Mind and Heart—Emotions in Study and in Halakhic Ruling (Column 467)
A few days ago, the Daf Yomi reached Yevamot 31a, where we encounter the beloved sugya: “A house collapsed upon him and upon his brother’s daughter, and it is unknown which of them died first; her co-wife performs ḥalitzah and does not enter yibbum.”
Chayuta Deutsch sent me this passage with the following remark:
This is brilliant! A paradigmatic example (one of many, but an especially beautiful one) of the encounter between a ‘laboratory-like’ halakhic-legal world and dramatic reality (a gorgeous, tear-jerking telenovela).
In the course of the discussion that unfolded between us afterward, I thought it worthwhile to devote a column to these matters.
Emotional and Human Dimensions within Halakhic Sugyot
When one contemplates this situation and enters it a bit more on the psychological plane, we are dealing with no simple tragedy that has befallen this unfortunate family (each in its own way, as you recall). But I, as an ordinary learner, do not notice this at all. It is a fascinating and complex halakhic discussion, and for me there are no suffering people here—i.e., no human beings. These are merely figures or shadows upon the halakhic-intellectual stage—target mannequins for training the mind—meant, at most, to reflect halakhic ideas through them. In our study we deal with murderers, thieves, butchers, liars, disasters and various unfortunates, and we discuss all this with wondrous equanimity. Thus children in heder can study charged sugyot which, in any other context, would have their parents escorted respectfully to social services, while the children themselves would be left slack-jawed in shock. Yet this entire procession passes serenely before us and we do not bat an eye.
I do not see in Chayuta’s words a protest. On the contrary, there is an admiration for the duality between the planes of discussion (the human and the halakhic). Still, I heard in the background a tone of critique of the chilliness of the discourse—namely, of the disregard for the harsh human dimensions of this case. The Gemara describes this case as if it were a chunk of meat that fell into a dairy sauce and proceeds to discuss the laws that apply. It completely ignores the terrible human tragedies that occurred here. This bereaved family is left without the woman (in fact, one of the co-wives) and the brother—both from the same family. Who will support the orphans? (Oh, right—there aren’t any, otherwise there would be yibbum.) Whose heart would not be moved and whose eye would not tear at the sound of all this?! Truly, at the hearing of it our soul grows faint.
I think the tune I heard in Chayuta’s words is based to a considerable extent on my day-to-day experiences in the doctoral beit midrash at Bar-Ilan (and in other women’s frameworks). Almost every time we reached such a sugya, there erupted impassioned responses about the human, ethical, and above all emotional aspects of such situations, and of course critique of the Gemara’s and the learners’ disregard for these aspects. The coldness and indifference it reflects are hard to understand or accept. We have all become accustomed to studying the sugya of a father giving his minor daughter in marriage to a man afflicted with boils, a woman forbidden to this man and that, agunot with no recourse, someone “stuck with his yevama,” and so on—classic Lithuanian-style Talmudic discussions.
I permit myself to say from experience that these criticisms characterize women more (and Ḥasidim, which is more or less the same in this respect—see, for example, columns 104 and 315).[1] Needless to say, Litvaks like me are spared such emotions, thank God. I would even offer some advice to the directors of that telenovela: for example, they would have done well to butcher also the brother’s second wife and leave her stuck with her yevama, who is the Hebrew maidservant of the cousin of his daughter’s co-wife—who herself is half maidservant and half freewoman, murdered by indirect causation by a convert who is situated between circumcision and immersion in the mikveh, with three log of drawn water minus a kartov, whose appearance is like that of wine. They could learn from the very best—that is, from the Minḥat Ḥinukh. This would enrich the discussion and make it far more captivating.
A Similar Critique in a Different Context
These criticisms are not directed only toward the Talmud and its learners. In column 89 I brought an example of a similar critique, this time in an academic-technological context. I refer to the well-known story about the “blood pipeline” at the Technion (which apparently even existed in reality). I will quote from there.
It is told of an initiative by Prof. Chaim Hanani of the Technion, who arranged that in an exam on flow in the Faculty of Mechanical Engineering, students were asked to design a pipeline that would carry blood from Eilat to Metula. They were asked what material to make it from, what its diameter and thickness should be, at what depth in the ground it should be buried, and so forth. The tellers of this story (and I myself heard, with my own astonished ears, more than a few people who were morally scandalized by this matter—and needless to say, I was truly scandalized by their scandal) complain how the technocratic students of the Technion, who have long since lost the image of God (unlike PhD students in Gender and Home Economics, whose moral sensitivity is highly developed—especially when they design a pipeline to carry their articles straight to the editorial boards of the journals of pseudo-sciences), solved the exam and submitted it without batting an eye or asking why such a blood pipeline was needed. To heighten the astonishment, let me add that it is said such an exam led to the introduction of humanities studies into the Technion curriculum. Apparently someone took this critique very seriously.[2]
Beyond the question of taste and the author’s humor—about which one can of course argue (though to me it’s rather charming)—the critique itself seems to me quite foolish. What is the problem with such a question?! Does anyone imagine that the lecturer intended to design a concentration camp and was enlisting students to solve the problem of blood transport? Were the students who answered the exam supposed to consider that this was the situation and protest? Constructing and solving such an exam in no way reflects a lack of morality—nor even the level of moral sensitivity of the lecturer or the students. By the way, this ridiculous critique does not reflect a high level of moral sensitivity either. At best it is a declarative lip-service, and a rather silly one, to ossified political correctness and unnecessary sentimentalism.
Beyond the question of whether it is right and reasonable to pose such a question on an exam, I wish to argue that students who encounter it and solve it without batting an eye are very similar to halakhic learners who pass by a situation like the one I described with the same frozen eyelid. It is a matter of context. If the context is halakhic or scientific-technological, and it is clear to all that no one here intends to murder or to transport blood, there is no reason whatsoever for heart-strings to tremble or for protest. Best to save protests for real events. If someone’s strings do tremble—that’s fine, of course. Each person has his or her own psychological makeup, and as is known, no one is perfect. But to see this as a feature reflecting a person’s morality, and to take the absence of trembling as an indication of defective morality—that is, at best, a bad joke.
“Korah, who was clever, what did he see to commit this folly?”[3]
We can also recall the Aggadic midrash about Korach—“of sainted memory”—who complained about Moses our teacher (Midrash Shoḥer Tov on Psalms 1):
“‘Nor sat in the seat of scoffers…’—this is Korach, who would scoff at Moses and Aaron.”
What did Korach do? He gathered the entire congregation, as it is said, “And Korach assembled the entire community against them,” and began telling them mocking parables, saying: There was a widow in my neighborhood who had two orphaned daughters, and she had a single field. She came to plow—Moses said to her: “You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey together.” She came to sow—he said to her: “You shall not sow your field with mixed species.” She came to reap and make a stack—he said to her: Leave gleanings, forgotten sheaves, and the corner of the field. She came to make the produce into money—he said to her: Give the priestly gift (terumah), the first tithe, and the second tithe. She accepted the law upon herself and gave him.
What did this poor woman do? She sold the field and bought two sheep, to clothe herself from their wool and enjoy their produce. When they gave birth—Aaron came and said to her: Give me the firstborns, for thus did the Holy One say to me: “Every firstborn male that is born among your cattle and flock you shall sanctify to the Lord your God.” She accepted the law upon herself and gave him the offspring. The time for shearing arrived and she sheared them—Aaron came and said to her: Give me the first of the fleece, for thus said the Holy One: “The first of your grain, wine, and oil, and the first of the shearing of your flock, you shall give him.”
She said: I have no strength to stand up to this man—behold, I will slaughter them and eat them. Once she slaughtered them, Aaron came and said to her: Give me the foreleg, the cheeks, and the abomasum. She said: Even after I slaughtered them, I have not escaped his hand—behold, they are ḥerem upon me! Aaron said to her: If so—then all of it is mine, for thus said the Holy One: “Every devoted thing (ḥerem) in Israel shall be yours.” He took them and went, and he left her weeping with her two daughters.
Thus it befell this poor woman! So much do they do, and they attribute it to the Holy One!
Truly heart-rending, no? This is reminiscent of the critiques I described above, though here there is, after all, a difference. Korach’s critique has substance. It may wrench the matters out of context and invent a heart-rending tale, but indeed such a story could in principle occur, and this is in fact the halakhic ruling in such a case. Thus there is here a challenge to the morality of the halakhah, and that is a serious claim. I have noted more than once in the past the case of Israel Shachak, the chemist from Jerusalem, who concocted stories about the moral callousness of halakhah and of religious people, stirring up storms. The religious breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that such a story had never happened, but I always wondered why that was relevant. Indeed, halakhah forbids desecrating Shabbat to save a non-Jew’s life. Indeed, halakhah obligates the wife of a kohen who was raped to separate from her husband. So even if it did not occur in practice, this is a perfectly legitimate critique.
In this sense, the criticisms of Shachak and of Korach are quite unlike the critiques we saw above, which deal with a hypothetical case and a very reasonable equanimity toward it. That has nothing to do with the level of morality of the people or of halakhah.
What Is the Problem?
Let us sharpen what is problematic in the critiques about the blood pipeline or the Yevamot telenovela. These are hypothetical cases that did not actually occur. When faced with a real case of this sort, I assume we would not remain indifferent. The indifference arises here because the hypothetical nature of the case is clear to all involved, and because of the context of the discussion. The connotation in which such cases arise is intellectual-professional. An engineering question is interpreted in its context as a computational-technological challenge, and rightly no one is troubled by the “purpose” of the calculation (because it is clear to everyone there is none—in fact there is: evaluating the student’s abilities). The same goes for the telenovela in Yevamot. It is clear to all that this is a hypothetical case meant to sharpen halakhic insights. To relate to a hypothetical case as if it were actually occurring is, no?, childish. Children tend to relate to a story as if it were a real case. Adults are supposed to understand that it is not so. This is similar, in my eyes, to questions about Talmudic cases like the “flying camel” (Makkot 5a and Yevamot 116a) or “wheat that descended in the clouds” (Menachot 69b), which wonder how such a case could happen. Once one pays attention to the context, it should be clear that no one claims such a thing happened or could happen. We are dealing with hypothetical cases meant to sharpen halakhic principles, like laboratory cases in scientific research (see more in my article on okimtas).
In short, the problem with these critiques is that they assume a person ought to relate to a hypothetical case that comes before him as if it were a real event. One might bring an example from a film or a book that describes such situations. Whose heart would not be moved at reading or seeing such a scene? How is this different? The answer is twofold: (1) There the context is artistic, i.e., the consumer (viewer or reader) is expected to try to enter the situation and experience it. That is the essence of artistic escapism. But this does not exist in the scholarly or technological-educational context. (2) Even if it is natural for such a movement of the soul to occur in people (or in women), it has no value. If it happens—very well (no one is perfect, as noted). But to demand of people, in the name of morality, that this must happen to them is an entirely different claim. To see moral defect in one for whom this does not happen is, in my view, utter nonsense.
Real Cases: The Importance of Detachment
I argued that being emotionally involved in a hypothetical case is, at best, childish. Beyond that, I now wish to argue that it also has a harmful dimension. When the above critiques arose among the doctoral students, I tried to instill in them, again and again, the importance of emotional and psychological detachment from the situation when engaged in halakhic learning. Not only does such emotional involvement have no value; it is positively harmful. Emotional involvement can lead to erroneous halakhic (and technological) conclusions. A decisor who rules on the basis of his emotions is a poor decisor (in fact, that is not a decisor at all—just a crybaby).
Note that here I am already speaking about a human response to a real case that comes before me, not just to a hypothetical one. If a case of a brother and his niece who perished together in a terrible disaster comes before me—this is a real case that occurred in reality, and therefore in such a case there is certainly value to sensitivity to its human dimensions. Here there is indeed value and importance in relating to this case on all planes simultaneously: the intellectual-halakhic, the intellectual-moral, and the human-experiential. And still, even in a real case, it is proper at the first stage to focus on the first plane and to detach the other two. The decisor must think coldly about the case before him. What halakhah says is unrelated to what emotion says (and in my opinion, not even to what morality says), and it is good that this is so. The decisor must cut the law with detached coolness, and thus he will merit to align with the truth of Torah. At the stage after the cold halakhic analysis, there is room to enter emotionally into the situation and its moral and human dimensions, and to examine it also from those perspectives. This means that when the initial halakhic analysis yields several possible options, one may take emotion and the human and moral dimensions into account in order to decide among them and choose the practical ruling. Emotion should not participate in the logical analysis, but at most come afterward. Beyond this, one may see value in the very participation and identification with the suffering of the person before you, even if it has no halakhic consequences. But all this must occur on parallel planes, and preferably after the initial halakhic decision. Emotional involvement in ruling is not desirable at all.
I will not repeat here in detail another claim I have presented more than once (see, e.g., column 22 and the series 311–315): namely, that morality has nothing at all to do with emotion. Morality is an intellectual matter, not an emotional one. Sometimes emotion provides some indicator toward the moral direction (empathy), but this is a very problematic indicator, and it is important to be careful to critique it and not be captivated by it. Respect it—but suspect it. In the final analysis, the decision should be made by the head and not by the heart—only that the head should take into account what the heart says. My claim was that identification in its experiential-emotional sense has no normative significance. It is a human trait, and as such it is a fact. But it has no value; those who are not endowed with it need not worry about their moral and normative standing.
Accordingly, I argue that even at the second stage—after the initial halakhic analysis—there is no significant place for emotion. Perhaps for morality, yes; but not for emotion (as such—at most as an indicator, as above). On the contrary, emotional involvement is a proven recipe for distortions and improper deflections of thought and for erroneous decisions.
The upshot of all this is that, when studying a Talmudic-halakhic sugya, emotional involvement has no value whatsoever; indeed, it is proper even to strive to overcome such a movement of soul if it exists (I am speaking of those who have not yet managed to overcome it and accustom themselves). In practical halakhic ruling (i.e., deciding a particular case that comes before us), there one should suspend emotion and morality—and perhaps give them some place at the second stage (mainly morality; emotion less so).
An Instrumental Claim
There is a claim on the instrumental plane that a person who accustoms himself not to relate humanly and morally to such hypothetical cases will not do so with respect to real cases either. I very much doubt this. It sounds to me like a cute vort for a sheva berakhot speech, and I see no indication of its correctness. In any case, the one who makes this claim ought to bring evidence for it.
One might perhaps advance a similar claim regarding the habituation of professionals. The Gemara says that an artisan, a physician, or a man whose occupation is with women is “preoccupied with his work” (be’avidatei tarid), and therefore is permitted things forbidden to other men (e.g., yichud or touch). Being absorbed in his professional work dulls his feelings and prevents transgressions and forbidden thoughts. I do not know whether the gynecologist’s sexual drive is indeed blunted because of this even when he meets a woman in a romantic rather than professional context. I am doubtful, since the context is different—but it requires investigation. People know how to make separations and detachments, and in this sense the judge and the learner are likewise “preoccupied with their work.” When a person is engaged in his profession, he knows how to detach his emotions, and this does not mean they are dulled in other contexts. Of course, an artisan preoccupied with his craft is a more extreme situation than the above in halakhic study, since in the artisan’s case we are dealing with women and real situations, whereas in the learner’s case it is hypothetical cases. Therefore, even if we find that in the artisan the feelings are indeed dulled, it does not necessarily follow that this is what happens in the learner. Perhaps it is more similar to the decisor who detaches his emotions, for the decisor stands before real cases—only he does so in a professional context. There one might indeed say: be’umanutei tarid.
A Note from the Perspective of Learning
One might argue that a learner who encounters such situations and in whom the relevant human emotions do not awaken has not fully entered the situation. This is a claim against him on the plane of learning, not on the moral plane. The claim is that he learns poorly—not that he is immoral. I do not think that is the case. A person can certainly enter the situation in a learning context even if he is not immersed in it in human terms. This claim of mine is, of course, conditional on viewing halakhah as a professional-technical enterprise that does not involve emotional planes (except at the second stage, as above). In any event, I certainly do not see here any moral defect.
[1] It is not certain this is connected specifically to a “feminine nature.” It may stem from the novelty of these matters, since women generally did not accustom themselves to such sugyot from childhood.
[2] The outcome itself is, in my view, welcome. It certainly does no harm for Technion students to study a bit of the humanities. But there is no connection between that and the “blood pipeline” case. The case does not demonstrate any problem that requires solving, and even if there were such a problem, humanities studies would not contribute in any way to solving it.
[3] Rashi, Numbers 16:7.
Discussion
Something similar happened when a certain gentile asked a yeshiva head how they study the sugya of atypical intercourse without it causing them sexual arousal. He answered that the students are not dealing with reality, but with halakhic norms that pertain to it.
Really a strange response, because the description in the Mishnah is not an “incident that actually happened.”
And for much less than this, the faithful of Israel, led by Torah scholars who study, mobilize to help families
These sugyot are like a “crash test” for cars, meant to test resilience in extreme situations. Not that we are sure every car will go through something like that on the road
A. Your analysis completely misses the humor in my remarks (note well: a telenovela! Out of the marvelous reservoir of scripts that this tractate provides, perhaps one will yet be written).
B. I, and your female doctoral students too (those not into articles for pseudo-scientific journals, and also not studying in the Department of Macramé and Home Economics. Who said essentialism and chauvinism and got nothing in return?) understand the double perspective perfectly well. As stated, some of us even enjoy it. Indeed, most of us are encountering Gemara sugyot of this type for the first time, and it seems to me that the seasoned, accustomed learner can only benefit from our surprised and fresh perspective (“defamiliarization”), precisely because it is an initial perspective, not a practiced and routine one. Everyone needs the healthy ability to look at things anew. Have no fear: better scholars and judges will emerge from this (not transgender ones).
C. At the same time, the scholar, decisor, and judge absolutely do not need to sob bitterly and go through packs of tissues while studying, instead of using their minds and powers of inference and learning. I am speaking (was speaking) about a healthy double perspective. Yes, even a wink works. Not only a tear.
D. And should a priestess be no better than an innkeeper? Go and see what Supreme Court rulings look like when the justices, by virtue of their role, discuss important issues that sometimes also involve disasters of one kind or another. The legal analysis there will appear in all its sharpness, and without detracting from the acuity of the discussion, there will always be some brief introduction or accompanying expressions that relate to the value-laden and moral side.
E. The question about rivers of blood and a pipe is a good example of bad humor. It touches on a standing argument here, about contempt and the failure to accord importance to context, atmosphere, and education.
Hello Hayuta.
A. I didn’t miss it at all. On the contrary, I wrote about the admiration and enjoyment of the duality and understood the humor perfectly well. And still, between the lines I understood that there was a note of criticism, and of course I was right. Your words here express this clearly. All in all, the Gemara does not insert a poetic introduction in the style of Cheshin.
B. That is certainly a perspective one can gain from, but usually the gain is not on the halakhic plane. I noted this at the end of the column. I am focusing on the moral criticism, which is irrelevant.
C. I understood that this was about a double perspective, and that is what I addressed. The question I dealt with is whether the absence of the second plane in relation to a hypothetical case should be worrying or not.
D. Supreme Court justices, unlike halakhic decisors, deal with law and not halakhah. In law there is greater weight than in halakhah (not always justifiably) to their own feelings. Beyond that, halakhic rulings deal with practical cases; the Gemara does not. In my remarks I pointed out this distinction.
E. I noted the criticism of the bad humor, and I said explicitly that this is not what I am discussing. The question I discussed is whether there is room for moral criticism.
And finally, the accusation of essentialism and chauvinism is typical and irrelevant (usually it serves well when substantive arguments run out). When I report my impressions from experience, I am speaking about facts. If the result is essentialist, then essentialism is probably correct. The way to deal with that is not to deny the results or accuse someone of essentialism, but to argue, with reasons, that the facts are incorrect. If you meant to do that, I did not notice such an argument in your remarks. One of the afflictions of weak populations (women in this context are certainly a weak population—do not immediately take offense on their behalf. Here I am even willing partially to accept the detestable expression “marginalized”) is to protest the factual description instead of dealing with the facts. I wrote about this regarding female Talmudic scholarship in Makor Rishon, and most of the women who read it were offended instead of drawing the necessary conclusions and trying to improve. That is a proven recipe for perpetuating the situation (if you think it is good, then perpetuation is not necessarily bad in your eyes, of course, but then I do not see what I am being accused of).
My criticism is not of the Gemara so much as of the learned Lithuanian-style approach that makes a mockery of the request for a double mode of relating. The example from the judges need not follow Cheshin’s well-known excessive poetic style; there are far better and more serious examples. As you know, these days I am occupied with the thought of another dear Jew among the alumni of that same Supreme Court, and there the matter is worthy of reflection.
My accusation of essentialism concerns style, not content—that is, how surprising, once again, mockery. Someone who insists on repeatedly ridiculing his interlocutors is precisely the one whose arguments should be suspected of being less successful. Or, to paraphrase your own holy tongue: “the above ridicule is typical and irrelevant (usually it serves well when substantive arguments run out).”
I understand, of course, that in practice you have encountered this sort of response from many female students, and that justifies one theory or another. I am only protesting the dismissive style (unlike PhD students in gender studies and home economics, who have a very highly developed moral sensitivity, especially when they are planning a pipeline that will carry their articles straight to the editorial offices of the pseudo-science journals)—in other words, we are back again, and this time I shall quote my own holy tongue: “the standing argument here, about contempt and the failure to accord importance to context, atmosphere, and education.”
Sharp as always. More power to you.
A few unformed thoughts:
A. Hayuta’s humor really was missed. (I confess that I missed it too on a first reading.)
B. It seems to me that it helps the child in heder that he formulates things in the language of the Gemara. If his bench-mate asks him what exactly atypical intercourse is, he’ll start getting flustered and blushing.
C. If my wife tells me she saw a crushed mouse in the street, without a precise description of what it looked like, it won’t make me nauseous. If I tell her—she’ll throw up. There are people who visualize the reality they read about and then experience it in a certain way, and there are those who do not. A person can read Harry Potter and then see the movie and say: that is not at all how I imagined him! And another person simply did not imagine him. I think the female doctoral students at Bar-Ilan understand the double perspective, but are incapable of not picturing the situations in their mind’s eye.
D. As a certain implication, it seems to me that if a person has experienced in reality the situation he is studying, it will be harder for him to remain detached. He will immediately picture the situation as he experienced it. Another reason it is easier for the child in heder to study atypical intercourse and so forth. It does not belong so much to his world.
E. It may also be that the desire to innovate, found among some of the female learners, and to project from their own world onto the Talmudic world rather than coming entirely as recipients, leads to study becoming emotional.
F. There is no doubt that emotional detachment helps one understand the sugyot clearly. It is still possible that something is lost if one does not later reconnect emotion to it. I am certain that morality should be connected to understanding the sugya; perhaps emotion too has some place there somewhere.
(I did not understand what the problem is with a blood pipe. Don’t they transfer blood through tubes to patients? Isn’t it possible to transfer blood in a sterile way between wards through a pipe? Or to transfer the blood of slaughtered animals by pipe for fertilizer? Or simply to the sewage system? I can understand there being a problem with asking a detailed question like: if you had to help a vampire transfer the blood from the area where he is slaughtering human beings to the kitchen by means of a pipe, how would you build it, etc. But this is an innocent question.)
Hayuta,
After all, the Gemara is written in the art of forceful brevity. (That is one of the wonders there, in my eyes, as an astonished reader.)
Whole worlds can be folded into a sentence of three words, a paragraph may contain gaps of hundreds of years—so how is a comparison to a Supreme Court ruling relevant? What is embedded in one short, sharp sentence of the Gemara would spill there over dozens, if not hundreds, of pages.
I do not suspect the craftsmen of the final formulation of the Talmudic page of being less sensitive than any woman or any Supreme Court justice.
And one must remember that everything began orally, and then the lack of writing materials, the need to copy and preserve generation after generation…
Perhaps you could suggest an example? What and how would you insert into the sugya under discussion?
But the double mode of relating is absent from the Gemara itself. This is not a Lithuanian invention. The Lithuanian scholar simply sticks to what is there, and his claim is that the double mode of relating is perfectly legitimate, except that it is not part of studying the sugya, and certainly does not indicate in any way either a moral virtue or a moral flaw.
I did not understand your claim about style. There is no mockery here. These are entirely typical arguments of the fools, male and female, in the gender faculties/departments. It is what they do almost all the time. What I said regarding women in general, even those who do not study gender (most of mine are like that), was that such arguments are characteristic of women, and I do indeed think these are the facts that emerge from my experience. This is not an argument but an empirical observation.
A. Maybe it was missed by you. But not by me. All my criticism stands in place regardless of the humor question.
B. Indeed, it is like asking R. Chaim what a frying pan is.
C. That is perfectly fine. I have no problem at all with those who picture the situations in their mind’s eye, nor with those who are horrified by them. I just do not think that this horror indicates a spiritual-moral virtue, nor that its absence indicates a flaw.
D. See C. This may perhaps relate to my qualified comment at the end of the column about the flaw in the study itself.
E. Good health to them. Is there some claim here? I am not engaged in diagnosing women or learners, but in the essence. Not where it comes from, but whether it is important and essential.
F. I explained where its place is.
I didn’t understand what the problem is with a question about a vampire. I see no problem with it.
With God’s help, 9 Nisan 5782
A halakhic decisor, when approaching a decision, must act out of a two-sided emotional storm. On the one hand, woe to him and to his soul if he errs and permits a married woman; and on the other hand, woe and alas to him if he leaves a woman chained when she can be permitted. The decisor is like a man walking on a narrow path at the edge of an abyss, where any slight deviation to the right or left may send him tumbling into the depths.
And the decisor must be in double anxiety, for indifference will bring him to an inauthentic ruling out of lack of concern, whereas a God-fearing decisor must care. He cares lest he stumble and permit the forbidden, and he cares lest he forbid the permitted. His anxiety and concern that justice come to light—that is the motive for his tireless striving toward the precise truth.
But the very emotional storm that moves him to clarify the halakhah itself requires that the clarification itself be done in a balanced and calm manner, for clarification done out of anxiety and loss of composure will not be able to reach the truth. Therefore, the decisor must be calm at the time of clarification, and be ready to weigh all the options, even the most painful ones. Therefore, when the question comes, the decisor must set the emotional storm aside and think coolly.
In this, the halakhic man resembles a soldier under fire, who must not react immediately. He must stop for a moment, take cover, observe where the fire is coming from, and then aim and shoot accurately at the target. A mistake in striking the enemy endangers the shooter, because it reveals to the enemy the location of his cover.
And so too the situation of a rescue worker who arrives at a traumatic incident with many injuries and many casualties, who must quickly read the situation and determine priorities: to treat immediately what is in immediate danger, to treat urgently what is urgent, and to leave for the final stage what is less urgent. A lucid assessment of the situation is the foundation of proper treatment.
The strong desire to win the battle or save the injured is the fuel that moved the soldier or the caregiver to volunteer for the combat unit or rescue force, but the decision what and how to act in the situation of the “incident” must be made with calculated and calm judgment.
Obviously it is nearly impossible to think calmly when confronted with an unexpected case, when under pressure one forgets all the “theory.” For that reason halakhic decisors, soldiers, and rescue personnel undergo a “training track” that aspires to anticipate every possible unexpected scenario, to formulate in advance patterns of action for each possible situation, and to drill how to react in every case. Then, when the “incident” arrives, the “action schema” immediately springs up, and one can act in an orderly way without having to start casuistic argument all over again. The plans were thought through and worked out beforehand.
These are the concerns of Tractate Yevamot. Disasters of earthquakes and collapsing houses, illnesses and epidemics, the disappearance of people on business journeys and ships sinking at sea, wars and bandits and libels—these were entirely possible situations in the world in which the sages lived, especially in the days of the revolts against the Romans, the Great Revolt and the Bar Kokhba revolt, in whose shadow the sages of the Mishnah acted and created.
A guidebook for effective treatment of catastrophic pressure situations must be matter-of-fact and concise, and clearly and briefly encompass all the archetypes of possible scenarios and propose for them a “treatment schema.” Therefore Tractate Yevamot is formulated in a short and dry way, just as a book on combat doctrine or first aid would be formulated in a matter-of-fact and dry way.
With blessings, Hillel Feiner-Gluskinos
In the Mishnah and Talmud the “telegraphic” formulation was necessitated by their being transmitted orally. In order for them to be memorized, they had to be phrased in a compact and memorable way. Lengthy intricate casuistry or effusions of the soul are not conducive to memorization. The Talmud was intended for in-depth analysis, and prayer was intended for outpouring of the soul. A “Mishnah” must be short, matter-of-fact, and concise
And so too our forefather Jacob, praying in fear and anxiety, “Save me, please, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau… lest he come and strike me, mother with children”—continues and acts with cool composure. He does not immediately begin to flee. On the contrary, he and his camp go to sleep (and who can sleep in such a dreadful situation?) and rise refreshed so that they can fight when they meet Esau’s force.\\
And similarly David, fleeing from his son Absalom, as he goes broken and crying out and praying for deliverance from the many rising against him—the whole people against the handful of loyalists who remained with him. He expresses all his anxiety in prayer, and his prayer infuses him with the strength to act with sober judgment. He tries the way of practical effort by sending Hushai the Archite to foil Ahithophel’s counsel, and after prayer and practical effort he girds himself with trust in God, and in his dreadful situation is able to fulfill, “In peace, together, I will lie down and sleep, for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.”
Anxiety finds its expression in prayer, and from within it a person girds himself with confidence to act with considered judgment.
With blessings, HFG
I agree with you, and it would never occur to me to rewrite the Gemara. The comparison to contemporary rulings concerns contemporary decisors. And perhaps the way a rabbi teaches his students. I imagine that if it were a woman rabbi teaching, she would teach this sugya to her female students, but there would be some small symbolic gesture there. A wink, a remark, and the like. The story of death in a collapse has no moral significance at all, just a tragedy that could happen even today in Ukraine. You make an interesting point regarding the oral transmission. Are you suggesting that there were certain gestures there that were not preserved when it was later put in writing in brief form? I don’t know, and I don’t think there is any way to know. Perhaps it would be worth challenging the experts here: is there anywhere in the Talmud a somewhat more ’emotional’ attitude toward something? For example, on today’s page there is the charming expression that appears several times—”are we dealing with wicked people?” It is a completely matter-of-fact statement, but it has a certain pleasantly questioning melody to it.
Indeed, as I wrote to Sarah, there is no moral flaw here. I saw on the Facebook page of one of the scholars that regarding those examples Tractate Yevamot repeatedly gives about Reuven and his rape victim, he suggested that perhaps, to preserve the honor of Reuven and Shimon, examples should instead be given from Aridatha and Dalphon and the rest of Haman’s ten sons. (On the other hand, it may be that this was said because of Purim and he did not mean it at all.) To accuse students of gender studies of not really meaning what they say, and of having as their goal the publication of articles, is slander, not an empirical observation.
With God’s help, 9 Nisan 5782 (the yahrzeit of Rabbi Aryeh Levin)
To Hayuta and Sarah—greetings,
The tannaim and amoraim who were masters of halakhah were also masters of aggadah and composers of prayers. In their halakhic teachings they were careful to use a matter-of-fact formulation, whereas their emotional world they expressed in their aggadic teachings and in the prayers they established (several beautiful personal prayers said by tannaim and amoraim “after his prayer” were collected together in Tractate Berakhot, and many of them were incorporated into the siddur). A time for Torah is one thing and a time for prayer is another.
With blessings, Hillel Feiner-Gluskinos
And not like the tendency of contemporary female Torah students to combine study with emotion, about whom it may be said: “He who teaches his daughter Torah teaches her prayers” 🙂
I agree with everything you wrote.
And even within halakhah itself, a great deal of emotion is often stored up. And of course the combination of aggadah and halakhah allows this to some extent,
as, for example (for Hayuta), one of the most touching, in my view: “Rav said: A man should always be careful not to wrong his wife, for since her tears are frequent, her hurt is near” (Bava Metzia 59a). (I wonder whether any Supreme Court justice allowed himself to gush quite that much.)
Certainly. They quote it.
Regarding the instrumental claim (which I too do not accept), in the thread you opened on AtsKh perhaps the people of Sura are an extreme illustration of that claim in a non-hypothetical case. https://www.bhol.co.il/forums/topic.asp?cat_id=24&topic_id=2827720&forum_id=1364
They do quote it, yes, but it is not certain they would have initiated such a claim.
By the way, one can see how rulings have grown longer and more wearisome over the years, as typing has become easy, all the sources are available, and there is no longer any need to dictate to a typist. It seems to me that court rulings in the rabbinical courts are like that too.
Indeed, there, together with Rami bar Dikuli, the events are tragedy and comedy in one place. But there one can say that since the things had already been done, they asked him about his actions. And apparently he did not want to rely on others’ table
There is room for “decisional emotion” according to the Gemara when two parties come to argue before judges and there is no clear ruling, what is called “shuda de-dayyanei.”
I myself had such an incident: someone opened an online discussion on the question, “If you discovered tomorrow that Christianity is true—would you change your way of life accordingly?” Some of the idiotic responses were, “That won’t happen, so there’s no point in the question.” People really have trouble understanding the whole idea of a hypothetical question. I tried to explain to them that they also will in all likelihood never have to throw a very fat man onto railroad tracks in order to prevent a train from running over five bound people, and yet this is a basic question in courses on moral philosophy; but it didn’t work…
Afterward someone argued with me that in principle hypothetical questions are fine, but there are things that are too emotionally shocking, and therefore it is not okay to discuss them hypothetically (as opposed, say, to a very fat man being run over by a train, which is apparently not shocking at all). The writer was a rebbe in a yeshiva high school, and I truly do not understand what he does with sugyot like the one you mentioned here… In any event, after a short argument he asked me whether I thought it would be legitimate for him to ask me, “What would you do if you discovered tomorrow that your mother is a murderer?” Of course I did not understand what the problem was with that, and I even went and told my mother, who also did not understand what the problem was with that question… Besides, in the course of the argument he had in fact asked the question, so I didn’t really understand what point he was trying to clarify.
Bottom line—when people find it hard to cope with the content (intellectually!), they flee to the margins and try to point to cosmetic ‘problems’ as an excuse why it is ‘inappropriate’ to deal with this content in the first place (and then on Shavuot night all that remains to study is “Tree, tree, with what shall I bless you”—which really is a very aesthetic story).
Hello Rabbi Michi.
It is hard to argue with your claim. Indeed, in terms of “common sense” it is clear that the cleanest and most correct thing is to work with a purely rational halakhic analysis. But one cannot ignore the fact that many times the scholarly sugyot of the Talmud are wrapped in stories that give them an emotional, human, or moral orientation.
I will give 2 examples (the first is a bit weak): after Tractate Gittin discusses all the minute details of the various hypothetical and real problems, it takes care to conclude with a homily about hatred and divorce, and how painful divorce itself is to the Holy One, blessed be He. Why is it important for the Gemara to conclude the tractate that way? Is there not an orientation there?
In the Gemara in Kiddushin there is the beautiful aggadah about Rav Asi and his mother. It is so important that it entered in full into Hilkhot Mamrim chapter 6 in Maimonides. At the end of the sugya it says that Rav Asi said, “Had I known, I would not have left.” Most commentators explained that sentence through halakhic lenses. Rav Asi is saying that he would not have left the Land of Israel for a variety of halakhic reasons (the impurity of the nations because he was a priest, and other reasons). Maimonides wrote in halakhah that indeed, if one’s parents have gone mad, one may leave them and command someone else to watch over them. The Kesef Mishneh strengthens Maimonides and says that even though this is not written explicitly in the sugya, presumably this is what Rav Asi did. The Raavad is angry with Maimonides and argues that this is not the proper way, and how can a person leave his parents for someone else to watch over them. (One can argue that this too is a halakhic consideration, but simply speaking it sounds like he cannot morally tolerate the idea.) The Rashash does not like how the commentators explained the phrase “had I known, I would not have left,” namely that he would have left the Land of Israel; rather he claims that “had I known” means that his mother would die on the journey and suffer from the anguish, “I would not have left” = I would not have left Babylonia. And he refers to the Raavad’s attack on Maimonides.
The truth is that it appears that in practice the halakhic right is with Maimonides and the Kesef Mishneh, but our eyes see that a scholar and decisor read this aggadah for practical halakhic purposes in a romantic-moral way.
I estimate that if I had before me the book of the Torah scholar Rabbi Yehuda Brandes, Aggadah for Practice, I would bring a few more examples, and surely better ones.
P.S.: We are waiting and looking forward to a column on the conversion controversy (how long can one restrain oneself?)
Shuda de-dayyanei is a ruling in very specific cases, not in every situation where there is no decision. For that there are the laws of doubts. But even shuda is not emotion but intuition. The two are not close to one another.
Indeed. I would only note that there is room for his claim regarding Christianity in the following way: perhaps in his view, if Christianity were rational, then it would not be the Christianity we know. Therefore there is no room for the question what I would do if I discovered that Christianity is true. So too there is no room for the question what Maimonides would have said about some situation nowadays. If he were alive nowadays, he would not be Maimonides.
Indeed there are quite a few examples. See, for instance, column 214 on “his fire is due to his arrows.” But that is not relevant to what I said here. They wanted to teach me that divorce is a bad thing. What does that have to do with halakhic ruling in these matters? It pertains to general conduct outside halakhah—that one should try to avoid divorce.
“The decisor must think coolly about the case before him. What halakhah says is unrelated to what emotion says (and in my opinion even to what morality says), and that is a good thing. The decisor must cut the law with detached coolness, and thus will merit to aim at the true truth of Torah.” That is your statement.
I gave an example from the story of Rav Asi and his mother, which was discussed halakhically. I showed that Maimonides, the Kesef Mishneh, and the Maharsha discussed it using halakhic tools. I concluded by noting that the Raavad and the Rashash disagreed with them halakhically on a human or moral background.
A partial quotation is worse than not quoting at all. After all, I wrote that there is room to introduce such considerations at stage two, after one finishes discussing the basic halakhic options. If the law is not cut decisively and several options remain, then the means of deciding among them may also include morality (and perhaps emotions as an indicator).
1. Perhaps this is one of the reasons Gemara is not for women and they are disqualified from judging? (Asking, not asserting.)
2. The truth is that for years, when I read “twice Scripture and once Targum,” I encounter stories in the Torah in which, to my taste and to the taste of our feminine generation, there seems to be a lack of emotion there (only seemingly, of course). I have never shared this with my surroundings because I do not have the words to convey my feelings, especially since we are dealing with matters of emotion. Right now I do not remember many examples other than one: when Eliezer comes in negotiation to take Rebecca (in those days, before the globe had turned into one family, it may have been a worldwide parting from her family, which adds emotional coloring here), and her father Bethuel and her brother Laban tried to delay; and afterwards the Torah says that her brother and her mother answered Eliezer, “Let us ask the girl herself” (do not forget that she was three years old—another point contributing emotion to the whole spectacle). Our sages ask: and where was her father Bethuel? They answer that he died (he ate the poisoned plate he had prepared for Eliezer, by an angel who switched the plates, if I remember my heder memories correctly). And immediately it is stated that indeed they asked her and sent Rebecca on her way. Here the son asks: let us imagine the situation nowadays—a tragedy like that, a father dies suddenly. I assume everything would come to a complete halt. Eliezer would put aside, at least for the time being, his plans and would feel some embarrassment at his whole status and his being in their home at this moment in face of the family tragedy (perhaps trying to pack his things quietly and leave the area, having come in vain at such a difficult time; or alternatively, out of discomfort with the whole situation that has landed here, ostensibly forgetting the purpose of his coming and helping with all his body and soul to organize the funeral and build a mourning tent and bring chairs for the mourners, etc., etc.). But in fact, in the Torah the world just carries on as usual. Aside from the plans continuing as planned, there is no expression or hint whatsoever of any sensitivity. The Torah reader goes on in a moment and continues to the next matter. They sometimes accuse the rabbi of autism; here the rabbi has support “from the Torah” for being in good company. (There were years when, as the Torah reader read about Esau, “and he cried out with an exceedingly great and bitter cry,” I had to hold myself back from crying; and when the Torah reader reached Esau’s weeping, saying, “Have you but one blessing, my father?” I could no longer restrain myself. Not to mention the portion of Joseph and his brothers. Yes, gentlemen, that is the situation. (That shock of Esau’s did not pass unnoticed according to our sages—it paid off through Mordecai the Jew thousands of years later, as is known.) Rabbi Elyashiv once answered that he does not let the difficult cases that came before him (perhaps when he sat as a judge) penetrate beyond the button of his shirt. Once, when judges tried to move a man to give his wife a get by telling him it is written that the altar sheds tears over him, he answered them: no matter; until today I shed tears—now it won’t hurt if it sheds a few tears too. It seems to me that it is worthwhile to connect here the instructive Talmudic story of the father who witnessed his son being stabbed in the Temple, and the father entered a trance of halakhic precision and instructed them to remove his son while he was still convulsing from the Temple court for fear of impurity (instead of gasping in horror). The Gemara discusses that father there: does he have excessive fear of Heaven, or “autism” regarding the murder?
3. Regarding the rabbi’s remark, “it is like asking R. Chaim what a frying pan is,” the rabbi’s example is not good, and I will illustrate this with a story. Once R. Avraham Genichovsky came to ask R. Chaim about a type of avocado-pit growth (which children sometimes grow at home), perhaps regarding tithes. R. Chaim asked him, what is avocado? R. Avraham became excited and said, Do you understand what the rabbi is saying? In all of the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmud, the midrashim, the Tosefta, the Zohar, etc., the word avocado does not exist.
Whereas a frying pan is mentioned in the Torah several times. This is a place to thank the rabbi for “the article the rabbi didn’t write” following the passing of our master, in fulfilling what was ruled: just as it is a mitzvah to say something that will be heard, so it is a mitzvah not to say something that will not be heard (for it is clear that the article would have dealt partly in his praise, while most of it would have been critical). And although the rabbi likes to slaughter sacred cows, right now, within the thirty days, at a heated moment, that tends more toward blowing up the Dome of the Rock than slaughtering a sacred cow. Once I asked our neighborhood rabbi, who is expert in the laws of slander, whether I may tell a secular person something about another person that is truly praise (and I add that to me it is great praise), except that the listener thinks this story is derogatory. I gave as an example the stories about R. Chaim. (By the way, R. Chaim used to pray for this three times a day—not to remember anything except Torah. This is further evidence against the rabbi that prayers do help.) If I remember correctly, the rabbi answered me that it is apparently forbidden. In the course of it he told me that when he was a yeshiva student in America, there were presidential elections—I think for a president named Johnson—and they had a custodian in the yeshiva by that name. Their rosh yeshiva, being so immersed in study, when they told him the next day that the elected president was Johnson, was astonished: how did the yeshiva custodian become President of the United States overnight?
R. Chaim of the frying pan is R. Chaim of Brisk
How do you know that? In any case, the main thing is that we both agree it isn’t R. Chaim Walder
They say that R. Chaim of Brisk removed frying pans and pots from Yoreh De’ah; that is, one need not know exactly how a frying pan is constructed and what the ratio is between the length of the handle and the diameter of the pan, but it is enough to know the required properties that are halakhically relevant and the halakhah pertaining to it. So too, with atypical intercourse, a child does not need to understand exactly what it is, only that they do something not in its usual way and that there are various laws about it, and his halakhic understanding is not impaired at all by this.
And in general, an unqualified “R. Chaim” is R. Chaim of Brisk (at least in places where they deal more in Gemara than in halakhah), just as an unqualified “Rashba” is R. Shlomo ben Aderet and not R. Shimshon of Shantz, although the honor due to both is very great.
Although study must be in the mode of “the mind ruling over the heart.” Torah study requires attentiveness to the Torah, which does not always overlap with the inclination of the heart—still, after the intellectual clarification, we must transfer the matters to the heart, aspiring to create personal identification with what has been learned.
See the article by Rabbanit Or Malchof (a Talmud teacher at Migdal Oz Beit Midrash for Women), in the collection Ki Bam Chayyitani, Migdal Oz 5777, p. 31ff. There she cites, among other things, the pain of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik: “The Haredi youth succeeded in the realm of intellectual effort… he acquired knowledge, conceptual analyses, and legal rulings. He enjoys fine lectures and penetrating study of a complex sugya. But still the heart does not participate in this activity… the halakhah does not become for him a psychic reality. Real acquaintance with the Shekhinah is lacking…” (Divrei Hashkafah, p. 209). See the article at length.
It seems to me, in my humble opinion, that Torah requires activating the heart before it and after it. Before it—a longing to connect to God through His wisdom and His will in the Torah, and prayer that we merit to aim at the truth; and after it—prayer that we merit to implement in life the values about which we have learned.
,
With blessings, Hillel Feiner-Gluskinos
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personal identification with what has been learned…
Rabbi, this gave me déjà vu to a story I heard in exactly this connection:
I remember that in a class I attended, the rabbi giving the class told us (all the participants were men) that he had given a Gemara class to girls in a midrasha, and it was in Tractate Yevamot.
He told us that he drew on the board the whole “family” from the sugya and put Xs on all the “dead people,” and then he looked back and saw that the students’ faces were terrified.
They felt sorry for the “dead people” drawn on the board.
Needless to say, we all laughed and smiled upon hearing the story.
With God’s help, 12 Nisan 5782
On the importance of preserving one’s composure during action, Hasidic teachers explained the saying of our sages, “Thus did Aaron—teaching us that he did not change.” What is not understood is what the salka da’ata was that Aaron, the holy one of God, would alter the command of the Holy One, blessed be He? The Hasidic teachers explained that although Aaron was full of enthusiasm when he went to light the menorah, and there was room to fear that out of sheer enthusiasm he might err in the details, the text teaches us that despite his enthusiasm, Aaron was careful to perform what was incumbent upon him with precision.
With blessings, Hillel Feiner-Gluskinos
Sorry, I was mistaken. I meant the murder of the Ungar family in Safed, one of the responsa in Achiezer, vol. 3, no. 33.
How does one find the responsum? I’d be happy to see the source. Thanks.
I’ll summarize briefly what is said there.
A. The case that appeared in the column:
[A man married his niece and another woman as well. If he dies, then his brothers cannot perform levirate marriage with his niece (who is a forbidden relation), and therefore both she and her co-wife, the other woman, are exempt from levirate marriage and from halitzah (they are forbidden for levirate marriage). If his niece died before her husband, and afterward the husband died, then at the time of death the other woman was not the co-wife of a forbidden relation, and therefore requires levirate marriage.]
The issue discussed in the Gemara is: if we do not know who died first, did the husband die first while his wife (his niece) was still alive, in which case the other woman was exempt from levirate marriage, or did the wife die first and afterward the husband died, in which case the other woman is obligated in levirate marriage? [And the law is that since there is doubt whether she is obligated in levirate marriage or forbidden in levirate marriage, she performs halitzah but does not enter levirate marriage.]
B. The case in Achiezer:
[If a man dies and at the time of his death leaves surviving offspring or a viable fetus, his wife is exempt from levirate marriage. But if he had no children at all, or if all of them died before he did, then his wife is obligated in levirate marriage. If he dies and leaves a fetus that was born after his death and lived even only one hour and died, or leaves a dying son, that counts as offspring in every respect and his wife is exempt from levirate marriage.]
The issue in Achiezer is a father who died and at the time of his death left a son with a mortal condition who died one day after his father. The murderers stabbed him and perforated his lung. Is a son with a mortal condition considered offspring in every respect, like a dying person, such that the deceased man’s wife is exempt from levirate marriage? Or is one with a mortal condition (who will certainly die within twelve months) worse than a dying person (of whom a minority do survive)? [Ginat Veradim thinks that someone with a mortal condition is not considered alive at all and is worse than a dying person, and therefore the deceased man’s wife is obligated in levirate marriage. Achiezer proves from Tosafot that a son with a mortal condition does indeed exempt from levirate marriage.]
https://hebrewbooks.org/pdfpager.aspx?req=634&st=&pgnum=455
There is a similarity in that two family members died within a short period of time (from the same cause).
This is already literally today’s daf 🙂
I assume Nadav means the Achiezer responsum in vol. 3, middle of sec. 33:
In the month of Adar 5697 (3), regarding the question of his honor, the distinguished rabbi, that during the days of the murders in the Holy Land the father was killed and afterward the son, who lived one day, was killed, for the murderers stabbed him and perforated the lung—whether she is permitted to remarry without halitzah, since in the responsa Ginat Veradim, by the Sephardic sage, cited in Birkei Yosef and by R. Akiva Eiger and in Pitchei Teshuvah, sec. 156, he inclines to be stringent, for one with a mortal condition is like the dead and does not exempt; and his honor drew support from the words of Tosafot Rid on Shabbat 136, where it is explicit that a son with a mortal condition obligates and exempts, and he asks for my opinion on this.
Now, I have seen the responsa Ginat Veradim, and I did not find there any proof for his novelty, except from the fact that the Mishnah teaches a dying person and a slashed person, and does not teach one with a mortal condition—implying that one with a mortal condition does not exempt. However, from the words of Tosafot on Yevamot 120, s.v. lememra, they write as follows: “It may be said that in the case of a dying person who has been slashed, since he is dying by human agency, he does not live,” end quote from Tosafot. And the intent of Tosafot appears to be that this is like one dying by human agency, as explained in Sanhedrin 78, that according to the Rabbis who disagree with R. ben Beteira, he is like one with a mortal condition. And so too Maimonides wrote in ch. 2 of the Laws of Murderer, that one who kills him is not executed, like one with a mortal condition. See also the Ritva and Tosafot HaRosh on Yevamot there, who likewise explain that even though he is slashed, he is dying. And this is also explicit in the explanation of R. Yitzhak in Tosafot on Yevamot there, that a slashed person stands in the place of mortal injury, whose end is not to live. And see the glosses of the Hatam Sofer there, that he is worse than one with a mortal condition not through slashing—see there. If so, it is explicit in the Mishnah that a dying and slashed person is one with a mortal condition. See also Beit Shmuel, Even HaEzer sec. 17, subsec. 94, and also Pitchei Teshuvah, Even HaEzer sec. 15, subsec. 11. In any case, it is proven from the words of Tosafot that even a dying and slashed person by human agency, who is like one with a mortal condition, exempts. And so too it is written simply in the responsa She’elat David, appended to the book Piskei Halakhot, part 1, by the gaon R. David Friedman, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing, rabbi of Karlin, sec. 3, that we are not concerned that he has a mortal condition, for the dying and slashed person creates the levirate bond and exempts from levirate marriage. And in general the matter is strange—that if he left an adult son with a mortal condition she should require halitzah, and there should also be levirate marriage with the wife of a brother who has a son who has a mortal condition. And since his honor brought the words of Tosafot Rid on Shabbat 136, where it is explicit that one with a mortal condition creates the levirate bond and exempts, and so too it is proven from Tosafot on Yevamot 120, certainly there is no need at all to be concerned because of the uncertainty of Ginat Veradim, and she does not require halitzah and is permitted to remarry. +And later I saw in the responsa Beit Yitzhak, Yoreh De’ah part 2, sec. 99, that he also ruled simply in practice not like Ginat Veradim, and that she does not require halitzah and is permitted to remarry; and he wrote that the matter should be buried and that Heaven forbid one should say such a thing. See also responsa Beit Yitzhak, part 1, where he likewise wondered at the words of Tosafot Rid on Shabbat.+
But this is not our case. Still, one can be impressed by the mode of treatment and the absolute lack of any reference to the emotional dimensions.
[Regarding the end of your remarks about the mode of treatment: searching in Otzar HaHokhmah shows that the one who asked the Achiezer was Rabbi Tzvi Pesach Frank, who had himself been asked about this by the rabbi of Safed, where the case occurred, and they had already expressed the horror etc., so the Achiezer did not repeat an expression of shock.]
For a brief moment I thought perhaps this was similar to the story in Yoma about the priest who murdered his fellow on the ramp, and while he was still convulsing his father discussed the fitness of the knife, about which articles and sermons have been written. But it is not similar at all, because here it is a murder by enemies and not callousness to a murder committed by a Jew.
With God’s help, 13 Nisan 5782 (the yahrzeit of Rabbi Yosef Karo)
The whole discussion about the feelings or lack of feelings of halakhic decisors on the basis of the wording of their responsa is irrelevant. The sages expressed their emotional response to the events of the time in their sermons to the community, whose purpose was to arouse the emotions of the listening public. In the halakhic responsum the discussion is halakhically “dry.” A ruling is one thing and a sermon is another.
It is worth noting that only a tiny fraction of the works of the sages of Israel were printed, among other reasons because of the expense of printing. Therefore they tried to print the selection that contained significant novelty—whether novelty in halakhah or novelty in aggadah. In the expression of feelings—joy over good news and sorrow over bad news—there is no novelty; every person feels this, and there is no need to elaborate on it while adding pages. Even of the novelties they printed only very little.
With blessings, the young fellow.
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…on the basis of their wording…
It should be noted that sometimes they elaborate in a responsum with words of sorrow when they are compelled to rule stringently. When the decisor feels that despite his great desire he has no power to save, then he will sometimes express his sorrow even in his ruling.
Thus, for example, Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky would instruct briefly, in a few words, what his position was; but Rabbi Menachem Burstein related that there were cases in which Rabbi Kanievsky said: “Oy, oy, oy. I cannot permit it.”
The halakhic issue mentioned here was discussed in real life, if I remember correctly, following the murder of the Makleff family members in Motza during the 1929 riots.