Lesson 47: Eikev

From the book Mida Tova: Articles on the Principles of Halakhic Thinking by Rabbi Michael Avraham. Translated from Hebrew using gpt-5.4 (reasoning_effort=high, batch API).

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With God’s help

Concepts

• Between loving a quality and loving a person
• Are there mitzvot (commandments) whose object is an emotion?
• Does halakha (Jewish law) mechanize emotions?
• The halakhic relation between emotion and the actions derived from it
• Love and desire

Abstract

In this week’s essay we deal with the commandment to love the convert. By comparing it to the prohibition against wronging the convert or stranger—which, according to Sefer HaChinukh, are two sides of the same coin—we encounter two rationales given for these commandments, and in the medieval authorities they appear together: compassion for the convert as one in a vulnerable condition, and love for him because the Holy One, blessed be He, loves him.

We examine several difficulties regarding the commandment to love the convert: How can one command emotions? Does the Torah really do so? Why is there a duplication between the commandment to love the convert and the commandment to love one’s fellow?

We present an explanation by Rabbi Isaac Hutner, who defines the halakhic commandments of love as including the reason for the love as part of the very definition of the commandment. We are commanded to love the convert because he is a convert, and not merely to love him as a human being. The same is true with regard to a Jew, and so forth.

We conclude with a brief and non-exhaustive discussion of the relation between love and desire. Love is an active state, while desire is a passive one. The Torah commands us to be active, whereas emotions are passive states, and therefore it is plausible that the Torah does not command them directly. We argue that love contains cognitive dimensions, and not only emotional-instinctive ones.

At the end of our discussion we comment on the relation between halakha as a normative system—which seemingly “mechanizes” our emotions—and the way of life of a Jew who lives by halakha. Such a Jew operates on other planes as well, but those planes are not the concern of halakha.

On the Love of the Convert

A Look at Love and Emotions in Halakha and in General

Introduction

In this week’s essay we will address the question of halakhic formalism from a special angle. We will examine the distinction between the halakhot that instruct us to love various people and the moral ideas hidden behind them. There are many commandments that deal with emotions—love, hatred, desire, and the like. This topic gives us an opening to examine the relation between the commandments and our emotions, since it is difficult to understand how we can be commanded concerning emotions, which seem, at least at first glance, to be instincts.

We will ask whether we are indeed commanded with respect to an emotional state. If so, toward whom, or toward what? Or perhaps these are merely technical commandments that instruct us regarding practical conduct, and not regarding emotional states?

A. The Commandment to Love the Convert and the Prohibition Against Wronging Him

The passage about loving the convert

In the course of Moses’ speech there is a passage in our Torah portion that contains several general statements about the good that the Lord has done for us and our obligation toward Him. Suddenly, in the middle of that passage, one commandment appears: the love of the stranger or convert, in Deuteronomy 10:12-22:

And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you? Only to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways, to love Him, and to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul; to keep the commandments of the Lord and His statutes, which I command you today for your good. Behold, to the Lord your God belong the heavens and the highest heavens, the earth and all that is in it. Yet only in your fathers did the Lord delight, to love them, and He chose their offspring after them—you—from all the peoples, as at this day. Circumcise, therefore, the foreskin of your heart, and stiffen your neck no more. For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, mighty, and awesome God, who shows no partiality and takes no bribe. He executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and He loves the stranger, giving him bread and clothing. Therefore you shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. You shall fear the Lord your God; Him shall you serve; to Him shall you cleave; and by His name shall you swear. He is your praise and He is your God, who has done for you these great and awesome things that your eyes have seen. Your fathers went down to Egypt with seventy persons, and now the Lord your God has made you as numerous as the stars of heaven.

It is very surprising to discover, in the middle of such a general passage—which speaks about our principled obligation to the Holy One, blessed be He, and the kindnesses He has done for us—two verses about the fact that God executes justice for the orphan and widow and loves the stranger, followed immediately by a command to us to love the stranger. This implies that the fact that God loves the stranger is a rationale for the obligation to love the stranger; in addition, there is a second rationale: we too were strangers in Egypt.

A parallel commandment in Parashat Mishpatim

There is a parallel command in Parashat Mishpatim as well, in Exodus 22:20:

You shall not wrong a stranger, nor shall you oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.

This command does not deal with loving the stranger, but with the duty not to cause him suffering, or not to rob him—there are several additional interpretations offered by the commentators on the Torah. It should be noted that here these duties are grounded only in the fact that we too were strangers in the land of Egypt, and not in the fact that God loves strangers, as in our passage. Rashi and Nahmanides here connect the obligation to love the convert to our having been strangers in Egypt—as the verse itself states—and add the guideline: do not reproach your fellow with a defect that is in yourself.

The relation between the passages and the rationales

Why, in fact, is there a difference between the rationales the Torah gives in these two contexts?¹ To understand this, we must remember that the term “stranger” in Parashat Mishpatim refers to someone uprooted from his place, and not necessarily to a halakhic convert. So too writes Rashi there:

Wherever the word “stranger” appears, it means a person who was not born in that country, but came from another country to live there.

This is also proven by the comparison to our being strangers in Egypt, which certainly was not “conversion” in the halakhic sense. By contrast, here the reference is clearly to a gentile who converted and became a Jew; see Sefer HaChinukh, commandment 431, and below. If so, it is clear that one cannot base the commandment to love the convert solely on our being strangers in Egypt, and therefore the additional statement is needed that God Himself loves converts. Conversely, the rationale that God loves converts provides a basis for the commandment to love one who converted, and not every outsider.

It appears that the difference between the rationales also lies in the contents of the commands. In Parashat Mishpatim the issue is the prohibition against causing suffering to a stranger—in the sense of a person uprooted from his place, an outsider—and the natural basis for that is our own experience as strangers in Egypt. By contrast, here the issue is the duty to love the convert in the halakhic sense, and for that the rationale is also given that God loves converts. Indeed, in the verse in our passage there is a different treatment of the orphan and widow as opposed to the stranger. The orphan and widow are presented as those for whom God executes justice. By contrast, the stranger is presented as one whom God loves. It is therefore reasonable to see this as a rationale for the duty to love the convert, and not merely not to mistreat him. See also Rabbi Isaac Hutner’s discussion below.

Nahmanides on Parashat Mishpatim

Nahmanides on Parashat Mishpatim brings several explanations of this matter and rejects them:

“For you were strangers in the land of Egypt”—all strangers were not thereby rendered privileged merely because we were strangers in another land for a time, and there is no reason they should forever be protected on that account. Rashi explained that this is the reason for “you shall not wrong him”: it warns that you must not wrong him verbally, for if you wrong him he too can wrong you and say to you, “You too come from strangers; do not say to your fellow what is your own defect.” Rabbi Abraham ibn Ezra said: remember that you were strangers like him. But none of this provides the essential reason.

Nahmanides argues that the fact that we were strangers in Egypt does not by itself validate or privilege all strangers. Rashi, however, claims that this is not a reason to regard them as “fit,” but rather a reason for empathy, which is the basis for the prohibition against mistreating the stranger, though not necessarily for the duty to love him. The legitimacy of the convert is a reason for the commandment to love him, but it is not needed as the basis for the prohibition against mistreating him. Therefore the commandment of love applies only to a halakhic convert, whereas the prohibition against mistreating applies to every stranger and outsider who has been exiled from his place. This is apparently the explanation of Rashi’s view.

Nahmanides offers another explanation of the prohibition against mistreating a stranger, and of the rationale of our having been strangers in Egypt:

In my opinion the correct meaning is this: you shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, and you should not think that he has no rescuer from your hand, for you know that you were strangers in the land of Egypt, and I saw the oppression with which the Egyptians oppressed you and took vengeance upon them. For I see the tears of the oppressed who have no comforter, and from the hand of their oppressors there is force, and I rescue every person from one stronger than he. Likewise, do not afflict the widow and the orphan, for I shall hear their cry, since all these do not rely on themselves, but rely on Me. In the other verse an additional reason is given: “and you know the soul of the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (below, Exodus 23:9). That is to say: you know that every stranger is brought low in spirit, sighs and cries, and always turns his eyes to the Lord, that He may have mercy on him as He had mercy on you, as it is written (above, Exodus 2:23), “The children of Israel sighed by reason of the bondage, and they cried, and their cry came up to God by reason of the bondage.” That is, not because of their merit, but because He had compassion on them because of the bondage.

Nahmanides’ interpretation seems to connect the two rationales we mentioned. One must not mistreat the stranger because we too were strangers in Egypt. And if we think that the stranger has no escape from us and no savior, we should remember our own condition in Egypt, from which the Holy One, blessed be He, saved us. In other words, God’s love for strangers, which is mentioned in our passage, is also connected to the prohibition against wronging a stranger and to the obligation to love him. It still requires clarification whether Nahmanides also links the meanings of the term “stranger” in the two passages—that is, whether there is a duty to love every outsider and not only a halakhic convert. Here he mentions only the prohibition against causing him suffering, and not the duty to love him.

An implication: the Canaanite slave

The author of Minchat Chinukh, on commandment 431, debates whether the commandment to love the convert also includes a commandment to love the slave, meaning the Canaanite slave. On the one hand, he argues, the slave is called a “fellow” in every respect, as is clear from Babylonian Talmud, Bava Kamma 88a. He adds that the slave is included in this commandment because he has “entered the religion,” as Sefer HaChinukh himself writes. On the other hand, Minchat Chinukh notes that the language “convert” does not imply that it includes a slave, since a slave is neither considered nor called a convert.

At first glance, the matter depends on the rationales we discussed above. If the rationale for loving the convert is his entrance into the sphere of commandments, then indeed the slave too has entered the realm of commandments, though not fully—which is why he is not called a convert—and there is room to discuss whether he is not included in this commandment. On the other hand, if the rationale is to love the outsider who has been exiled from his place, like Israel in Egypt, then a slave seems even more fitting than a stranger, for we ourselves were slaves, and moreover the slave is usually in a more difficult condition than a stranger.

It should, however, be noted regarding the proof brought by Minchat Chinukh from the discussion in Babylonian Talmud, Bava Kamma 88a, that the discussion there is whether a slave is included in the category “your brother,” but not necessarily in “your fellow.” Minchat Chinukh here assumes that the two are identical concepts. See also his comments on commandment 338, where he writes that a slave is included in “your fellow” with regard to the verse “You shall not wrong one another.” Likewise, in commandment 63, on the prohibition against wronging a convert, Minchat Chinukh determines that a slave is not included, because he is not a convert, though he is unsure whether he is included within Israel, for whom there is also a prohibition against wronging. Some later authorities distinguished among these terms.

For example, Pri Megadim, Orach Chayyim 156, in Eshel Avraham, s.v. “I have wondered,” discusses this uncertainty. See also Imrei Binah, Orach Chayyim 13:6, and Sdei Chemed, General Principles, the letter resh, rule 50.

Why is there a difference between “your brother” and “your fellow,” where the slave is certainly included, and “your neighbor,” about which the decisors doubt and disagree?

To whom is the prohibition “You shall not wrong a stranger” addressed?

Up to this point we have assumed that the commandment not to wrong a stranger is directed toward anyone who is an outsider where he is found, and not specifically toward a convert in the halakhic sense. That also seems to follow from the rationale the Torah gives. Yet in the decisors this duty appears in a narrower form, applying only to actual converts. For example, Sefer HaChinukh, commandment 63, writes:

We are commanded to refrain from wronging the convert even verbally, and this means one of the nations who converted and entered our religion; we are forbidden to demean him even in words, as it is said, “You shall not wrong a convert.”

If so, this commandment too was said only with respect to converts in the halakhic sense. The rationale that Sefer HaChinukh gives there also fits this picture, for he writes:

Although we are already warned concerning this with regard to Israelites, nevertheless, once this person has entered our religion he is like an Israelite, and Scripture added a special warning concerning him. The warning was also repeated concerning him, as it is written, “You shall not wrong him” once again, because wronging is more likely in his case than with an Israelite, since the Israelite has redeemers who demand redress for his insult. There is also another reason: there is a concern lest he revert to his former way because of the anger caused by humiliations. And it is said in Sifra that one must not say to him, “Yesterday you worshipped idolatry, and now you have entered beneath the wings of the Divine Presence.”

The special prohibition concerning the convert, beyond the prohibition concerning an ordinary Israelite, is said because the convert is in a more delicate situation, being alone. Moreover, because of the humiliations and suffering inflicted on him, he may revert to his former way. The second rationale, of course, is not relevant to “stranger” in the sense of an outsider.

Maimonides, in Negative Commandment 252 and Positive Commandment 207, Sefer Mitzvot Gadol—according to its reading in Babylonian Talmud, Bekhorot 30b—and Sefer Yere’im (179, see also 213) all follow the approach of Sefer HaChinukh, according to which this prohibition was said only with respect to the convert in the halakhic sense. Sefer Mitzvot Gadol also brings an exegetical teaching to support this position: “At the time when he accepted upon himself the entire Torah like one of you, you shall not wrong him.”

And so we find in Babylonian Talmud, Bava Metzia 59a:

“You shall not wrong one another”—do not wrong one who is with you in Torah.

This implies that the prohibition of wronging applies only to one who is with you in Torah and commandments; that is, only to a convert. See also the glosses of Rabbi Moses Isserles, Shulchan Arukh, Choshen Mishpat 228:1. But this is not decisive proof, since the Talmud is dealing with the prohibition against wronging an Israelite, and not with the prohibition against wronging a convert. Indeed, Minchat Chinukh, commandment 63, subsection 2, determines that this limitation exists only regarding the prohibition against wronging an Israelite, but not regarding the prohibition against wronging a convert.

There are, however, several sources that broaden the picture and determine that there is also a prohibition with respect to the resident alien—a gentile who accepted before three judges the obligation to observe the seven Noahide commandments. For example, Jerusalem Talmud, Yevamot 8:1, and Tractate Gerim 3:2:

It was taught: a resident alien is included in the prohibition of “you shall not wrong.”

The same is brought by Rabbenu Gershom Meor HaGolah on Babylonian Talmud, Arakhin 29a. Seemingly, this is the broader view, which sees the prohibition as rooted in the very fact that the person is an outsider, independent of obligation to the commandments. One should note, however, that the ordinary gentile is, according to all opinions, excluded from this prohibition. But that proves nothing, since a gentile who is not a resident alien is not included in the category “person,” and all the duties of proper treatment do not apply to him. In other words, the duty toward a resident alien is not because he is like a Jew, but because he is the only gentile to whom the prohibition of verbal wronging can be applied. If so, those who hold that this prohibition also applies to the resident alien in practice see it as a general prohibition, one that applies even to gentiles. This accords with the rationale that emerges from the plain meaning of the Torah’s language, as above.

The relation between the prohibition and the positive commandment

Sefer HaChinukh, in commandment 431—the commandment to love converts—writes:

One who transgresses this and causes them suffering, or neglects to save them or their property, or is lax in honoring them because they are converts and have no helper in the nation, has nullified this positive commandment. His punishment is very great, for in many places the Torah warned concerning them. We should learn from this precious commandment to have compassion on a person who is in a city that is not his native land and not the place of his ancestral family, and not to overlook him when we find him alone and distant from those who might help him, just as we see that the Torah warns us to have compassion on everyone who needs assistance. With these qualities we shall merit to be shown compassion by the blessed Name, and the blessings of heaven shall rest upon our heads. Scripture hinted at the reason for the command by saying, “for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” It reminded us that we ourselves were once burned by that great pain felt by anyone who sees himself among foreign people and in a strange land, and when we remember the great anxiety of heart involved in this matter, and that it once happened to us and the Lord in His kindnesses brought us out from there, our compassion will be stirred for anyone who is in that condition.

At first glance, he should have spoken of one who does not love the convert, not of one who causes him suffering, for that belongs to the prohibition and not to the positive commandment. From the words of Sefer HaChinukh it emerges that these two commandments are parallel opposites: one who violates the prohibition also nullifies the positive commandment, and vice versa. At the beginning of the commandment he explains that loving the convert means not causing him suffering and doing kindness with him. The same seems to follow from the source he brings, “for you were strangers in the land of Egypt,” which was said about the prohibition and not the positive commandment.²

From the wording of the commandment, it appears that the author of Sefer HaChinukh sees it as a commandment directing behavior, not some emotional state. Even the positive commandment does not instruct us about a feeling of love, but about a prohibition against causing suffering and an obligation to bestow kindness. This reminds us of the instruction of Hillel the Elder—see also Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a, where the verse itself does not appear:

“You shall love your fellow as yourself.” From here Hillel the Elder said: what is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. “I am the Lord.” Every matter entrusted to the heart is accompanied by the words “I am the Lord.”

This instruction too is a practical translation of a commandment that seems to address emotion. On the other hand, the conclusion of the midrash shows that it is a commandment entrusted to the heart.

It can therefore be understood that the commandment is indeed an inward obligation—that is, one imposed upon the emotions—but that we are also obligated in the practical consequences that flow from the proper emotion, and the decisors generally deal with deeds, not with emotions and feelings. Hence it is possible that Sefer HaChinukh in the previous passage does not mean to say that there is no obligation to love the convert in our hearts, but only to define the practical consequences of that obligation.

A similar example from Maimonides, Laws of Mourning³

A similar phenomenon appears at the beginning of chapter 14 of Maimonides’ Laws of Mourning:

It is a positive commandment of rabbinic origin to visit the sick, comfort mourners, escort the dead, bring in the bride, accompany guests, engage in all the needs of burial, carry on the shoulder, walk before the bier, eulogize, dig, and bury; likewise to gladden bride and groom, and support them in all their needs. These are acts of kindness performed with one’s body, and they have no fixed measure. Although all these commandments are of rabbinic origin, they are included in “You shall love your fellow as yourself”: everything that you would want others to do for you, do for your brother in Torah and commandments.

There is an apparent contradiction here. On the one hand, he states that all these practical commandments are of rabbinic origin. On the other hand, he says that these commandments are included in “You shall love your fellow as yourself,” which is a Torah commandment. It seems that the explanation is that the basic obligation is to love one’s fellow in one’s heart, but the Sages obligated us to derive practical consequences from that: to escort the dead, bring in the bride, and so forth. One who brings in a bride but does not love her in his heart has not fulfilled the Torah positive commandment, but only the rabbinic commandment. But one who brings her in and loves her in his heart fulfills both commandments together.

The emotional layer in the prohibition

We have seen that underlying the practical duties included in the positive commandment to love the convert—doing kindness for him, and the like—there lies a commandment imposed upon the heart: to love him. What about the negative commandment, not to wrong him? Is there also, at its root, an emotional-moral layer imposed upon the heart? At first glance, this would be a prohibition against hating him, but the Torah does not define it that way. There is no prohibition against hating a convert, only a positive commandment to love him. It appears that the negative consequences—the prohibitions—are also derived from the same positive moral layer: the duty to love the convert contains two kinds of obligations, a duty to help him, which is a positive commandment, and a prohibition against wronging him, which is a negative commandment. But if the basic commandment is really an inward one rather than a practical commandment, then it is not clear why one who causes suffering to the convert violates a negative commandment. At first glance, he merely fails to fulfill a positive one.

Furthermore, unlike what we saw in Laws of Mourning, where it is the Sages who derived the practical duties and imposed them upon us, here the Torah itself demands them from us. Maimonides does not formulate these duties as being “of rabbinic origin.” This implies that these duties are themselves the interpretation of the Torah obligation.

If so, it seems from these two difficulties that the picture regarding our duties toward the convert is different. Indeed, the obligation in the heart—to love him—is not really a formal commandment. The formal commandments are the practical prohibition and the practical positive commandment. The obligation of the heart is a kind of scriptural rationale, that is, the purpose of those two commandments, and it is indeed common to both of them.

We brought a similar example in our article on Parashat Bereshit, 5767, in chapter 4, in the example of the commandment of charity. In Negative Commandment 232—prohibiting us from closing our hand to a poor person who asks—Maimonides explains that the point of the commandment is that we should not acquire the trait of stinginess. By contrast, in Positive Commandment 195 Maimonides writes that the commandment is for the sake of the poor person, so that he may have relief. Thus, in charity too there is a similar duplication between the prohibition and the positive commandment, and there Maimonides himself distinguishes between a negative commandment aimed at inward character correction and a positive commandment that is practical.

It should be noted that there the emotional layer is negative—we are not commanded to be broad-hearted, but forbidden to be stingy—whereas in our case it seems to be positive: there is a duty to love him and not a prohibition to hate him, as above. If so, it may also be possible to explain our case similarly: one of the commandments is an expression of the duty to love, while the other is a practical commandment. But because of the distinction we have emphasized here—the nature of the emotional layer of the commandment—it seems that here the relation is reversed: the positive commandment is the expression of the inward duty, whereas the negative commandment is the practical one.

This still requires further examination.

An apparent contradiction in Sefer HaChinukh

Later in the passage cited above, Sefer HaChinukh explains that from here one should learn not to cause suffering to any person who is not in his native city, and it seems at first glance that he is speaking about every human being. These remarks appear to contradict what he said earlier, in the same commandment, that the prohibition applies only to an actual convert.

But Minchat Chinukh already notes there that clearly this is not intended as a halakhic statement, but only as moral guidance. The commandment applies only to a convert in the halakhic sense, and Sefer HaChinukh does not intend to expand it at the halakhic level, but only to say what is fitting to learn from it.

Duplications in these commandments

We have seen in Sefer HaChinukh that the commandment is imposed on the heart, to love the convert, and from it practical consequences are derived in both directions: a positive commandment to help him and do kindness with him, and a negative commandment not to cause him suffering or wrong him. We already noted that from the definitions of Sefer HaChinukh it emerges that there is a duplication between the positive commandment and the prohibition. Their practical content overlaps.

This duplication, however, does not seem problematic, since Maimonides determines in the sixth principle that we count a negative and a positive commandment even when their practical contents overlap. See our article on Parashat Yitro, 5767. But the duplication between the positive commandment regarding the whole of Israel and the positive commandment regarding converts calls for explanation, and we shall deal with it in the next chapter.

B. On the Nature of the Commandments of Love in Halakha

Love of the convert and love of one’s fellow

We noted that Sefer HaChinukh, in commandments 63 and 431, raises the question why a special commandment is needed to love the convert, or a special prohibition against wronging the convert, when these are already included in the parallel commandments that apply to all Israel. For example, the duty to love every Jew includes the duty to love the convert.

It should be observed that this difficulty arises only according to the approach of Sefer HaChinukh and those who agree with him, according to whom the “convert” mentioned in the prohibition against wronging is the same convert mentioned in the duty to love. According to the other views, of course, there is no difficulty at all, since there is no duplication between the commandments. Even according to the note of Minchat Chinukh cited above—according to which the distinction between one who observes the commandments and one who does not exists only with respect to the prohibition against wronging an Israelite, but not with respect to the prohibition against wronging a convert—the difficulty would seem to be resolved, since the prohibition against wronging the convert is needed in order to teach that there is a prohibition even regarding a convert who does not observe the commandments. Yet precisely from here it seems possible to infer from the wording of Sefer HaChinukh that he probably does not accept this.⁴

We saw that Sefer HaChinukh offers two explanations, whose common denominator is that there is something specially important about loving the convert and a special problem in wronging him. These explanations do justify why it is important to emphasize these obligations with respect to converts, but they do not answer the essential difficulty. These commandments are still included in the commandments of love and of wronging that already apply to an ordinary Jew, and there is nothing unique in their content that would justify defining them as separate commandments. In light of Sefer HaChinukh‘s explanations, we would expect the Torah to emphasize the importance of these duties with respect to converts, but that does not explain why those who enumerate the commandments regard them as two independent commandments.

Rabbi Isaac Hutner’s question

Rabbi Isaac Hutner, in his Pachad Yitzchak on Passover, section 29, raises this question and offers a very interesting solution. He opens with a quotation from Maimonides, Laws of Character Traits 6:3-4:

It is a commandment for every person to love each and every member of Israel as himself, as it is said, “You shall love your fellow as yourself.” Therefore one must speak in his praise and be protective of his property just as one is protective of one’s own property and concerned for one’s own honor. But one who honors himself through the disgrace of his fellow has no share in the world to come.

Love of the convert who came and entered beneath the wings of the Divine Presence involves two positive commandments: one because he is included among fellows, and one because he is a convert, for the Torah says, “You shall love the convert.” He commanded love of the convert just as He commanded love of Himself, as it is said, “You shall love the Lord your God.” The Holy One, blessed be He, Himself loves converts, as it is said, “He loves the convert.”

Maimonides explicitly comments on this duplication, but for him it is not a difficulty; it is a simple fact. Rabbi Hutner notes that Maimonides adds the comparison to love of God only with respect to converts, and not with respect to the love of one’s fellow. Likewise, he adds that the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself loves the convert, something not said regarding ordinary love of Israel.

In section 4 there he adds another challenge, based on what Maimonides wrote in Negative Commandment 170 concerning the prohibition against taking a share in the spoils, a prohibition stated regarding the tribe of Levi and the priests, even though the priests are included within the tribe of Levi. Maimonides writes there:

Perhaps you may think that these two negative commandments stated concerning the priests are two commandments and therefore should be counted. Know that when the warning was given generally to the whole tribe of Levi, the priests were already included in that general category, and it was repeated concerning the priests only for reinforcement. So too, in every similar case of a general category and a subcategory, the repetition is only for reinforcement, or to complete the law when the law is not complete from the one warning. If we were to count the statement to Aaron, “In their land you shall not inherit, and you shall have no portion among them,” as an addition to the verse “The Levitical priests shall not have…” then by this same reasoning we would also have to count the prohibition of a divorced woman, a woman disqualified for priestly marriage, and a prostitute with respect to the high priest as three separate negative commandments, beyond the three negative commandments stated for every priest in general, whether high priest or ordinary priest. If someone were to say that those too should be counted, we would reply that a high priest who marries a divorced woman would then necessarily be liable to two violations: one because he is a priest and a divorced woman is forbidden to him, and a second because he is a high priest and she is also forbidden to him by another negative commandment. Yet it has already been explained in Babylonian Talmud, Kiddushin 77a that he is liable only once. Thus it is established that only the warning given in general is counted, and what comes in that same matter itself as another warning on the specific case is only to teach one of the details of law or to complete the law, as we explained in commandment 165 of these commandments. Of this same type is the warning directed to the priests, “They shall not make a bald patch on their head, neither shall they shave the edge of their beard, nor make gashes in their flesh.” These three very prohibitions had already been stated for all Israel in general: “You shall not round the corners of your head,” “You shall not destroy…,” “You shall not make a baldness between your eyes for the dead,” and “You shall not make gashes in your flesh.” They were repeated with respect to the priests only to complete the law, as was explained at the end of Babylonian Talmud, Makkot 20a, when the laws of these three commandments were clarified. If these were unique prohibitions with respect to the priests, and not only repetitions meant to complete the law, then the priest would be liable for each act to two sets of lashes: from one because he is an Israelite, and from one because he is a priest. But that is not the case. Rather, he receives only one set of lashes, like any other Israelite, as is explained in its place. Understand this principle and preserve it.

Maimonides goes to great length to explain that when there are two warnings or commandments, one stated for some group and the other for a subgroup within it, both are not counted, because the second is included in the first. If so, in our case too we would expect not to count the commandment to love the convert separately.

Preliminary observation: the nature of the commandments of love

Rabbi Hutner answers this with a preliminary point about the nature of the commandments of love in halakha:

To explain this, let us consider the parallel case on the side of love. Suppose Reuven loves Shimon, and Shimon is in truth a member of the covenant—that is, a Jew—but Reuven is mistaken about him and thinks he is not a member of the covenant. Shall we say that Reuven has thereby fulfilled the commandment of love of fellows? Certainly not. For every love has a reason, and the reason for the love is also included in the commandment of love of fellows. That is, the commandment of love of fellows is not interpreted as “love a person who is an Israelite,” but “love an Israelite because he is an Israelite.” The reason for the love is also included in the commandment. The meaning of the verse “You shall love your fellow” is that you are to love him precisely because he is your fellow.

It therefore follows that if Reuven loves a Jew but does not recognize that he is a Jew, then the cause of that love is not the Jewishness of the beloved; rather, it is a mere generic love, lacking the reason required in this commandment, and therefore the commandment of love of fellows is not fulfilled through such love. And the same applies on the opposite side, with hatred…

Rabbi Hutner explains that the commandment is not to love a Jew, but to love him because he is a Jew. In the commandments of love, the reason for the commandment is part of the definition of the commandment itself. One who loves Reuven without knowing that he is a Jew has not fulfilled the commandment to love Israel inadvertently; he has not fulfilled it at all.

The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot 5:16 says:

Any love that depends on something—when the thing ceases, the love ceases. But a love that does not depend on something never ceases. What is a love that depends on something? The love of Amnon and Tamar. And what is a love that does not depend on something? The love of David and Jonathan.

In terms of this Mishnah, the commandments of love actually require a love that does depend on something, on some quality of the beloved. Usually, in such love, when the thing ceases the love ceases. Here, of course, someone’s being a convert or a Jew cannot cease. But at the essential level this is still a love that depends on something.

Explaining the duplication

We can now understand the duplication in the commandments of love noted by Rabbi Hutner, and the rest of his observations on Maimonides’ language. The commandment to love a Jew is because he is a Jew. The commandment to love the convert is because he entered beneath the wings of the Divine Presence, that is, because he converted. If so, there is no duplication at all. One who loves a convert because he is a Jew has fulfilled only the commandment of love of Israel, but not the commandment of love of the convert. Conversely, one who loves him because he is a convert has not necessarily fulfilled the commandment of love of Israel.

Rabbi Hutner now adds that although in many cases the Torah links the convert to the orphan and the widow, because all of them are lonely and unfortunate, the commandment of love is different. Love of the convert is because he is a convert and has entered beneath the wings of the Divine Presence, and that does not apply to the orphan and widow. Above we inferred this from the wording of the verse itself: regarding the orphan and widow the Torah gave a practical command, whereas regarding the convert it commanded love; likewise with respect to God’s relation to them, for regarding the orphan and widow it says that He executes justice for them, whereas regarding the convert it says that He loves him.

This, according to Rabbi Hutner, explains the addition in Maimonides that specifically regarding love of the convert he says that God loves him, and not merely that He executes justice for him. In this respect the convert differs from the orphan and widow, with whom the issue is love of the unfortunate and miserable, not love of excellence or virtue. He also adds that one should love the convert as one loves God Himself, because just as love of God is love based on exalted quality, so too love of the convert should be because of his elevated quality.

The problematic nature of such commandments

It should be noted that Rabbi Hutner’s words make it quite clear that the commandments of love are inward obligations and not commandments concerning forms of behavior—outward duties—that express emotions. If the commandment were only on the practical plane, to help and not to cause suffering, then there would again be no room to distinguish between love of the convert because he is a convert and love of one’s fellow because he is one’s fellow. This explanation assumes that in the commandments of love the obligation is imposed on the heart, exactly as we saw above.

On the other hand, precisely in light of this another difficulty arises. Many have asked how it is possible to command emotions, such as love. At first glance emotion is an instinct, and not something under our control. Some have explained on this basis Hillel the Elder’s formulation, which interprets the commandment to love one’s fellow as a prohibition against doing to him what I would not want done to me. He translates an inward duty into outward duties. But our conclusion here is that the commanded love is an inward obligation, and therefore the difficulty becomes sharper.

The picture presented here apparently offers a solution to this difficulty. According to what was explained above, one who loved Reuven without awareness that he was a Jew did not fulfill the commandment to love one’s fellow. Why not? Presumably because he did not love the correct object. The commandment is to love the Jewishness in Reuven, not merely Reuven himself.

The difficulty we raised now becomes far less acute. The obligation is to love a value, not to love a person. The commandment obligates us to adopt values and affiliations, not people. It is hard to love a person whom I do not love, but to love a person because of his Jewishness is a more intelligible command. It may still be difficult to fulfill, but at least it is possible, and therefore subject to command.

And yet, still love of a person

Even so, one may ask about a case where someone loves Reuven’s Jewishness, but does not love Reuven as a person at all. Has he fulfilled the commandment to love Israel, or must the love ultimately terminate in love of the person? From quite a few sources it clearly emerges that the duty to love one’s fellow refers to people, not merely to ideas and values. Therefore, at first glance, the second possibility is more plausible.⁵ If so, how does the reason for the love enter into the definition of the commandment itself? If the commandment is to love Reuven himself, and the reason is merely that he is Jewish, then this seems to be only the scriptural rationale.

It seems that Rabbi Hutner’s intention is to say that this commandment concerns the whole process. The reason for the love is also part of the very definition of the commandment. In other words, the commandment is to love Reuven because he is Jewish. The process ends in love of the person, but the reason for the love is also included in fulfillment of the commandment.

And what happens when he has a corrupt personality that is not worthy of love? Or even when, for no particular reason, I simply do not feel love for him as a person? At first glance I am obligated to overcome that tendency and nevertheless love him. But that love need not cover over his crimes—in the sense of “love covers all transgressions.” Rather, it must take place despite awareness of those transgressions, because he is a Jew. This is the essence of viewing the commandment as one that concerns the entire process.

Perhaps there is here also a solution to the problem of how one can command love for a person. It is not only love of a value, as we suggested above. It is love of a person. Yet the difficulty in loving usually stems from various negative traits found in him, and over these we are commanded to prevail in the name of his belonging to the people of Israel. This is not only the definition of the commandment; it is also the path by which one can actually carry out this difficult inward obligation.

C. Love Between Emotion and Intellect

Introduction

Commandments that concern love, as well as other states and functions of the soul, raise the question whether the command is really directed to emotion or to the intellect. Even if we answered the difficulty raised in the previous chapter—how it is practically possible to command and control emotions—there still remains the question whether the Torah is in fact interested in commanding emotions. Does the Torah want us to have certain feelings? Emotions are, after all, simply psychological states. At first glance, it would seem that the Torah should command us regarding actions and values, not feelings. We would therefore expect the Torah to command us to recognize the value of Israel as deriving from its excellence—that is, to understand “love” in some intellectual sense—and not to command the feeling of love itself.

From another direction as well, it seems that the command instructing us to love is not addressed only to emotion. Our ability to fulfill a command to love derives from the fact that other psychological faculties are also involved here, beyond emotion. Our measure of control over emotion stems from the fact that intellect and will govern and direct our emotions, and therefore it is plausible that the halakhic command is directed primarily to them.⁶

Another example, which will sharpen the issue and show that it does not concern only the commandments of love but has a more general character, is the duty of trust in God. We will not enter here into the source of that duty, nor its very complex boundaries,⁷ but will only raise a reflection regarding its character. It is commonly accepted that the duty of trust depends on a person’s spiritual level. The higher his spiritual level, the stronger and more comprehensive the trust required of him. One implication is whether a believing Jew who falls ill should go to a doctor, or whether he should rely on the Holy One, blessed be He, and leave his healing in His hands. A common claim is that if he truly believes that the Holy One, blessed be He, is the One who heals him, then he may—and perhaps is even obligated, depending on differing formulations among the medieval and later authorities—to rely on God’s healing. The question is: what about a Jew who believes with complete faith that the Holy One, blessed be He, is the healer of all flesh, but has not internalized this on the emotional-experiential level? Should he conduct himself like someone of complete trust—despite the agitation and fears that will fill his heart, he must impose intellect over emotion—or does the definition depend on his psychological state and not on the level and intensity of his intellectual belief? A person may believe in God intellectually and still fear acting in a way that avoids going to a doctor. Is such a Jew regarded as a complete and whole believer, so that he should overcome himself and not go to the doctor, or does this obligation depend on the experiential plane rather than the intellectual one?

Until now we have asked to what the commandment is directed: to intellect or to emotion. But one may ask more than that: is the psychological state of love itself really a pure emotion? Are there not additional psychological dimensions involved in it? In this chapter we will try to examine, briefly and not exhaustively, this question with respect to the commandments of love, and to see some of its implications.

Jacob’s love for Rachel

There is a verse that describes our patriarch Jacob’s love for Rachel. After it was decreed that he must work another seven years in order to merit marrying her, the Torah describes his feelings, in Genesis 29:20:

So Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of his love for her.

The most surprising thing about this verse is that the classical commentators do not comment on it. It seems to leave them entirely untroubled. By contrast, for a contemporary reader it appears very puzzling and calls for explanation. If Jacob really loved Rachel so much, why did seven years of labor seem to him like a few days? We are familiar with the opposite phenomenon: someone who loves a woman and waits years to marry her experiences each day like an eternity.

A well-known answer to this question⁸ is that we are apparently familiar mainly with people who love themselves, not others. When a man wants to marry a woman and cannot wait for his desires to be fulfilled, this happens because he בעצם wants her for himself. He himself stands at the center, and the desire to realize his own wishes is what drives him and robs him of patience. But our patriarch Jacob loved Rachel, not himself. From his perspective, if this was the right thing, then nothing was urgent. He worked for her, and the seven years seemed to him like a few days.⁹

For the earlier commentators this seems self-evident. They ask nothing about this verse, because they grasp the concept of love in this simple and natural way. We are accustomed to another concept, and mistakenly substitute it for love; that is why this description does not seem fitting to us. What we are speaking about is desire, a wish to dominate and conquer—not necessarily in a violent sense, but more in the sense of possession—and not love. The desire to dominate gives us no rest, and we lack the patience to wait for its realization. That is the way of impulse. Pure love, however, is something that is not only instinctual, but also intellectual and volitional. It is a gentler and calmer force, and therefore it is characterized by much greater patience.

Desire and love

The concept of love was discussed by many philosophers,¹⁰ and we will not examine it here in detail. The central claim accepted by most of them is that love is the opposite of desire. Love places the beloved at the center—a centrifugal process—and everything is done for him. Desire places the self at the center—a centripetal process—and everything is done for me. Activity for my own sake is impulse; activity for someone else’s sake cannot come from impulse alone. Regarding this the Sages said: no one sins except for his own benefit. It apparently comes from another, higher source as well.

From this one can derive another distinction. Desire is an instinct: an emotion aroused within us by an influence from without. The mythological metaphor of Cupid’s arrows describes this well. We are acted upon from outside, by someone who shoots an arrow into us and arouses us. Love, by contrast, is a decision of the lover. It is, of course, connected to an external object, but it is not simply produced by that object. It has an object to which it is directed, but the active party here is the lover, not the beloved. He is active and not passive. If so, there is a component akin to decision, or judgment, involved in the process. It is not a mere instinct.

Perhaps this also explains why our culture—though the sources of this are mainly Christian—assigns such lofty and unique value to love and its realization, whether in the love of man and woman, the love of parents for their children, or the love between two friends, the value of friendship. If this were merely instinct, the phenomenon would be completely unintelligible. Clearly we see some kind of value here, almost a fulfillment of a call laid upon us. This cannot be said at all of desire. There it is an instinct, which may have been aroused in us in one way or another, but it is not essentially different from desire for money. Why do we not see value in the realization of desire for money? The answer is not only that the content is negative, but that it is impulse, or instinct.

This is also the reason that the Torah commands us in various commandments concerning love. It is an activity that contains a cognitive dimension and an element of judgment. The power of choice is relevant to it, and therefore it makes sense to command it. Love, then—and especially love of God—is connected to will and wisdom.

Between Hollywood and the author of the Tanya

Still, we have an intuitive feeling that love does not depend on us. It is a kind of spark that strikes us and arouses us against our will. This conception is the result of a great deal of Hollywood brainwashing, which is destructive and distorting in several respects. In fact, this is desire, not love. To be sure, the distinction between the concepts and the processes is difficult, chiefly because an essential and important part of love—at least between man and woman—is the more bodily, instinctual component, which is also connected to desire. But it is important to make the distinction and establish the hierarchy between the different components. In a person ruled by the divine soul, in the terminology of the author of the Tanya, desire is an instrument meant to serve love, not the reverse. In a person—or a world—ruled by the vital, animal soul, the situation is the opposite.

In love that occurs outside a romantic context, such as parental love for children or love of God, there is no component of desire at all. To be sure, even in these examples there are sometimes certain instinctual elements, but they do not exhaust the whole of love. The author of the Tanya writes in several places that true love—at least in relation to the Holy One, blessed be He—is composed of elements of mind and elements of heart together.

Love of God

We find in Maimonides, Laws of Repentance 10:3, the following description:

What is the proper love? It is that one should love the Lord with a very great, exceedingly intense love, until one’s soul is bound up in the love of the Lord, and one is continually absorbed in it, like one who is lovesick, whose mind is never free from love of that woman, and who is absorbed in it constantly, whether sitting or rising, whether eating or drinking. Even greater than this should the love of the Lord be in the hearts of those who love Him, absorbed in it constantly, as He commanded us, “with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.” This is what Solomon says metaphorically, “For I am sick with love.” And the entire Song of Songs is a parable for this matter.¹¹

Maimonides demands from everyone who serves God and fulfills the commandment of love of God that he be absorbed in that love always, as in the love of a man for a woman. At first glance, these words of Maimonides make it seem that the character of love—toward the Holy One, blessed be He, just as toward a woman—is emotional, as we described above concerning desire. He describes it as a feeling that does not leave us. Does Maimonides not accept the distinction proposed here?

If we look closely, it appears that Maimonides is speaking about love toward an object—God—with respect to which the love can never be realized in the ordinary sense. His demand is not that we unite with Him, as some mystics might say, but that we be “absorbed in His love always”—that all our actions be done for His sake. This is already a description that fits very well what we saw in our patriarch Jacob with respect to Rachel. His actions were always done for her, from love for her, but without any desire that awaited impatiently for actual realization, for possession. If so, Maimonides’ description does not contradict the distinction made here.

It should be noted that in halakhot 1-2 there, Maimonides explicitly connects love with intellect and wisdom—as opposed to fear, which is based on dread and is a more emotional-instinctive form of fear, of lesser value:[^12]

A person should not say: I will fulfill the commandments of the Torah and engage in its wisdom in order to receive all the blessings written in it, or in order to merit the life of the world to come; and I will separate myself from the transgressions about which the Torah warned in order to be spared the curses written in the Torah, or in order not to be cut off from the life of the world to come.

It is not fitting to serve the Lord in this way, for one who serves in this way serves out of fear, and this is not the level of the prophets nor the level of the sages. Only the ignorant, the women, and the children serve the Lord in this way; they are trained to serve out of fear until their knowledge increases and they serve out of love.

One who serves out of love occupies himself in Torah and commandments and walks in the paths of wisdom not because of anything in the world—not out of fear of evil, and not in order to inherit good. Rather, he does what is true because it is true, and the good ultimately comes as a consequence.

In this passage there is also a description of love as a psychological state that is not dependent on anything—that is, performing the commandments not because of any reason external to them. Maimonides sees love as action without an ulterior motive. The lover is active, not acted upon—and this is precisely the opposite of the one who desires, exactly as we described above.

At first glance, Maimonides is describing here a love that does not depend on something, whereas above we described the halakhic commandments of love as love that does depend on something—on certain qualities of the beloved object: his Jewishness, his status as a convert, or the fact that He is God. But clearly the intention here is not love for the sake of some external interest. The love is not for the entity as such, but because it possesses a quality worthy of love. This is not self-interest, but a change in the motivation for love, and perhaps even in the object of love. See the discussion above, regarding the question whether there is any duty at all to love the object itself, or only those qualities it possesses.

A note on halakhic formalism

These points raise a difficulty for the contemporary reader. It seems that there is here a mechanization of emotions. The Torah commands us what and whom to love, and in practice almost empties the notion of “love,” as that term is commonly understood in our culture, of its content. We are supposed to love worthy qualities rather than people. Is this not a transfer of the discussion to detached technical planes, instead of leaving it on the human and emotional plane?

First, we must remember that halakha is a normative system. It deals with obligations and prohibitions, not experiences and the like. It is therefore only natural that it focus on imposing technical duties. The question whether we leave these duties on the technical plane alone, or expand them to experiential and other planes, is a question that does not pertain to halakha itself. Halakha is formalistic by definition, but that does not mean that Torah is formalistic—meaning that it deals only with the technical and formal plane.

Moreover, we have seen that although the dry halakhic approach seems to lead us to define the commandments of love as duties to love qualities and not people, in the end we rejected that definition and concluded that it is implausible. Ultimately, the definition of the commandments of love was the duty to love a person, or an entity, because of one of his or its qualities or characteristics. The entire chain—from the reason for the love to the psychological state toward the person or being in question—constitutes fulfillment of this commandment. Thus even within halakha itself there are dimensions that are not merely formal.

And yet, a somewhat cold wind still blows here. Love of Israel, love of the convert, and love of God become values and orientations rather than psychological and emotional states…

Distinguishing between “halakha” and “Torah”

Another possibility is to distinguish between halakha and Torah. Halakha, as a normative system, establishes the foundational layer that is formally binding, and therefore it has a formal character. Beyond it there may be additional planes of relation, some emotional and some otherwise. For example, Yeshayahu Leibowitz argued that the commandment of prayer is to say the words without intention—for when one needs healing one should go to the clinic, not turn to the Holy One, blessed be He—and simply intend to fulfill one’s obligation, nothing more. Against him stand positions that view prayer as service of the heart, as we discussed in another essay, and therefore regard purely formal prayer as worthless—”a human commandment performed by rote.” The truth is a combination of the two approaches: the basic foundation is prayer out of obligation, with the intention to fulfill one’s duty, and that is the binding core. Beyond it there can appear additional planes of relation, emotional and otherwise, but they belong to a “second story.”

Another example is the statement of the author of Aglei Tal in his introduction, where he rejects the position that studying Torah for pleasure is not fulfilling the commandment for its own sake and therefore has no value. He argues that in the morning prayer we ask the Holy One, blessed be He, “Make the words of Your Torah sweet in our mouths,” which shows that we do indeed value pleasure in learning. He therefore explains that pleasure not only does not contradict the commandment of Torah study, but is part of the very commandment of study. But his remarks continue. He later explains that one who studies out of the desire to enjoy—that is, were there no pleasure he would not study—indeed does not fulfill the commandment for its own sake. In other words, there is truth even in the position he rejected. The truth consists of two levels: first, study out of obligation, independent of pleasure. On the second level there is study accompanied by pleasure, though not with pleasure as the sole motivation.

Similarly, it may be that the commandments of love are like this as well: there is a formal duty to love certain values, even without feelings toward the person who bears them. On the second level there is also value in acquiring love for the person himself, and not only for the values. But the higher levels, which are more emotional in character, are not always included in “halakha”—which is the formal foundational layer—but only in “Torah.”

For more on the relation between emotion and intellect, and on the growing dominance of emotion in the contemporary world, see the third book in M. Avraham’s quartet, Enosh KeChatzir, soon to appear in our publishing house; I cannot elaborate here.

Footnotes