) already comes from recognizing that there is someone else facing you. And that is respect.
Several comments on the rabbi’s column, and first I will note that the article is both interesting and challenging, and in general I always enjoy reading the rabbi’s articles, which are of very high quality and cover the subjects from many different angles; it is evident that the author has broad mastery both in the Torah/halakhic realm and in the theological-philosophical one. This combination and expertise produces articles that are uniquely beautiful and profound.
At the same time, I have a number of comments that arose while reading the article, and each time I will quote a passage from the rabbi’s words and comment with what is on my mind.
A.
After the rabbi explains very well the distinction in the Gemara’s words between two possible sides in the conception of the mitzvah of charity (teleological or deontological), the rabbi writes about Turnus Rufus’s words and Rabbi Akiva’s response: “Here there is clearly a deontological definition of the mitzvah of charity, that is, the goal is the act of giving (of the giver) and not the result (which is improvement of the poor person’s situation).” End quote from the rabbi.
This addition in the rabbi’s words, which makes the difference between the sides depend on the question of the definition of the mitzvah – “action” or “result” – is not necessary at all!! (And there is here a conflation of similar but different Brisker conceptual terms.)
Incidentally, this inquiry – whether the purpose of mitzvot lies in the acts (the person’s action) or in the results produced by these acts – is a well-known inquiry in the literature of the later authorities, and in fact there are mitzvot in which the Torah was particular about the act, and others in which it was particular about the result, and others in which it was particular about both together. And indeed, with regard to the mitzvah of charity too, the later authorities discussed whether it is an act-mitzvah or a result-mitzvah. Is the mitzvah the act of giving charity to the poor person, or is the mitzvah to see to it that the poor person has money?
However, this distinction that the positive commandment is a “result-mitzvah” and the prohibition is an “act-mitzvah” is mistaken. One can certainly understand that in both cases we are speaking about results, and the only question is which result correctly defines the mitzvah of charity: improvement of the giver’s traits, or improvement of the recipient’s condition.
If we want to attach the two sides to a Brisker conceptual inquiry, then the fitting inquiry here is this: is charity a law in the object (= the poor recipient) or a law in the subject/person (= the giver, the one who fulfills the mitzvah)? This has no connection to the question whether charity is a mitzvah of action or of result.
B.
Later the rabbi tries to derive from these two sides an implication for the person’s aim and intention that should be present at the time of giving charity. In the rabbi’s words: “According to the teleological conception – the giver is supposed to see before his eyes the poor person and his distress and give to him in order to improve his condition. According to the deontological conception – the giver is supposed to see before his eyes himself and the improvement of his own character traits (and his reward and punishment in this world and the next). The poor person is only a ‘heikhi timtza’ (= circumstances whose purpose is) to improve my own character traits.” End quote from the rabbi.
And here I would comment: why does the rabbi always present the two sides in a dichotomous way, implying that they cannot coexist, and one must choose either this or that?
The truth is that both sides exist in the mitzvah of charity, and this can easily be proven.
For example: (and the rabbi will forgive me for the lack of sources; these are well-known matters and the sources can easily be found) the well-known halakha [I think in the name of Rashba] that if a coin falls from a person without his knowledge at all, and it reaches the hands of a poor person, then the person from whom the coin fell has indeed fulfilled the mitzvah of charity, even though he himself intentionally did absolutely nothing, and the whole mitzvah lies in the fact that the poor person’s wealth was increased from his money. This halakha proves that the focus of the mitzvah is indeed the poor person’s distress. Relieving that distress is regarded here as fulfillment of a mitzvah even if the giver had no intention whatsoever to give, and did not thereby improve his own traits.
On the other hand: Rambam’s ruling is well known, that if a person has the option of giving a large sum to one poor person (thus helping him significantly), or alternatively dividing his money among many poor people (even though in this way each one receives relatively little), Rambam rules that many acts of charity are preferable (even if each is a small amount) to one large gift. This is because in each and every act of giving there is an element of subduing a person’s impulse so that he should not be miserly (as in the other side the rabbi presents). So, already in halakha itself we see different laws that derive from these two foundations the rabbi presents; therefore it is not correct to present the matter dichotomously. The matter is indeed more complex.
C.
Later the rabbi mentions the implication of one of these conceptions for the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird, according to some decisors whereby the mitzvah exists even if a person has no need whatsoever for the chicks or eggs, and the rabbi points to the explanation of Kabbalah. I must note that there is a slight note of disdain in the rabbi’s words toward this explanation (and even if criticism may be voiced, I did not understand the source of the disdain, which adds neither honor nor prestige to the writer). The rabbi writes: “…yes, yes, I know, the kabbalists explain that the mother, stricken with grief, will go and cry out or moan in the upper worlds and thereby arouse mercy for us. In my eyes this explanation is a case of ‘Have you murdered and also inherited?'” End quote from the rabbi.
On the substance of the matter:
A- I am astonished at the rabbi’s very astonishment at the kabbalists’ explanation. What did the rabbi find in this explanation (that so upset him) that is more problematic than dozens and hundreds of biblical, talmudic, and halakhic sources in which man is placed at the center and all creation is intended to serve him (more precisely, intended to assist him in serving his God, as per the divine command given him in the holy Torah).
B- It is well known that Hazal interpreted the fact that man was created on the sixth day, at the end of creation, as being so that “he should enter the banquet when everything is prepared and ready for him.” That is, the Holy One, Blessed Be He, creates a world that is not complete, so that man may complete and repair it, and all creation is in fact a set of tools in man’s hands for realizing this purpose. Therefore man was created last, so that immediately upon his creation he could come into contact with the world (its creatures and its objects) and through them and by means of them realize this purpose.
A conception that denies this basic principle challenges the entire purpose of the creation of the world and the existence of man within it. If we accept the author’s astonishment, then it is equally puzzling where man derives the morality to slaughter animals for his personal benefit. What is the moral justification for such an act in the absence of the assumption that the world and all its creatures were intended to serve man and his purposes? (It seems that the author himself did not intend to deny this basic assumption, and his words were written under the influence of his disdain for the wisdom of Kabbalah in general.)
C- From the style of writing, it is evident that the author relates to the kabbalists’ explanation as merely an intellectual-theological “explanation,” and therefore allows himself to criticize it and define it as “this explanation is a case of ‘Have you murdered and also inherited?'” as he says. If the author had started from the assumption that Kabbalah does not come to provide rational explanations for the system of mitzvot and for natural phenomena, but rather comes to reveal and uncover the divine truth hidden behind the external and superficial covering of the world – and in that sense reveals to us the true reality of things (and its determinations are true determinations of reality existing in the spiritual worlds and real spiritual dimensions that exist in the world), and not that it seeks an explanation and invents one from its fevered imagination – then he would have related to the matter differently. But apparently the author lacks this basic faith in the words of Kabbalah; in his eyes everything is open to criticism (which one could still somehow swallow), and even to disdain (which is harder to swallow).
Finally, one more small comment: later the rabbi comments on the Lithuanian conception as belonging to the school that sanctifies man at the center, whereas the Hasidic conception – the rabbi notes – generally holds that there is nothing else besides Him, and thus the rabbi writes: “The Hasidim in general think there is no world. ‘There is none besides Him’ – tzimtzum in its plain sense.” End quote from the rabbi.
I really did not understand! It is simply clear to me that the rabbi knows the meaning of the words “tzimtzum in its plain sense” or not in its plain sense. On the contrary, the Lithuanian conception [the solipsistic one in which man stands at the center and everything around him is merely statistical] is the one that fits the conception that “tzimtzum is in its plain sense.” דווקא the Hasidic approach that denies the existence of an objective world is the approach that maintains that “tzimtzum is not in its plain sense,” as is well known.
So either there is a typographical error by the author here, or there is some other intention that escapes my understanding.
Again, with all the criticism in my words, I very, very much enjoyed reading the rabbi’s words.
Hello. Forgive me for responding briefly. It is hard for me to elaborate.
Let me preface that there is absolutely no need for apologies. Criticism is a blessed thing and certainly legitimate. And if there is an error in my words, I would be very glad for you to point it out to me. Why on earth would I hide criticism of things that are written?!
As to your comments themselves.
A. Here I myself hesitated while writing, but in fact I think you are mistaken (though this is more a question of terminology). It is clear that even a mitzvah of action is intended to achieve something. Usually, if there is no result here in the objective sense (and therefore it is defined as a mitzvah of action), then apparently that action effects a rectification in the person. Therefore rectification in the person is a mitzvah of action. Of course there is a result. Every mitzvah has results, otherwise it would not have been given. Therefore, although in the conventional Brisker conceptual framework you are correct and your distinction is valid, in my opinion that is a common mistake due to lack of reflection on the roots of this distinction.
I will only note that Maharit raises three possibilities for defining a mitzvah (he discusses the essence of naziriteship as a kind of vow): a law in the object, a law in the person, and a law in the person as object.
One should also distinguish between the definition of the mitzvah and its purpose. There may be a situation where the mitzvah is defined as performing an action even though it is clear that actions are meant to achieve results. And sometimes the mitzvah is defined as achieving the result. I think I addressed this question in Column 230 on object and person.
B. You are repeating what Shatzal wrote above here, and I already answered him that this is merely a repetition of what I myself wrote. I too agree that both sides exist, but in the Brisker manner I present them as a dichotomous inquiry and then synthesize that into a picture containing “two laws.”
C. I explained very well why I have criticism of the kabbalists’ approach. It stands against the plain sense of the Gemara and the Torah, and takes things to egotistical places. Fair enough if the Torah (and perhaps the Gemara) had said this. But to invent such an interpretation is absurd in my eyes. Therefore one should not bring proofs from other laws intended for man.
D. As for your final comment, that is just a typo. I corrected it.
I was glad for the rabbi’s quick and substantive response
Regarding the comment about the Brisker-conceptual move at the beginning of the column, you explained your position well, and although there is still room for discussion, I now understand the rabbi’s position better.
Regarding the rabbi’s attitude to the wisdom of Kabbalah, apparently I need to study the rabbi’s attitude and position more deeply. I admit that I was not familiar with the rabbi’s stance regarding this part of Torah in general. From understanding the rabbi’s overall method, I will also understand this part of the article in a different light.
May your strength be for Torah
With great and sincere appreciation,
Rabbi Baruch, Tz.
Let me just clarify that I do not mean to say that the kabbalists are egotists, nor is this a general criticism of mine of Kabbalah. They have their own mode of thought, which in part is also very useful from my perspective. But here we are dealing with an interpretation that contradicts the halakhic sources and takes us to egotistical places, and therefore it does not seem plausible to me. I do indeed think that Kabbalah is for the most part a creation of the kabbalists and their intuitive spiritual insights, and therefore it is not binding, though it is certainly useful in some cases.
A. Regarding charity and the Euthyphro dilemma, Yosef Aviv argues that Ramchal changed his thinking from his early books, where he claimed that God created the world in order to benefit His creatures, to his later ones, where he held that He is “turning Himself by His contrivances for various reasons,” and the purpose of creation is the revelation of His unity. Is he a solipsist too – and so are you?
B. How should one act when morality and halakha clash in reality? What is the source for that?
That is too general a question. Formulate something more concrete, or a particular situation.
They also do not clash “in reality.” I discussed this at length in the third book of my trilogy.
From the request for something concrete, I understand that there are no fixed operating rules such as, for example, “halakha prevails.”
What is the name of the third book?
Nothing in halakha or in the world consists only of technical rules. There certainly are rules, but it is complex, and I cannot write a book here.
Its name will become known in Israel when it is published (God willing, within a few months): Walking Among the Standing Ones.
One can add and say that this itself is a test faced by the one who observes the commandments – whether the “Torah” side of him comes at the expense of the “proper conduct” side, and a special section in Gehenna is reserved for righteous people (with the stress on the first syllable) who failed the test (and, for example, organized a prayer quorum on the train?). In practice, the more righteous a person is in matters between man and God, the more he is in danger, on the one hand, of becoming addicted to the act of the mitzvah, and on the other hand alienated from ordinary people.
It seems that reality proves that almost always among the great sages of Israel there was indeed a direct correlation, not an inverse one, between halakhic meticulousness and human sensitivity and between-man-and-his-fellow conduct.
There is a connection between the questions, but they are different. I was not speaking about a hierarchy of importance or about fulfilling my obligations at another’s expense, but about an approach that says that even duties between man and his fellow are really duties toward God.
With God’s help, 11 Elul 5779
Indeed, at the first stage of a person’s growth he needs to concentrate on himself and on his growth in Torah, and leave the “repair of the world” for the next stage. As the Gemara says (Pesaḥim 68) about Rav Sheshet, that when he would review his learning he would say: “Rejoice, my soul; for you I read Scripture, for you I studied Mishnah.” And the Gemara explains that although the Torah sustains the entire world, at the beginning of his learning a person must focus on his own personal ascent, for without it he will not have the tools to bring repair to the world.
Similarly, Rabbi Abbahu rebuked his son Rabbi Ḥanina, who while studying in the yeshiva of Tiberias was engaged in acts of true kindness, and said to his son: “Were there no graves there that I sent you to Tiberias?” (Jerusalem Talmud Ḥagigah 1:7), and the Gemara there explains this because “great is study, for it leads to action.” The more a person focuses on diligent study during his formative period, the more tools he will have later in life when he goes out into the world of practical living.
For this reason they often used to mention the above sources in the Lithuanian yeshivot (and Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook as well), in order to arouse the students to concentrate on diligent study during their years of learning, and not to seek out “mitzvot” that will come their way in abundance later in life, when they go out into practical life.
Regards, Sh. Tz.
An act of kindness that can and should be done even during the study period, and that does not interfere with growth in Torah, is what Rabbi Moshe Feinstein suggested: that a yeshiva student should set aside a “tithe” of his time to learn with beginners who need the help of a “veteran student” in order to “get into the material.”
. Such study not only does not interfere with growth in Torah; it contributes to it, for when one needs to explain things to a student, one must define them clearly, and thus the teacher too profits, in the spirit of “from my students more than from all of them.”
In one of the Sabbath newsletters, Yonatan Dubov wrote his article “Let This Month Be Like the Prophecy of an Observer of Spring,” on the occasion of his meeting, after 12 years, with his older study partner at the Otniel yeshiva, who through his persistence succeeded in making the study of Gemara beloved to his younger study partner.
Regards, Sh. Tz.
Rabbi Moshe Feinstein’s words about a “tithe of time” are quoted in Rabbi Yosef Tzvi Ben-Porat’s talk on “The obligation to set aside a ‘tithe’ of time, to do ‘spiritual kindness’ with another” (on the ‘Ḥiddush’ website, Parashat Vayetze, 5771). On “The educational doctrine of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein,” Rabbi Menashe Binenfeld wrote on the ‘Da’at’ website.
Regards, Sh. Tz.
With God’s help, 13 Elul 5779
Even according to the plain meaning of the mitzvah of sending away the mother bird, man stands at the center, and because of his desire to eat a chick or an egg, he is permitted to cause the mother pain, for even if her life was spared, the chicks or eggs she has lost forever. The fact that the mitzvah somewhat reduces man’s enjoyment and prevents him from harming the mother does not solve the mother’s pain; rather, in the degraded state of humanity after the Flood, one cannot command man to refrain entirely from causing animal suffering for the sake of his craving for meat (as Rabbi A. I. Kook says in The Vision of Vegetarianism and Peace), and it is enough that the Torah arouses in him some measure of discomfort in fulfilling his desire, just as it requires him to cover the blood.
The Zohar only intensifies the moral discomfort, in describing the prince of the birds stirring lamentation over the pain of the bird that has lost her young; but it gives this pain meaning and hope. The bird’s sacrifice not only benefited man’s belly, but also aroused the pain of the Shekhinah over the degraded state of the world and awakens the cry for the redemption of the whole world and its repair, a redemption at whose height “mothers will no longer lament,” and human beings and animals will live together in peace as “in the Garden of Eden of old.”
Regards, Sh. Tz.
Shatzal, I did not argue that a person may not benefit from animals even if that causes them a bit of pain. I argued against implausible interpretations that are not even motivated by moral considerations but on the contrary lead to an anti-moral result. So why make them? Fair enough if this were what emerged from the halakha and the Torah – then fine. But when it contradicts them – why interpret it that way?
With God’s help, 13 Elul 5779
To Rabbi M. A. – greetings,
Seemingly, one could say that the Zohar did not come to innovate a halakha that even if you have no need for the eggs, you should send away the mother in order to arouse mercy for the community of Israel, but rather to awaken a person that if he is already coming to take the chicks or eggs for eating, he should direct his intention toward a loftier goal than that: to arouse heavenly mercy over the pain of the Shekhinah and the community of Israel.
At any rate, even according to the opinion of the Ḥavot Ya’ir and the Ḥakham Tzvi and those who side with them, that there is a positive obligation to take the mother, one can say that the need to arouse mercy over the “pain of the world” is not egotistical, but leads to the lofty goal of working to repair the world.
In practice, Rabbi Yaakov Ariel concluded (Be’ohalah Shel Torah 2:77, on the ‘Lema’aseh’ site of the Torah and the Land Institute) that one should take into account the opinion of the Ḥatam Sofer, that sending away the mother when one does not want the eggs raises a concern of “biblically prohibited causing suffering to animals,” and his conclusion is:
‘And since we have not emerged from doubt, it seems to me that if the discomfort [from the nest being on the windowsill. Sh. Tz.] is bearable – one should be stringent and refrain from driving away the mother out of doubt, for perhaps by doing so he transgresses. But if the discomfort is unbearable – there is no need to take animal suffering into account, and on the contrary one should first send away the mother, in order thereby to fulfill the obligation of sending away the mother according to the view that even in such a case there is a mitzvah, and afterward send away the young as well.
And all this applies to an ordinary person. But one who has entered the counsel of God and understands the deep idea in the mitzvah according to the explanations of the masters of esoteric teaching – for him there is not the slightest hint of transgression here… for from his spiritual point of view, on the contrary, through this mitzvah he arouses the attribute of mercy over the people of Israel and over the whole world. And only such a person should be instructed that for himself the matter is permitted; but one who has not merited to enter the counsel of God – it is proper for him to refrain from entering into possible transgression and causing animal suffering unnecessarily.’
***
In one of the responses of the ‘Rabbis of the Beit Hora’ah’ on the matter of “removing a nesting bird from the windowsill,” they raise the possibility that he should send away the mother and thereby fulfill the mitzvah, and intend that his courtyard acquire the chicks for him; then the mother can return and brood over them without his being required to send her away, and thus he both fulfilled the mitzvah of sending away and in practice left the mother with the young.
Regards, Sh. Tz.
In paragraph 3, line 1
… (Be’ohalah Shel Torah 5:77…
In paragraph 6, line 1
… of the ‘Rabbis of the Beit Hora’ah’ on the ‘Din’ website, in the discussion of ‘Removing a Bird…’
With God’s help, 18 Tishrei 5780
Causing the pain of separating animals from their young so that their cries will arouse heavenly mercy (similar to what is said in the Zohar regarding sending away the mother bird) is described in the Jerusalem Talmud (Ta’aniyot ch. 2, halakha 1) regarding the people of Nineveh crying out to God “mightily”:
‘Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish said: “The people of Nineveh practiced a deceitful repentance.” What did they do? Rabbi Huna in the name of Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta: “They placed the calves inside and their mothers outside, the foals inside and their mothers outside, and these were bleating from here and those were bleating from there. They said: If You do not have mercy on us – we will not have mercy on them.”
It seems that Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish and Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta do not relate positively to the act of the people of Nineveh, and see in it “deceit” and “insolence toward Heaven,” but nevertheless Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta says: “An insolent one prevails over a worthy one; all the more so for the good of the world.” The Holy One, Blessed Be He, who desires the good of the world, is appeased even by such an “insolent” demand.
Also in God’s answer to Jonah (at the end of the book), it appears that He accepts Jonah’s reservations about the repentance of the people of Nineveh, but clarifies to the prophet that He had pity on them not only because of their repentance, but because of the children and the animals: “And shall I not spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than one hundred and twenty thousand human beings who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?”
Holiday greetings, Sh. Tz.
Rabbi Yoḥanan too (ibid.) notes the incompleteness of the people of Nineveh’s repentance, when he says: “What was in their hands they returned; what was in chest, box, and tower they did not return.” Perhaps the king of Nineveh enacted something like the “ordinance for penitents” and exempted one who had already set the stolen plank into a “chest, box, and tower” from returning it, similar to what Hazal enacted for one who fixed the stolen plank into a building, that they did not obligate him to dismantle the building so that he would not refrain from repenting.
Shatzal, many thanks for the proof to my point. Although regarding the law there are several possible answers.
With God’s help, 24 Tishrei 5780
In Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta’s words in the Jerusalem Talmud, “An insolent one prevails over a worthy one; all the more so for the good of the world,” it can be interpreted that the people of Nineveh were considered “insolent” because their intention was for their own benefit and they were not worthy of coming “mightily” before the Holy One, Blessed Be He; but one whose intention and deeds are pure and truly stem from an aspiration “for the good of the world” is not in the category of “insolent.”
And if so, one can similarly interpret the Zohar’s words regarding sending away the mother bird, that they refer to a person whose pure intention is to hasten salvation for the world and not “for his own benefit,” similar to what I cited above in the name of Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, that only a person who has entered the counsel of God and has internalized the intention of arousing salvation may do so; but an ordinary person who does not need the eggs must be concerned for animal suffering, in accordance with the Ḥatam Sofer.
Regards, Sh. Tz.
You did not explain sufficiently what the religious values are that you are willing to accept as standing at the basis of halakha.
Your late teacher Leibowitz, as I understand it, saw halakha as a collection of acts that contain nothing besides “the command”; have your paths now parted?