How Good That There Are Conservatives! (Column 444)
I imagine some will be surprised that, in this column, I wish to speak in praise of conservatism. Proof that life has its surprises—and that’s a good thing.
Between Complexity and Consequentialism
A simplistic view of a person or an idea judges it as a whole without noticing the different facets within it, which sometimes pull in opposing directions (see, for example, Column 30). A good person can have negative sides, and vice versa. A bad idea can have positive aspects, and vice versa. A simplistic judgment looks only at the bottom line. A complex judgment, by contrast, is willing to consider the various sides and give each its due, and only at the end—if at all—arrive at a bottom line. But I have written about this quite a bit already. Here I wanted to touch on something that appears similar but is in fact very different.
There are situations in which something mistaken yields a welcome result. That does not mean it is not mistaken, nor that I should now support and justify it; but I can at least be glad that it exists. To sharpen the point: I am not speaking about a complex view—that is, about noting its positive sides. I am speaking about phenomena that, in themselves, may be entirely wrong—such that even a complex view will not find anything positive in them—yet nevertheless they have positive consequences. One may rejoice that they exist without agreeing with anything about them. This is a consequentialist consideration, a type of consideration I routinely and vigorously disparage in many different contexts.
The Holocaust and the State
A striking example of this is the common Haredi argument (attributed to the Hazon Ish) that the State of Israel would not last more than fifty years. The premise is that a project based on false or evil values cannot endure. Conversely, religious Zionists bring proof for their stance against Haredism from the very success of the Zionist enterprise. Again, there is an assumption that whatever succeeds is presumably correct. I assume this rests on a view that what transpires in the world is the work of the Holy One, blessed be He, and He is not supposed to let criminal enterprises succeed. Therefore, if something succeeds, apparently God wishes it so.
Beyond the debate about divine involvement in the world—namely, whether everything that happens here is truly His doing—there is room to discuss His own policy. Even if He is involved and indeed brings about all that happens, there is still no necessity to say that He would never allow any person or failing/criminal enterprise to succeed and persist. It is hard to deny that people in this world commit transgressions and God does not prevent them (apparently because of the importance of free choice). And in general, the question “Why do the wicked prosper?” was not born in our day.
Still, those who hold to a view of active providence will say that even if criminal enterprises, people, and groups act and succeed in the world, there is some purpose to it. Apparently there is benefit in their actions, and that is why God allows it. This leads us to the phenomenon of problematic approaches or groups with problematic positions that nevertheless have positive outcomes. The most conspicuous example is the Holocaust, which had a not-insignificant share in the success of Zionism, the establishment of the state, and the ingathering of Jews to it. Does that mean the Holocaust was a blessed Zionist enterprise? Does that mean it was wrong to fight it and condemn it? Apparently not (a note to several important thinkers in Neturei Karta). It certainly was not a Zionist enterprise, and not at all a successful one. But still, among other things, it did have positive consequences.
We have a tendency either to invalidate the outcomes of criminal enterprises, on the one hand, or to point to their outcomes as proof that they are not criminal, on the other. These are, of course, two sides of the same coin—namely, the assumption that links our attitude toward a project or group with the results of its actions. But that assumption is false. There can be negative enterprises that have positive outcomes, or positive enterprises with negative outcomes. Each such enterprise can be opposed sharply and even fought, while at the same time one can be glad—at least in certain respects—that it exists or existed in the past.
On Conservatism
On the eve of the last Passover, someone in our circle completed Tractate Horayot and touched on the tractate’s final sugya that discusses whether “Sinai” is preferable or a “mountain-uprooter” is preferable. This is an interesting sugya for several reasons, especially regarding its broader meaning. Clearly there are sides in favor of the “Sinai” model and sides in favor of the “mountain-uprooter,” as with everything. But here the resolution seems a bit meaningless and arbitrary—or at least highly dependent on circumstances. What is the point of debating which is preferable between two good options? In some circumstances a mountain-uprooter is preferable; in others, Sinai. Even if the Talmudic disputants thought that Sinai is preferable—or that the mountain-uprooter is preferable—this is not a universal statement. For example, in our time information exists and is accessible to all (and therefore, according to the Rema, there is no longer a status of a clearly preeminent rabbi). It would seem that the weight of “Sinai-ness” should decrease.
One participant at the siyum remarked that although today the weight of knowledge has diminished because of databases and printing, nevertheless Sinai is preferable because there is value to conservatism. He said that uprooting mountains leads to excessive innovation, and sophisticated, mountain-uprooting arguments can destroy the entire tradition. I trust you understand I am definitely not there. In my view, conservatism is usually destructive and also foolish; yet here I wish to argue that this does not necessarily mean it has no positive outcomes.
By the way, the same goes for innovation. In Columns 217 and 249 I explained that I oppose any consideration of meta-halakhic policy within halakha, or policy considerations within any substantive discussion at all. Considerations of conservatism or innovation are not relevant considerations in a discussion on the merits. If a question is on the table, my position about it should be formed on substantive grounds—whether I am for or against—not through the prism of policy. Questions like: Is this innovative or conservative? Is it open or closed? Is it original or not? Is it Reform, heretical, or something else?—all these may interest the scholar of my thought but are not relevant to me myself. Even slippery-slope considerations (see Column 429) are not relevant to the substantive discussion. I am supposed to determine my position on the matter from considerations of the matter itself, and the scholar of my thought may come afterward and diagnose whether I am a conservative or an innovator, a reformer or anything else. Reality will prove whether my stance led to good or bad outcomes (the question of the slope).
What about discussing conservatism or innovation per se? One can debate whether conservatism is positive or not, and in that debate the policy consideration itself is under examination. Such debates have been held quite a bit in recent years, but in my view even that debate is unnecessary. I see no value in debating whether conservatism/innovation is blessed or not, because it has no ramifications. First, if I am a conservative, I will continue to be one even if it is not blessed—because that is my temperament, and perhaps also because it seems right to me. And if I am an innovator, I will continue to be one regardless of whether innovation is blessed. Conservatism and innovation are not a value judgment but perhaps a matter of temperament. Beyond that, as I explained above, I am not prepared at all to give myself an accounting about whether I am a conservative or an innovator, because that question is irrelevant to the substantive discussions themselves. I must discuss each question on the agenda on its own merits, not according to the labels perched above the different answers to it (“conservative,” “innovative,” and the like). Therefore I oppose consequentialism in almost every context in which it arises—and so too here.
One can, of course, argue that a conservative starting point is good, since whoever comes to change must examine carefully the justification for doing so. One can also argue that in the absence of unequivocal considerations, the default is to leave the status quo in place (because of the wisdom of the masses or collective intelligence). I am not sure I agree, but this is a relevant argument and is certainly debatable. But as I explained in those columns, accepting or rejecting a claim merely because it is conservative or innovative is simply foolish.
And Yet, a Discussion of Conservatism
So much for my view of conservatism as a stance. Nevertheless, as a social phenomenon one can certainly point to the importance of conservatism. For example, some time ago I exchanged a few WhatsApp messages with a neighbor about the heter mechirah (sale permit) during the sabbatical year. We both lamented the Haredi folly that treats non-Jewish produce as “mehadrin-level shmita.” This is truly a lofty peak of stupidity, rare even in the Haredi world (which, as is known, suffers from not a few such “peaks”). With one hand they oppose the sale of lands—among other reasons, because of the prohibition of “lo techonem,” “do not grant them a holding in the land” (Avodah Zarah 20a)—and at the same time, with the other hand, they choose the alternative of buying fruits and vegetables from Palestinians living in the Land of Israel, thereby of course greatly strengthening their hold on the land and undermining ours. In such a policy they grant them a holding in the land precisely in order to avoid the prohibition of granting them a holding in the land. Now go explain to the greengrocer or the falafel vendor that I am careful not to eat produce that is “mehadrin shmita,” and that so it is fitting for every God-fearing mehadrin observer to do (you can’t; tried and tested!).
In the course of that discussion I wrote to that neighbor that nonetheless there is value to this foolish and irritating Haredi conservatism, because if creatures like me were given control over life and over halakha, there wouldn’t be much left of them. The changes would be so frequent that at every time and place we would conduct ourselves differently—restlessly and without continuity. Therefore, without conservatism—however superficial and annoying—there would not be much left of halakha as a framework that governs our personal and communal lives.
R. Kook wrote and said more than once that one should seek the positive side in every phenomenon. Sometimes he meant a complex view, which I discussed above. But in our context I mean looking at negative phenomena even when they have no positive side—yet in terms of their consequences they play a positive role in how we conduct ourselves in the world. This does not necessarily mean that the people and groups leading these phenomena have a positive side. Sometimes yes, but even if not—one can still see in these phenomena processes that have positive outcomes. Thus, conservatism—which in itself is an irritating and foolish phenomenon (just like innovation)—also has positive outcomes (again, as innovation does). On this the Rambam writes at the end of chapter 2 of Hilkhot Mamrim (halakha 8):
“Any court that has permitted two matters should not be quick to permit a third.”
I think the same applies to a court that has prohibited two matters. That is, the Rambam’s intent here is not specifically about a policy of stringency or leniency, but about a policy with a conservative starting point, whose purpose is to preserve the halakhic framework.
From a perspective of active providence, one might perhaps see in such a consideration an expression of the hand of God in the world. The leaders of these phenomena are irritating fools, but they are the “rod of His wrath”—that is, by means of them He leads the world to better places. Such a consideration still does not mean it is not right to fight these phenomena. As noted, God also allows negative phenomena to occur and succeed. Moreover, in my opinion the question of whether to fight or to join ought not be decided by some metaphysical-theological consideration of God’s trends in the world, but rather by the phenomena themselves (see a fuller discussion here). Even so, there is room to see the good in these irritating phenomena. This also does not mean I must become a conservative. It is only my academic vantage point on this foolish and irritating phenomenon. Therefore, this generous perspective—true though it may be—has no operative implications. To adopt a conservative stance I do not believe in merely because of its outcomes, I would have to tell “holy lies,” something I vehemently oppose (see, for example, Column 21).
Of course, from a viewpoint that does not accept active providence and divine involvement in the world, it is even clearer that this statement has no implications—except perhaps psychological. If a phenomenon is negative, we must fight it with all our might; but when we fail, we can at least take comfort in the fact that it also has positive outcomes. This is usually my feeling around the struggles against conservatism. They usually fail (“the public is stupid, and therefore the public pays,” as the songwriter put it—see there, there), but one can be comforted that this outcome also has a positive dimension. If not by providence, some will ascribe it to the “wisdom of the crowds,” but I ascribe it to luck—“The Lord protects the simple” (even a Torah scroll in the ark depends on fortune).
Once I had a conversation with R. Blumenthal (Blumen(T)zweig), the head of the yeshiva in Yeruham, about an issue of conservatism that arose in the local school. I, of course, advocated a revolutionary and radical approach, and he told me that it is easy for me to be a revolutionary when I live in a Haredi community and send my children to Haredi education (as was then the case). On such a foundation it is easy and comfortable to be a revolutionary and a reformer, because someone balances you and prevents problematic—if not destructive—outcomes that might result from your approach. But when you live and act in a non-conservative environment, you must exercise extra caution with such revolutionary statements, for in such an environment there is no one to balance you and ensure that actual conduct does not go to an overly extreme edge.
And Still, Policy Considerations
Everything I have written thus far applies to policy considerations such as conservatism and innovation—to policy considerations in general. Policy considerations are not relevant in a substantive discussion. I can, after the fact, be glad that there are conservatives, and equally glad that there are innovators; but neither type of consideration should take part in the discussion itself.
Despite all this, it is clear that at times there is room to act on policy considerations, such as conservatism or innovation. In extreme cases there is room to make decisions out of a consideration to avoid too many revolutions (evolution rather than revolution). An example can be seen in the Rambam quoted above about a court that has permitted two matters. But since these are always situations in which halakha itself tells us otherwise, one must remember that a decision based on policy considerations is a decision to deviate from the halakha.
Accordingly, such action has several conditions:
- Before arriving at policy considerations, one must weigh the halakhic considerations themselves; only afterward should one examine whether there is room for policy considerations.
- Do this only in very exceptional circumstances that justify deviating from the halakha.
- The party deciding must inform his audience that this is a ruling by virtue of policy and not halakha in its essence. Otherwise this is a falsehood; additionally, he transgresses “bal tosif,” “you shall not add.” (In Mamrim 2:9 the Rambam rules that even a court acting within its authority enacting or decreeing a rabbinic law must declare it as such in order not to transgress “bal tosif.”)
- Whoever does this must have the authority to make such decisions. For example, sages in our time cannot rule halakha based on policy considerations at all, since if this is not the true halakha, an authorized court is required to determine that for now we must deviate from it. If the halakha is Y and some decisor instructs me to do X because of policy, there is no obligation to obey him. At most it is a recommendation. Only a body with formal (not substantive—see Column 393) authority can establish such a halakha.
Unfortunately, many decisors—not only in our day—do not observe these constraints, and examples can be found daily of decisors acting without authority. They declare prohibitions as though there were here a law from Sinai, while in truth there is a dispute, a policy consideration, a custom, or simply something they feel is useful to prohibit. For some reason, decisors do not tend to say out loud that a given decision is an outcome of policy, and they do not even bother to say when it is merely their personal stringency (because in their view “that is how one should act,” and they prohibit when a permitted course seems dangerous). I have written more than once about the damage of this policy. Its goal is apparently to strengthen the ruling, but in the long run the public loses trust in halakhic pronouncements—and rightly so.
I can, of course, be glad about the outcomes of such a policy, which in some cases helps preserve the halakhic framework; but it is still a falsehood and an act without authority, and it ought to be warned against and fought.
A Similar Look at the Am-ha’aretz
Similarly, one can relate to the phenomenon of the am-ha’aretz. As is known, it is hard with ammei ha’aretz. They are unwilling to accept any statement to which they are not accustomed. Because of their ignorance, everything they were trained in is, in their eyes, something “given to Moses at Sinai.” They are unaware of differing opinions, of the methods of debate, of how a halakhic position is formed, of the role of the decisor (the human being) in the formation of halakha; therefore every unusual statement will meet their fierce opposition (see Column 62). In discussions about the am-ha’aretz one often hears praise for their rigidity and for its importance in preserving our tradition. Righteous mothers who could not read or write protected us from various revolutionary changes; and as the Hassid Ya’avetz wrote, it was the ammei ha’aretz who kept the flame of Judaism during the expulsion from Spain (see the column there). Try convincing women—or just ammei ha’aretz—that a woman may be called to the Torah or recite kaddish. You have no chance. This total fixation also protects us from unworthy changes or from too great a flood of changes.
One must relate to the arguments regarding the am-ha’aretz on the two levels I described with respect to conservatism (the resemblance between the phenomena is, by the way, no coincidence): we must fight am-ha’aretz-ness and try to eradicate it with a firm hand, and together with that we may be glad that we do not quite succeed. Am-ha’aretz types are like weeds—very hard to uproot and they multiply uncontrollably—annoying, but there are aspects to it that are gladdening.
We must distinguish between what I have defined here as ammei ha’aretz and baalebatim. At the end of Column 62 I explained that a baalebat is a person who acts and lives outside the beit midrash and is sometimes needed to correct the crooked intellect of those inside the beit midrash (hence the need for public approval for enactments and decrees in order for them to take effect). An am ha’aretz is not a baalebat. The am ha’aretz simply has a crooked mind—period. Yet it turns out that his conservatism and fixations sometimes protect us.
Conclusion
I will conclude with this: in my youth I was sure I was right, and it was a pity about all those who were wrong (=those who thought differently from me; see here). Later I arrived at the conclusion that everyone is right (pluralism). Today I again think (but I am not sure) that I am right—but I am glad there are those who are wrong. Today I fight them vigorously and usually also scorn them, yet I am aware that sometimes, thanks to them, the world stands.
Perhaps these words expand upon the Rambam’s well-known statement in his Introduction to the Mishnah:
“One question remains. It is this: One might ask, you have already said that the divine wisdom created nothing in vain, and that among all the creatures under the sphere of the moon the human being is the most honored, and that the end of the human species is the attainment of intelligibles. If so, why did God create all human beings who do not attain the intelligible, when we see that most people are empty of knowledge and pursue desires, while the learned, abstinent person is rare and wondrous—found only as a single one in a generation? The answer: the existence of those others is for two reasons. First, to serve that single one; for if all human beings were learned and philosophical, the world would be lost and humanity would perish in a short time, since man is very lacking and needs many things. He would be forced to learn plowing, harvesting, threshing, grinding, cooking, and making the tools for all these until food is obtained; likewise he would need to learn spinning and weaving to weave what he will wear, and building to construct shelter, and to make tools for all these. Not even the lifespan of Methuselah would suffice to learn all the crafts a person necessarily needs for his existence. If so, when would that person learn wisdom and understand science? Therefore all these were created to perform those labors that the world needs, and thus the learned man exists for his own sake; thereby the world is built and wisdom found. How apt the saying: ‘Were it not for the fools, the world would be desolate.’ And there is no greater foolishness than a man of feeble spirit, frail in body, who travels from one edge of the second climate to the edge of the sixth, crossing seas in winter and deserts in the summer heat, risking himself among every kind of beast of prey so that perhaps he will earn a dinar; and when he amasses from those dinars on which he has staked his very spirit, he begins to distribute them to craftsmen to build for him a firm foundation upon virgin soil with lime and stones, to set upon it a structure that will stand for hundreds of years, while he knows clearly that not even enough of his life remains to wear out a hut of reeds. Is there any levity of mind greater than this? And so it is with all the pleasures of the world and its desires—absolute frivolity—yet thereby the world is built. For this reason our Sages, of blessed memory, called one who did not study ‘am ha’aretz,’ that is, ‘people of the land,’ meaning they were created only to build the land, and therefore they are attached to it.”
May it be pleasant to the listener.
Discussion
A. In the pamphlet Hilchot Policy Considerations, you laid down several conditions for policy considerations. Suppose all the conditions are valid; there is still an inherent circularity here. It seems that you assume these conditions are a rigid framework for policy considerations. But policy considerations can override those conditions themselves too—why not? Is there some super-principled meta-rule that a framework remains rigid forever? (…). It looks like an attempt to write a Shulchan Aruch for the laws of a transgression committed for the sake of Heaven. If the framework had been given explicitly in writing, then there would be an interpretive consideration that it was given in order to harden into something fixed, for otherwise what good would it be. But when the framework is derived by reasoning, there is no such interpretive consideration.
B. The substance of the conditions that trim the power of the wagon-drivers does not seem plausible to me.
Condition A – first to clarify the halachic considerations. True, one can think of several reasons for this condition, but simply put, when one decides not to clarify a certain halachic consideration, that means one upholds the ruling even on the possibility that that halachic consideration points in the opposite direction from the decision. The strongest reason for this (as far as I can tell) is that policy considerations are usually simply on larger scales than halachic considerations. Someone trying to flee a bear in the forest is not careful to check whether he trampled a few protected flowers. And perhaps because one acts stringently in an overall sense.
Condition B – only in exceptional circumstances. Not clear. Would you also tell a government that it may legislate only in exceptional circumstances? It constantly has to act and take care of things. In ordinary circumstances, simple and easy solutions; in exceptional circumstances, heavy and difficult solutions.
Condition C – a duty of transparency. First, it does not seem to me that anyone says of something that it is “de’oraita” without justification (at least in his own view). That term has remained technical, and it is quite different from the term “me-ikar ha-din,” with regard to which people allow themselves much greater freedom, because nowadays even ikar ha-din incorporates policy considerations decided by previous generations. And regarding that “me-ikar ha-din,” there is no issue of bal tosif (“do not add”). Second, such explicit transparency may undermine acceptance of the policy.
Condition D – that there be formal authority. The reasoning is: in a place where there are no men, strive to be a man; and since there is a need for a global authority that can weigh global considerations as well (that is why the idea of formal authority arose), then someone has to do it. To remain without authority and stand idle in the face of significant risks is irresponsible.
An addendum about formal authority. According to your approach, you undercut every authority except that of the Talmud—for example, the authority of the corpus of the Shulchan Aruch (not only the Shulchan Aruch of the Mechaber and the Rema). If only I knew why. And in particular, why the root of your soul, had it appeared in the Talmudic period, did not fight vigorously against the acceptance of the Mishnah. In the argument below I tried to separate the components of the claims into small sections that combine into a general argument, and of each I ask whether it is correct. I refer as one thing to formal authority, whether regarding interpretation and halachah or regarding decrees and policies.
A1. The authority of the Gemara is attributed, according to your view, to public acceptance. And what kind of acceptance is this? It is implausible that all the great sages of Israel gathered and decided in one stroke that this book, the Talmud as it stands, would endure forever and never be displaced through all upheavals. Rather, the acceptance seeped in and spread over time until it became fixed. So in exactly the same way, later generations try to create further consensuses—that is, they lead a position to accept the authority of some figure in order to form a broad front that will give that authority the power of public acceptance.
A2. Admittedly, these additional halachic authorities are given weaker force, because the supreme authority of the Gemara is in the picture (and also because it is assumed that the authors of the Gemara were more accurate in reaching the truth), and room is also left for later generations if they find especially strong arguments; but it is still authority, and it has weight.
A3. Now, it seems very reasonable that in order to forge such a consensus (for example, to accept the Shulchan Aruch as an authority), one who thinks such a consensus ought to be forged is obligated to act according to that thing as though it had already been accepted. That is, someone who supports accepting the corpus of the Shulchan Aruch must act and rule according to the acceptance of the Shulchan Aruch, and not wait until the campaign succeeds and public acceptance actually occurs before ruling according to the Shulchan Aruch. For that is the only way to forge such consensuses.
A4. Therefore there is no point accusing the potential-authority of lacking authority during the process; one must only decide whether one wants to accept that authority as authority or not.
A5. And why not accept that authority—even if we assume that at present it is not one (because public acceptance has not been achieved according to some set of stringent conditions that you would presumably require)? As for that, I do not know your reasons, but one can try to guess: reason A, you do not want additional authorities at all, because in your view this might conflict with Torah truth (a somewhat strange reason, because how is this different from the Mishnah and the Gemara?). Reason B, the specific additional authorities are not sufficiently trustworthy to you that they hit upon Torah truth (a reason not so relevant, because formal authority is not conditional on hitting upon Torah truth). Reason C, such authority usually restricts and imposes stringencies, and I am a bird, a free bird, a winged bird that flies—after all, everything is permitted except what was forbidden. Reason D, you do not see a way in which the public could actually take upon itself a new authority (what is “the public” and what counts as acceptance—this needs clarification) as a result of the general political situation within religion, and therefore there is no point in striving for that authority. And if none of these, then what are your reasons for not accepting the authority?
A6. The reasons in favor of obtaining public acceptance of additional authoritative sources are the same enduring reasons as always, such as the need to simplify the halachic thicket, the tendency to unify practice (as written in the Tur), and to gain shoulders to lean on so as to avoid fears leading to stringency at every corner (and also so that there not be openings for leniency at every corner).
My conditions are not a matter of one position or another. They are a result of the definition of halachah and the requirement to tell the truth and not lie. Someone who wants to lie can say he is issuing a halachic ruling when he is not doing so, and even so, in such a case he is not issuing a halachic ruling. By the same token, a person can derive halachah from the Upanishads and say of it that this is halachah—though a sage may come and derive halachah from the Upanishads without asking me. Good health to him and to all of us.
And that is exactly the opposite of setting a Shulchan Aruch for the laws of a transgression for the sake of Heaven. On the contrary, it only determines when something is a transgression for the sake of Heaven and when it is a mitzvah. What you do with that—that is your decision.
In your second message, you take everything for granted simply because it exists. That is meaningless formalism. In practice, this was not accepted as a binding norm that cannot be disputed, and that is that.
The requirement not to lie, etc.—if it is indeed violated, then policy considerations overrode that too. After all, why did they lie (if they did)? Because they thought it was necessary.
Not every acceptance has to be acceptance of an absolutely binding norm. People also accept more flexible norms. And the fact is that they did accept a certain formal authority (!) even with respect to the Rishonim and the halachic decisors.
As I explained, I am not speaking of a requirement at all. It is a definition. When a decisor lies in our context, my problem with his words is not a value-halakhic one (though that exists too). The problem is that what he presents as halachah is not halachah. That is what I pointed out in my remarks. If you think it is necessary to lie and present a statement in shoemaking theory as halachah, good for you—but that does not make it halachah. The conditions in my remarks about policy considerations do not concern what is permitted and forbidden but definition. Even the matter of bal tosif was not said on the plane of permitted and forbidden (for it may be that circumstances dictate violating this prohibition) but in order to show that this is not halachah. If someone adds a halachah because circumstances seem to him to require it, that does not turn it into halachah.
On your view, every statement of every person would be halachah, because he can always lie and present it as halachah. That is not serious casuistry.
Non-absolute acceptance is indeed possible, and I have said/written that more than once, but by definition it is not absolutely binding. I too accept, on some level, the Rishonim and the great halachic decisors (of course, the whole range taken together, not any one specific person among them), but I am not willing for them to be presented as binding halachah in the way people tend to present them. Of course, if we are talking about a lie then the discussion is different. See above.
With God’s help, you’re getting old—“they still bear fruit in old age.”
A. I did not understand what definitions have to do with it. In your condition no. 3, you wrote that a decisor who employs policy considerations must make that clear to his listeners (and not blur it under “forbidden”), and otherwise what? If he did not disclose it, then it is not halachah (and also not binding)? And if he did disclose it, then it is binding? But even regarding the question “whether to disclose,” he applied policy considerations and decided not to disclose. A product of policy considerations is also part of halachah, at least as an emergency measure. I do not recognize the “not serious casuistry” that you attributed to my view.
B. There is a gap between what you accept regarding the formal authority of the Rishonim and the Shulchan Aruch and what is accepted by almost all decisors and the public, in exactly the same way as acceptance spreads among the public over a long period, as the Gemara was accepted. I did not understand how you justify that gap despite “public acceptance” (a concept that needs careful discussion, including regarding the Gemara).
A. He is obligated to make it clear to his listeners according to halachah. And this is an indication that such additions are not part of halachah. If an authorized body does this, it can join as rabbinic law, provided they inform the public of this. The not-serious casuistry is that on your view, whatever anyone does is halachah. It is impossible to claim that something does not fit halachah.
B. The acceptance is amorphous not only in its content but also in its intensity. There is nothing preventing one from disputing it. On your view, does every group of people that accepts something with some degree of force thereby bind me with that same force and in the same way? Again, formalism.
A. I do not think that what I wrote implies in any way that “whatever anyone does is halachah.” It is hard to talk without examples, and the article has none, so I will try to suggest one—the techelet. There is a common supposition that “the leading rabbis of the generation” do not want to rule that there is an obligation to wear techelet (that is, in practice they rule there is no obligation), even if they have become largely convinced that the identification of techelet is correct, as a result of a policy consideration not to impose a revolutionary innovation (because A, it shakes conservatism; B, perhaps an error will be discovered and this will erode the authority of the shepherds of the flock). But if it spreads from below, then excellent—and after it has already become established (both the custom and the research will stabilize), then they will rule it obligatory.
Questions: 1. In your opinion, is this a legitimate consideration? 2. In such a case, must the halachic teacher make clear that these were his considerations, even though this would greatly undermine the decision? 3. If the consideration is legitimate, but the teacher did not make it clear and simply said, “There is no obligation to wear today’s techelet,” then for someone who knows the truth, is there in fact a halachic obligation to wear the techelet?
B. The acceptance of the authority of the Rishonim and the Shulchan Aruch with its commentaries is indeed more amorphous than acceptance of the authority of the Gemara, but even regarding what it does contain—and it contains a great deal, as stated in the books of the decisors—you challenge it so as to weaken it. For your principled arguments are against the decisors, etc., who did attribute weight to the ancients and to the Shulchan Aruch with its commentaries. In your opinion, are all your remarks on the authority of the Rishonim and the Shulchan Aruch, etc., merely a description of what is accepted among decisors and the public, and nothing beyond that?
Perhaps it is actually worth referring to Assaf Sagiv’s distinction between orthodoxy and conservatism (not in the religious context). Whereas the phenomenon of orthodoxy advocates knowing the absolute truth brought to us by the ancients, the conservative does not know how to say absolutely what the truth is. As he brings at the beginning of his article “The Strange Case of Radical Conservatism,” quoting Oakeshott: “To be conservative, then, is to prefer the familiar to the unknown, to prefer the tried to the untried, fact to mystery, the actual to the possible, the limited to the unbounded, the near to the distant, the sufficient to the superabundant, the convenient to the perfect, present laughter to utopian bliss.” In addition, you presented it succinctly, but a very central thing for the conservative is precisely the regard for natural intuition as a starting point, and the rabbi himself also seems to use a conservative method in many cases. Also on the level of the direction toward which one may aspire to change: there are changes within the existing system, which a conservative too can make, and there is change in the structure of society, which requires far greater presumption.
A. That absolutely does follow from what you say. After all, you argue that one cannot set rules (Shulchan Aruch) in anything. Any rule set in any halachic field and by anyone can absorb from you the same criticism.
B. I explained that a weakened acceptance has a correspondingly weakened status. By the way, I really do not think my remarks differ substantially from the accepted approach. I simply put things on the table in a sharper and more explicit way, which others do not tend to do.
As for techelet, that is indeed an utterly illegitimate position. There is an obligation of techelet, and whoever says there is not is a liar. At most you can say there is an obligation but you recommend not fulfilling it (which of course no one would dare say, and rightly so). The policy of lying has simply become so widespread and internalized that people are no longer stirred by these lies.
And of course there is a complete obligation to wear techelet with no connection whatsoever to what this or that decisor says. Whoever did not wear it has neglected a positive commandment, and those decisors transgressed “placing a stumbling block before the blind.” Entirely clear.
These are semantic games and not relevant to our discussion. When I speak about conservatism in this article, I mean accepting some claim merely because it is conservative. Conservatism as a starting point was mentioned by me, and the summary is entirely sufficient for our purposes.
A. But what I argued was that one cannot prescribe to policymakers who weigh policy considerations (which have the power to override halachah) when and how to weigh those considerations and how to present them, because those considerations by their very nature are capable of overriding halachah (and therefore also the conditions you set).
B. “I explained that a weakened acceptance has a correspondingly weakened status.” You mean that it does have one (typo)?
I had not imagined that in your opinion you are, basically, mainly describing the accepted approach (rather than disagreeing with it). Either I did not understand your position (that no one has any formal authority except the Gemara, only substantive authority—and in the slogan that circulated in my day: “Someone who disputes the Rishonim is not wicked but stupid”), or I am entirely unaware of the accepted approach, or both together (a pity).
I didn’t understand why it is so very illegitimate. Because today’s public leaders are forbidden altogether to weigh policy considerations, and they too are obligated to wear techelet?
A. What I argued is that it is possible to set such rules. An authorized institution may use policy considerations, and then this will become rabbinic halachah. Alternatively, one can use policy considerations to choose among several legitimate options that exist in a given situation (and there too one must discuss whether there is an obligation to obey the decisor, but at least he has the right to claim that).
B. It has weakened status, but not correspondingly so. Meaning, it is not that I am obligated to it in a weakened way exactly paralleling the full obligation to full acceptance. One may also simply not accept it.
I am indeed describing the accepted approach, but putting things on the table. There are differences of degree, but not of essence. In my writings I brought sources for my approach from great early and later authorities, and it is indeed their approach. And as for my claim that no one has formal authority apart from the Gemara—that is indeed the prevalent approach. Who disputes that?
There is a positive commandment to wear techelet. Is there anyone authorized today to nullify that commandment? Does anyone seriously claim he has the authority to do so? The Great Court can uproot a matter from the Torah. In my view it is also possible to freeze halachot, but broad consensus is required for that.
The question hovering over this matter is why—to the best of my limited knowledge—all the major leaders of the public did not rule an obligation of techelet. Not among the Lithuanians, not among the Sephardim, and not among the Hasidim. Only rabbis with non-dramatic public impact wear it and instruct accordingly, etc., and until their words have broad and deep influence another decade or two will pass. It is hard to explain this phenomenon, and I understand between the lines that you too have no explanation for it (and according to the common supposition above, this is very understandable). Of course, to attribute it to the idea that all בעלי impact were too lazy to investigate the matter, or that by chance they all held that the identification is not sufficiently convincing—since there is no single method of learning and thought shared by all these impactful figures.
The question of the conservatism of decisors is old and does not arise only in relation to this question. For the most part they do not trouble themselves to examine new ideas, with all kinds of strange justifications like “we have no tradition about this,” “science has no standing in halachic questions,” and so on. These justifications show you plainly the nonsense in their method.
I find it hard to believe you will find an important decisor who will tell you that he checked, and indeed this is techelet, and nevertheless rules not to put it on a garment. I have heard of one or two who said this nonsense, but that is a negligible minority among the decisors.
So there is a phenomenon called “the conservatism of decisors,” and according to you it is also ancient, meaning it includes many senior decisors, and this phenomenon on its face seems in frontal contradiction to halachah—and you simply leave it as a major unresolved difficulty, conclude that there is no divine will behind their conduct, and move on?
[To make explicit that this is the policy in the matter of techelet (“the identification is correct and nevertheless you shall not wear it”)—it seems to me there is no room for that even if that is indeed the policy, because such clarification too has substantial costs. But that is another matter.]
A. Next time, with God’s help, put a space between flock and flock.
B. Why? What the public accepted, the public accepted, and if it accepted it weakly, then there is a strong and ordinary obligation to accept the weak acceptance. From where and why do you set rules for public acceptance that it must accept only things rigid as iron?
Everyone disputes this, and I have no idea what you are saying. The differences of degree are precisely the critical point, and they are very substantial. They allowed clearly outstanding authorities to disagree—though not too much either—with earlier authorities far greater than themselves, where they had very good reasons. That is not merely substantive authority (which by its nature is usually not one hundred percent) but also formal authority. True, there circulates a saying that “someone who disputes the Rishonim is not wicked but stupid,” which in effect says that the Rishonim indeed have no formal authority, only substantive authority. But for you to say that the decisors of all generations also held that way—that, as I said, I had not imagined, and it puzzles me greatly.
Indeed. A daily occurrence.
If there is no such clarification regarding techelet (for reasons you think justified), then on what basis do you assume that this is the policy?
B. Because a weakened thing means there is no acceptance, not that there is weakened acceptance. The fact that people are accustomed to giving weight to something does not obligate me to give it weight (certainly not the same weight as is customary), even if full acceptance is something I do regard as binding. Otherwise everything the public happens to do would automatically bind me, and that is not reasonable.
That is indeed what the decisors held in all generations. And I also brought many sources in my article on autonomy. And there are more, of course. About degrees one can argue, and see section B.
We are repeating ourselves.
“In the Torah of Rabbi Meir they found written: ‘And behold, it was very good’ (Genesis 1:31) — ‘and behold, death was good.’”
From two indications and one reason. The reason is that it seems sensible to me to act like an insurance company for preserving care in halachic observance. One indication is the factual gap between the most influential decisors and the rest. A second indication is that the identification seems to me far too convincing. And the absence of clarification and transparency in this sort of consideration certainly proves nothing to the contrary. If there is an alternative explanation without policy considerations, then of course I would prefer it. But the alternative you propose is simply to leave them as a major unresolved difficulty.
With your permission, our rabbi, I will return to section A, and only with regard to section B will I proclaim a sabbatical unto the Lord.
A. You wrote that in order to weigh policy considerations one needs an authorized institution (condition D in the article), and even then only in order to choose between several legitimate options (a new condition that did not appear in the article, and perhaps it summarizes conditions A-B, first clarifying the halachah and then acting only in exceptional circumstances).
A1. This condition D means categorically denying present-day policy considerations. I find that very hard to accept, because it means that even where policy considerations are needed to prevent great harm, you say that the public should be led like an ox to the slaughter and keep one halachah, even if there is concern that at the bottom of the slope disaster will emerge from it—collapse and damages—and many halachot will be undermined.
We are not speaking here of rabbinic laws that require another quorum to permit, etc., but of emergency measures because “it is a time to act for the Lord.” Therefore, nullifying the root of the authority seems to me very difficult.
Are you claiming that, as a matter of reason, it is not at all plausible that there should be such authority? Or are you claiming that, although by reason and consequentialism it is very compelling that there should be such authority, what can we do—God decreed that there should be no such authority, and there is no remedy, etc.?
[A2. The other conditions (to clarify the halachah, only in exceptional circumstances, only within some zone of legitimacy) impose halachic constraints on considerations that have the power to override the boundaries of halachah. Of course in every matter one must weigh the gain of a consideration against its loss, but such a categorical limitation still seems to me supremely paradoxical, as above, and the answers have not been absorbed into my mind. I admit that here too I have gone back and written without any novelty or sharpening, and presumably there is no need to answer this again, and with it my pardon, sir.]
Since all the reasons you raised are major unresolved difficulties in my eyes, then at most there is a major unresolved difficulty on both sides.
I did not say that. What I wrote was two independent conditions: either there is an authorized institution, or there is only a choice here between legitimate options (even in an unauthorized institution, though I wrote that here it requires further inquiry whether there is an obligation to obey—but it is permitted to rule that way).
After all, an authorized court can enact a decree that uproots a halachah (like canceling the blowing of the shofar on Shabbat) or adds to it. But these options do not exist nowadays (unless there is a broad consensus that would in effect restore semikhah, at least de facto).
I also raised the possibility of freezing, which requires broad consensus. Ironically, these possibilities earned me accusations that I am Reform and disloyal to halachah, when the alternative is to thumb one’s nose contemptuously at halachah and issue lies in its name.
The tragedy of the absence of an authorized institution indeed exists, and I have written about it more than once (the historical accident).
Isn’t a halachic tragedy a strange thing? If there is a tragedy and a partial solution is readily available (that the leading sage of his generation should, when necessary, employ policy considerations even against a certain halachah), then what greater reasoning do we need than this—that God does not desire tragedies and desires obedience to His word, except that they should preserve the core by whatever means possible.
The truth is that if we were like the Amoraim—that is, if we understood how to think—for they also knew how to derive the halachic midrashim like the Tannaim, and we have no idea how to do that—then we too could disagree with the Talmud. They had an intuition that we do not have. Perhaps (my intuition tells me that this is indeed so) it is connected in some way to the fact that they also had a spiritual level that we do not. The Gemara testifies that Amoraim could revive the dead (and there is even the story of Rabbah who slaughtered Rabbi Zeira on Purim, and the story with Abaye in the bathhouse who saved 100 people who flew up together with him when the floor of the bathhouse collapsed while they were there). The acceptance of the Talmud took place against the background of a real decline of the generations, which created our lack of understanding of their way of thinking (I do not even understand why they themselves accepted not to disagree with the Tannaim). The acceptance created authority. But truly, if we return to their level, I do not think their authority would bind us. It is a conditional authority (though this was never said explicitly).
Correction: “…it is connected in some way to the fact that they also had a spiritual level that we do not.”
If there were danger to the very existence of the people or of halachah, fair enough. And even then, not every decisor can do that. But that is not the situation, and decisors simply do whatever they feel like. See Nadav Shnerb’s “The Jewish Ark of Lies.”
A. You write that the Gemara has substantive authority, and that this is one of the reasons they granted it formal authority (that is the prevalent view). I very much wonder about the substantive authority too, and I am also not convinced by this concept called formal authority as a result of “public acceptance.” [And in my question to Rabbi Michi I asked, according to his view, what distinguishes acceptance of the Gemara from acceptance of the other decisors—not regarding the content of the acceptance, but regarding its spread among the public in general.]
B. Whether acceptance of the Gemara is like a vow that cannot be annulled, or whether it might someday be possible to discontinue it—I too join your opinion that in principle it can be discontinued (“the mouth that forbade is the mouth that permitted”). Whether this is specifically tied to closing the substantive gap—I am not at all sure, but it requires orderly treatment of the question of halachic truth and what the goal of commandment-observers is.
C. I have a feeling that in their period they generally thought the Messiah was about to arrive any minute, at most a matter of a few hundred years, based on various interpretations in the book of Daniel (which is a very dubious book, and it is hard to understand how it slipped into the Bible), and no one there imagined that now they were binding the Jews in the chains of the Amoraim’s words for two thousand years. True, not tight chains, as Rabbi Michi discerned, since they granted authority to a flexible and rich text that is open to interpretation and not to terse legal rulings—but still chains. And it is quite possible that today the Gemara has already fulfilled its role, and it may be said to the prisoners: “Go forth”; to those in darkness: “Show yourselves”; “Say of the righteous that it is good, for they shall eat the fruit of their deeds.”
This also reminds me of Reiner’s remarks in his book on Rabbenu Tam; my impression was that there is nothing he loves more than portraying Rabbenu Tam as a great trickster (with strange linguistic contortions).
In chapter 11 he (Reiner) really does bring a troubling example in which Rabbenu Tam interprets a sugya in a very forced way (and the other Rishonim rose against him, including one of his great disciples), and then also adds a decree of his own in the same direction. That is, Rabbenu Tam took two steps beyond the ruling before him—one step as an interpretation of the Gemara and a second step as a decree that Rabbenu Tam enacted.
I will try this evening to arrange the matter and raise it in the Q&A. But prima facie several directions seem possible: A. there is no connection between the innovative interpretation and the decree—the interpretation comes from interpretive considerations and the decree from social considerations. B. Rabbenu Tam “did whatever he felt like” and intentionally twisted the interpretation for the sake of his goal. C. Rabbenu Tam had a line of reasoning, and it guided the interpretation and also gave rise to a decree. Direction D is presumably the right direction, except that I do not yet know it and will wait for your answer on the subject.
The author said:
“In my youth… and today I again think (but am not sure) that I am right, but I am glad there are those who are mistaken. Today I fight them with all my strength and usually also despise them.”
And I wonder—if you are not sure you are right—then the “mistaken” are not mistaken—so why do you despise them?
How did you derive the conclusion (that the mistaken are not mistaken) from the premise (that I am not sure I am right)? Your logic is beyond me.
In my opinion the problem comes more from below than from above. In the end, the status of the local rabbi or any decisor whatsoever (except for a court, as you said) is determined by the power the community gives him. Since the community does not demand too much of the decisor, and gives him the power to decide even in matters outside his authority—that is how he acts. I agree that the rabbi also needs to understand his status, but in my opinion it is more important to sharpen for the public that they too have a standing in halachic rulings.
Because if you only think you are right (but are not sure), then how do you permit yourself usually to despise others? Only on the basis of a thought?
First of all, you did not ask only about the contempt. You said the mistaken are not mistaken. Second, I am sure of nothing in any field. A responsible person takes into account the possibility that he is mistaken. And still, when someone talks nonsense, I despise him. When he proves that I was mistaken, I will retract. Confidence that is not 100% is enough to despise manifest nonsense.
It depends what nonsense you define as “manifest.”
Is, for example, an argument about providence manifest nonsense?
And besides, if it is proven nonsense—meaning there is no providence—why don’t you have 100% confidence?
I cannot understand.
I have gone into these things at length in several places (I also wrote books about them). My basic claim is that there is no complete certainty about anything on earth, including faith of course, and also science, philosophy, and all the rest. And still, there are things that are obviously nonsense on their face (shtuyot de-muchach, literally: nonsense on its face). The theory of gravitation, for example, is not proven (because no scientific theory is proven), and yet if someone comes along and simply claims that it is not correct, I would despise him and say that he is talking nonsense. What is hard about that?
When I say something is clear to me, I do not mean 100%, but rather as much confidence as a person can have in something.
As for providence, the contempt is not because it is utter nonsense, but because the people who speak about it do not themselves really believe in it and do not act that way. As I have shown here more than once.
As for conservatism, I do indeed despise people who raise irrelevant arguments in forming their position on an issue. That does not mean there cannot be some basis for conservatism that I have not thought of. When one comes up, we will discuss it. Gravitation too may turn out to be incorrect (that has actually already happened).
Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky’s view, may he live long and well, if it is clear that this is techelet
https://www.techeiles.org/library_main/harav-chaim-kanievski/
Do you mean to prove that it is not as the crafty hypothesis I presented above?
I did not get into the whole argument. I just brought it. You can do with it whatever you want.
A word was omitted: “perhaps” they are not mistaken.
Even in your view it is possible that they are not mistaken. So why despise them?
There is no certainty about anything?
There is no certainty that an oxygen molecule is composed of two atoms?
There is no certainty that I did not shoot Rabin or Arlosoroff?
Please answer specifically on these two questions.
In addition, I just want to be sure—you define providence as manifest nonsense and utter nonsense?
To the point that in your view someone who claims there is providence is like someone who claims there is no gravitation at all?
Aside from that I will just note—people who say that “everything is from Him, blessed be He,” and on the other hand “make every possible effort” (there are plenty of such people), are not really evidence against providence.
Just as people who really think there is providence and really conduct themselves that way (there are plenty of those too) are not evidence in favor of providence.
The evidence for or against providence has to be examined objectively, not based on how this or that person behaves.
All right, I’m done. Everything has been answered ad nauseam, and you simply are not reading. If you want to see what I think, the site and the trilogy are before you. It has been explained well several times over.
If you define a conservative as someone who determines a course only because it is old,
and an innovator as his opposite—then life is indeed easy.
But conservatism in its essence is suspicion—suspicion toward innovation that pretends to create
a new world—and first of all to destroy the old world.
And by the way, what characterizes these innovators is contempt for conservatives. (For the “mistaken”?)
I remember the contempt for the opponents of Oslo—and also for Churchill in the 1930s.
And regarding policy considerations—“It is a time to act for the Lord”: is that politics or halachah?
In my hearing, Rabbi Michael Abraham spoke about Maimonides’ ruling regarding those supported by Torah study and about
the words of our rabbi Yosef Karo on the matter.
According to our rabbi Michael Abraham, if Maimonides had accepted the premise
that today one cannot engage both in Torah and in work—then he too would agree that one may study (and teach) for pay.
Is the reasoning that “at times the neglect of Torah is its preservation” not de’oraita?
You really must be an entertaining Jew if you remember the contempt in the 1930s. 🙂
In any case, you are repeating what I wrote in the article: conservatism as a starting point is indeed a legitimate position. So I do not understand the question mark blowing from your words.
“It is a time to act for the Lord” is a policy rationale that entered halachah because it was established by an authorized court. Exactly as I wrote in the article (about action by an authorized body that uses policy considerations).
And what does this have to do with Maimonides? I did not understand. Whether to study all day or not is not halachah at all but entirely policy. It does not touch our discussion in any way that I can see.
Maimonides wrote halachah:
that it is forbidden to be supported by the public.
You argued that if we accept the premise of the Kesef Mishneh—then Maimonides too
might admit that it is permitted to be supported by the public. Halachah, not policy.
If everyone who wants is obligated to study all day, that may perhaps be policy—but
today great Torah scholars will not emerge if they have to earn a living from medicine—like Maimonides.
Conservatism is not “legitimate”; it is necessary. Otherwise we will get “reeducation”
(Nehemia Strassler wrote at the time of the Oslo accords that the public needed to be reeducated.
In exactly those words.)
So here you have it: allowing people to study all day (at least the prodigies) is policy—
or the preservation of Torah. I claim there is no other possibility—you can be modest like
Zechariah ben Avkulas and argue that we have no court that can permit it.
With blessings,
mozer
P.S. – In the booklet Not a Driven Leaf, Professor Halivni explains the reason for his departure
from the Conservative movement. If you want, I will look for the exact quotation.
I did not understand how Halivni got in here. His departure was because of the ordination of women as rabbis (utterly bizarre. Of all their nonsense, specifically an act that has no problem whatsoever caused him to leave).
Maimonides did not write halachah but recommendations and policy guidelines. There is no halachic prohibition on being supported by the public. And I still do not understand how this is connected to our discussion.
A. Halivni is really not connected. I saw that you discussed it and thought I would find
the reason. As I recall, though I still have not located the booklet, he wrote
that one does not decide that a certain halachah does not suit us and therefore change it.
He argued that this is not the way to change halachah (or custom). He did not dispute
the determination that women can teach Torah.
B. This time you surprised me. The Yad Ha-Chazakah—is that not a book of halachah?
Here is his quotation from the Commentary on the Mishnah:
“Originally I wanted not to speak about this command, because it is obvious… Know that he already said: Do not make the Torah a spade with which to dig, meaning: do not regard it as a tool for livelihood, …”
“Command”—that is to say, halachah.
How can this be interpreted as policy?
I did not write that the discussion was about women studying Torah. It was about their serving as rabbis.
The Rambam is a halachic book. I did not write that it isn’t. I was speaking about the determination that it is forbidden to be supported by the public. That is his own decision, and it has no halachic source, whether de’oraita or derabbanan. Without a source there is no halachic prohibition.
“For this has desecrated the Name and disgraced the Torah and extinguished the light of religion and caused evil to himself and removed his life from the World to Come. For it is forbidden to derive benefit from words of Torah in this world.”
At least desecration of the Name is de’oraita (“and they shall not profane My holy Name”).
It therefore seems that in Maimonides’ opinion this is de’oraita.
One can of course determine that there is no desecration of the Name in this (as in our times, when the public
spends money on feeding cats), but according to Maimonides’ determination
it is certainly forbidden.
In that lecture where I heard you speaking about the Kesef Mishneh, you said
that even he himself was not comfortable with the answers he gave to justify the situation,
and then added the argument of “It is a time to act for the Lord.”
If you bring desecration of the Name into the game, you have nullified it entirely. It is like “love your neighbor as yourself” or modesty. These are catch-all clauses into which every person inserts whatever he wants and thinks. It has no meaning for our discussion.
Perhaps the rabbi could at some point write about conservatism as a starting point?
Many have written about that, and I do not see what there is to add.
When Maimonides spoke about the select few versus the masses, he included in those masses all the (pseudo-)liberal revolutionaries of every kind as well (more accurately, one should say progressives—that is, anti-conservatives, not necessarily lovers of liberty). Reality shows that these world-repairers cause far more damage than the rest of the conservative masses whose failings they come to fix, and chief among them all is Robespierre, the patriarch of all leftists throughout the generations. And they are the greatest fools and the most lacking in self-awareness there are. And also the most corrupt there are. Like our legal system, about which Solomon said, “in the place of justice, there was wickedness.” They are even more corrupt (men of falsehood) than the criminals whom they prosecute.
I am fairly convinced that Rabbi Michi himself still belongs to this pseudo-liberal mob. A matter of environmental influence. Tell me who your friends are and I will tell you who you are. At least he doesn’t want to be part of it. That too is something.