Objectivity and Subjectivity in Halakha and in General – Lesson 10

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Last time I spoke about partial admission, self-imposed prohibition (“shavya anafshei chatikha de-isura”), and we saw that there are areas in Jewish law—actually I spoke before that, I spoke about the status of dreams, the halakhic / of Jewish law status of dreams. And the claim was that, based on various contradictions and difficulties and from the laws in Maimonides, somehow it seems that there is some personal domain of the individual in which, in a certain sense, Jewish law does not intervene. Meaning, what a person determines is what will be there, even if it does not fully fit the ordinary rules of Jewish law. For example, a person saw something in a dream, and there are very strong indications that it is real. We talked about a case where he saw in a dream that there was some sum of money that belonged to second tithe or something like that, and he went and dug the next morning and found it there. So there are indications that this dream was not empty talk, meaning that there is something to it. Still, it makes no difference—there is no status to it, except in the personal sense, say if he was excommunicated in a dream, or as the Talmud says, then he needs annulment or things like that. Whatever pertains to you in the subjective sense, and you dreamed it, no problem. At least if you are troubled by it. If you are not troubled by it, then woe to the excommunication and not to anything else. But things that have some implication outside your own domain have no relevance at all. Even if there are indications supporting the dream, it makes no difference, because a dream belongs by its very nature to the subjective dimension. And that was regarding dreams. Last time, right?

[Speaker B] Is there any attitude today toward that issue of excommunication?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Meaning, I haven’t heard—

[Speaker B] —of anyone today who was excommunicated in a dream and asked for annulment.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t know of it. I think, look, in the halakhic decisors you don’t see it, but in practice, someone who isn’t troubled by it isn’t troubled by it, end of story. There are people whom something like that puts under pressure. So fine. It’s like the evil eye—the Talmud says it harms someone who is afraid of it. Someone who isn’t troubled by it, it doesn’t harm him. So why did they write about it? However you understand it, for me—I don’t know whether that’s what the sources intended—for me the idea is: fine, if someone is bothered by it, let him take a pill. In any case, that was about dreams. The previous lecture we spoke about partial admission and self-imposed prohibition (“shavya anafshei chatikha de-isura”), and there the claim was that a person has a certain credibility when he admits that he owes money, say, to so-and-so, or that he caused damage and therefore is liable, or that he borrowed, or something like that. He has a kind of absolute credibility. Absolute credibility means it overrides even two witnesses, whereas in the laws of evidence, two witnesses are the highest level of credibility. Meaning, two are like a hundred. If there are a hundred witnesses against two, it’s balanced, like two against two. But there’s one exception: a litigant’s admission. A litigant’s admission overrides even two witnesses, and certainly a hundred witnesses—whatever you want. Why? My claim was—and again, I’m not going back now into all the edges of it, and the Maharal, Bach, and everything we saw—the claim is that a litigant’s admission is something that pertains to your own domain. And with regard to your own domain, you have absolute authority—not because we believe you. It doesn’t depend on whether this is the factual truth. It depends on whether you decided. And if you decided, that is what determines things in your subjective domain. Therefore, for example, when the Talmud says that in the case of a litigant’s admission, if it causes loss to others then he is not believed—when that admission has some implication that obligates third parties. Say I admit that I owe you money, but it has implications for someone else to whom I also owe money, because if I owe you, then now he can’t collect from me, because that money I owe to you. So this admission of mine ostensibly hurts me, so I ought to be believed, but it affects a third party, and of course to his detriment, not his benefit. In such a case I am not believed. The question is why not. After all, if a person is hurting himself, then the assumption is that he probably isn’t lying. A person doesn’t usually lie in order to hurt himself; a person lies in order to gain, not in order to lose, right? That’s the simple logic of a litigant’s admission. That logic also exists where I owe someone else, because overall I have also hurt myself besides that other person. So if it weren’t true, why would I say such a thing? Right? So the same logic exists here. So why don’t we accept it? Here there are medieval authorities (Rishonim) and later authorities (Acharonim) who make an argument—we spoke about it briefly—there are medieval authorities (Rishonim) and later authorities (Acharonim) who want to claim that this is a problem of collusion. Meaning, it could be that I admit to you that I owe you, and then that other fellow has nowhere to collect from, and that amount I inflated, and the half that I really don’t owe you at all, we’ll split fifty-fifty. Meaning, they pull a trick together in order to cheat the other guy and somehow profit. But in a number of places you see that even where—at least according to some of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), and from the straightforward reading of the Talmudic passages—even where there is no concern for collusion, you are not believed when it causes loss to others. And the claim I explained, as a continuation of the previous lectures, is that a litigant’s admission also belongs to that same subjective halakhic / of Jewish law domain. Once you admit things that pertain to you, you have absolute credibility, because that is your territory. Okay. But if it causes loss to others, it’s not because of collusion, not because maybe you’re working together against someone or something like that. Once it causes loss to others, you are basically speaking on a public, objective plane. Yes, exactly. You are speaking about the social status of this money; it’s not just about what it means for you. There there is no litigant’s admission. There you have the laws of evidence: two witnesses, an oath, migo, legal presumption. There are rules; there are laws of evidence. And a litigant’s admission also belongs to this subjective dimension of Jewish law, in which in my own domain I am basically the sole master, I can do anything. One more example we saw was self-imposed prohibition (“shavya anafshei chatikha de-isura”). A person who says—say, a woman who says: I am married. Okay? Normally you need two witnesses; matters of sexual status require that. A woman is not believed. As far as she herself is concerned, she is believed. And since she is married, she will not be able to marry anyone else. Now, we don’t believe her that she is married. Suppose two witnesses come and say she is not married. Two witnesses, whose hands never left the situation the whole time—she never left the house from age twelve, she couldn’t have married, she didn’t get married. It makes no difference. If she says she is married, of course we won’t believe her at all, but we will obligate her to behave in accordance with what she says. Meaning, that’s what is called self-imposed prohibition (“shavya anafshei chatikha de-isura”). A person who places a prohibition on himself, meaning imposes some kind of prohibition on himself, is believed. No witnesses and nothing can refute that. Not because he is believed, not because that is really the case, but because he has some absolute authority over his own subjective domain. Okay, that was basically the claim. The last example I brought there was the case of b’yado. What is b’yado? Say I tell a person: your terumah became impure, your terumah is impure, go burn it, you can’t eat it. Okay? Then I am believed. The Talmud says: why? Because I could have rendered it impure with my own hands. I could have rendered it impure. So because of that, kind of like a migo, since it was in my power to render it impure, and if I wanted to make it impure and it wasn’t impure, I could do that with my own hands. And because of that I am also believed to say that it is impure. Okay? The Rosh writes about this—the Rosh in Gittin writes about this—that b’yado comes from some kind of ownership I have over the thing. My ability to render the thing impure makes me some kind of owner over it, or owner over this aspect of whether it is impure or not. Yes? It’s not monetary ownership; the terumah is not considered mine. But this aspect, the question whether it is impure or not impure, is entirely in my hands. I can do whatever I want. And therefore, if I am the owner over it, I have absolute credibility in this matter. Even though I am only one witness and even though it affects someone else—after all, this thing belongs to the priest, he has to burn it, he won’t be able to eat it. Okay? But because this thing is in my power, I am basically considered its owner. Now, what we saw there in the Rosh is that the reasoning goes a bit in reverse. Meaning, the Rosh explains that we might have thought that a person’s credibility regarding things that belong to him stems from this migo of b’yado. Since it is in his power to do it, because after all it is all his, then he is also believed to say what its status is. But in the Rosh it is written the other way around. The fact that I am believed concerning what is in my power to do is because I am considered an owner regarding the matter. Meaning, the clearer law is the credibility of a person concerning what is in his ownership. And from that, the Rosh derives a person’s credibility regarding things he can perform. Whereas the logic would suggest the opposite. Since with things you can do, you have a migo—you could have done it with your own hands—therefore you are believed regarding its status. A person who is the owner of something can obviously do whatever he wants with it, and therefore he is also believed to say what the status of the thing is. That is the simple logic. Meaning, the ability to bring about the result yourself is the basis of your credibility regarding your own things. But in the Rosh it is written the other way around. Your credibility regarding things you can bring about stems from the fact that you are an owner. The credibility of the owner is the fundamental law, and that is what explains why I am believed regarding things that are in my power to do. And again, I think this is the same law that belongs to the subjective domain. Although here it is a bit different, because after all I am causing loss to others. After all, I am saying this terumah became impure, and this is your terumah. It isn’t credibility about me. But that’s the idea—just as an example, it’s not exactly the same as the previous cases. The idea is that with regard to what is in my power, I have some absolute credibility over it. It’s not just a migo. A migo doesn’t help against witnesses, a migo doesn’t help against other things. It’s not just a migo. It is absolute credibility. What is in my power—I am the owner. And if I am the owner, I have credibility. I want to continue this line of thought. There is an article here that deals with the principle that a person cannot prohibit something that is not his. I wrote to you in one of the books: a person cannot prohibit something that is not his. Say someone bows, I don’t know, to an object of mine. Usually if you bow to an object, you supposedly turn it into an idol and it becomes prohibited. A thing worshipped as idolatry—yes, so it becomes worshipped, that is one of the categories of prohibition in idolatry. But if someone else bows to my object, he cannot prohibit it. Because a person cannot prohibit something that is not his. More than that—in idolatry this is more obvious, but in kilayim, for example, someone has a vineyard and next to it there is a field of grain belonging to his neighbor. Okay? Now I plant a vine on the border between these fields, and in effect the proximity is such that it should prohibit the grain as mixed species in a vineyard. There is kilayim of vineyard and grain; it prohibits the vineyard and prohibits the grain. Okay? But the grain belongs to my fellow. So that Mishnah, that is basically the source for the law that a person cannot prohibit something that is not his, a Mishnah in kilayim. The Mishnah says that if the vine is mine and the grain belongs to my neighbor, the vine becomes prohibited and the grain does not. There is a tannaitic dispute, but that is how Jewish law is ruled. That is basically a dispute among medieval authorities (Rishonim) whether the vine becomes prohibited. The practical ruling is that it does not become prohibited, because a person cannot prohibit something that is not his. There is a dispute among medieval authorities (Rishonim) over whether my own part does become prohibited. Maimonides, for example, rules that it does. Okay?

[Speaker C] Who caused what? What do you mean?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, the last one, the last act is what determines it. Meaning, if I’m the one who planted, then I’m the one who created this mixture, so according to some of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), I may be able to prohibit my own part, but I cannot prohibit the other part. Now here we have kilayim. Meaning grain together with vine, mixed together. The Torah prohibits such a thing. Why? Because you cannot prohibit something that belongs to the other person’s domain. Meaning, your power to act is limited to your own territory, to the range of your control. And what is outside the range of your control, you cannot touch.

[Speaker C] It’s a bit similar to self-imposed prohibition, if you have made something a prohibited piece…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, that’s why I’m bringing these examples. Meaning, I’m showing that a person has some sort of control over his own domain, and the other side of the coin is that he has no control over a domain outside himself. Not only does he have no control, but the simple rules of Jewish law are suspended. More than that—with kilayim, even the Bartenura brings some verse.

[Speaker C] But what about the woman? We said that if she says, “I am prohibited,” that could affect—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Here she is believed only regarding herself, not regarding others.

[Speaker C] So what? Someone else doesn’t have to relate to her as a married woman? No? No.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Only she has to be stringent with herself as if she were a married woman. Someone else doesn’t need to relate to her as a married woman. Of course, if she doesn’t agree to become betrothed, no one can betroth her, but in principle one does not have to treat her as a married woman—only she herself.

[Speaker C] And if someone has relations with her? Then she—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The question is whether she would be executed—I don’t know if she would actually be executed, I don’t know if she would really be executed, but I think it’s in Nedarim, I think. We’d need to check that for a second. He certainly would not.

[Speaker C] For him she’s just—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —an unmarried woman.

[Speaker B] And if she incurs liability? What? If she gets betrothed?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] As I said, maybe she gets lashes or something like that, so maybe yes. But aside from that, probably not. Meaning, once she has created testimony here in every sense—but testimony that is relevant only to your subjective domain.

[Speaker B] Even if there are two witnesses against her?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, yes, it makes no difference. It’s like a litigant’s admission. It’s like a litigant’s admission. That’s what we saw, for example. One of the examples we discussed with a litigant’s admission was that someone comes and claims from me 100 shekels. I say, “Nothing of the sort, complete nonsense, it never happened.” Fine? Now two witnesses come and say I borrowed. They caught me with my pants down, in short. Meaning, they caught me lying. So then—wait, wait—I paid it back. It won’t help at all. Why? Because anyone who says “I did not borrow” is as though he said “I did not repay.” If you said you didn’t borrow, then you didn’t repay. You can’t suddenly retract and say you repaid when earlier you said you didn’t borrow. But more than that: when two witnesses come and say that I repaid—or those same witnesses who said there was a loan say that I repaid, it doesn’t matter—and there are two witnesses for the repayment, so what if they say I repaid? Because I said that I didn’t—

[Speaker C] Because I said that I didn’t repay.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right? I said that I didn’t repay. That I didn’t— I said that I didn’t repay. Now more than that—I… well, we talked about this. That statement is not even accepted. It forces the explanation that the whole connection here to a litigant’s admission is very problematic. But still, it means that a person has absolute credibility. It stands even against two witnesses. Against everything. What pertains to you—you are the sole owner of the domain. And what you say is what will be, against all the ordinary rules of Jewish law. Okay? Now I’ll bring some examples that are a bit different, but they go even farther than these examples.

[Speaker C] So was that also a problem with Katsav? In his account, at first he claimed, “I wasn’t involved at all—”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “It never happened.” And then he said, “It was consensual.” And anyone who says “I didn’t borrow” is as though he said “I didn’t repay.” It’s exactly the same thing.

[Speaker B] No, that’s something else. If someone says “It never happened,” it doesn’t necessarily imply that it wasn’t consensual. What?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It implies that there was nothing at all. There was nothing at all. And “there was nothing at all” is even more severe. “There was nothing at all” is really inventing law out of thin air. I think it’s similar. Anyway, let me bring a more far-reaching example. I think we talked about this. There is a Talmudic passage in Sanhedrin. The Talmud says that if Zimri had turned around and killed Pinchas, he would be exempt. Because Pinchas came to kill Zimri because he was about to sin. So Pinchas has the law of a pursuer. Pinchas is coming to kill me. I can turn around, kill Pinchas, and I’m exempt. Even though Pinchas performed an act for which afterward God gave him His covenant of peace. Meaning, an act that receives a great deal of divine approval. Yes? True, it is a law that one does not instruct people to carry out, okay, but someone who does it is highly praiseworthy. Fine? Pinchas could have… Zimri, sorry, could have turned around and killed him. So Kli Chemdah asks—he brings this at the end of Parashat Balak—he asks there, quoting one of the Gerrer rebbes in his time, I don’t know who exactly, I’m not expert in the dynasty either, but he asks there: after all, in the laws of pursuer there is a rule that if you can save him by injuring one of his limbs, you are forbidden to kill him. If you can shoot the pursuer in the leg, and then he won’t succeed in killing the pursued person, you are forbidden to kill the pursuer. If you can save the pursued person without having to kill the pursuer, then there is no permission to kill the pursuer. Because it’s not a punishment, it’s prevention. Yes. If you have no—

[Speaker B] —choice, and otherwise he will kill the pursued person, then you may kill him. If you do have a choice, don’t kill him. Okay? So Kli Chemdah, or the Gerrer rebbe, asks: so what’s the problem? Zimri could have saved himself! He could simply have stopped sinning. Pinchas wouldn’t have killed him. But maybe at the very moment Pinchas came at him with the spear, if he had stopped sinning, that wouldn’t have helped anymore?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, it would have helped.

[Speaker B] Okay. Why wouldn’t it have helped?

[Speaker C] After all, he wasn’t coming to punish him.

[Speaker B] He wasn’t—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] According to the midrash, it was literally during the act. The spear was already thrust there… In any case, the claim is that he could have saved himself by saying, “Leave it, Pinchas, I’m withdrawing, I’m respectfully withdrawing.”

[Speaker B] Like any pursuer.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Hm? Not like any pursuer. Because with an ordinary pursuer, if you can save him by injuring one of his limbs, then no problem. Here Pinchas is the pursuer, not Zimri. Zimri is the pursued one and also the rescuer. Meaning, he is the one killing the pursuer. So that is how he asks it. So what was the permission to kill Pinchas? After all, he could have been saved without needing to kill the pursuer.

[Speaker C] Simply by stopping the sin.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So he says there: right, I can—but I don’t feel like it. I want to sin. Who are you to tell me not to sin? Meaning, the Holy One, blessed be He, will punish me afterward, fine, that’s my account with Him. You are not part of the game.

[Speaker C] What do you mean? To kill? What?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No. No. I want to have relations with Cozbi bat Tzur, okay? The Midianite woman. Fine? Now Pinchas comes and wants to kill him. If he had left her, Pinchas would not have harmed him. So basically he has a way to save himself without needing to kill Pinchas. So what is the permission to kill Pinchas? So he says: the permission is because Pinchas is a pursuer. Could I have saved him by stopping my sin? That’s his grandmother’s business—I don’t owe him that I should stop sinning. I want to sin, I feel like sinning; that’s my account with the Holy One, blessed be He. If he decides to kill me because I am sinning, he is a pursuer. The example that may be more understandable here, although it too is somewhat extreme—I brought this example in an article in Techumin that I once wrote about the Shai Dromi law. I’m sure we talked about it once. The Shai Dromi law regarding killing a burglar. I argued that one may kill a thief to prevent the theft—not by the law of pursuer. Really an American-style method: whoever comes into my house doesn’t leave alive. That’s the basic principle. But all that is not legal tricks and not pursuer law and nothing of the kind.

[Speaker C] It’s anchored in the constitution. The whole thing about weapons, right.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But owning a weapon is something else. Well, killing in the United States isn’t actually all that simple.

[Speaker C] That’s the reason—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No—

[Speaker C] —that defending yourself—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, in the United States, the deeper reason—and that’s why it’s so hard to change—is because of your right to defend yourself against the authorities. If the authorities threaten you with a weapon, you can defend yourself with your own weapon. Meaning, there’s a desire to place limits on the government’s use of force. So it’s really an ideological matter, not an interest-based one. There’s a constitutional amendment there. That’s a whole game. In the United States, a constitution is something serious, not like the nonsense here. In the United States, changing the constitution is almost unthinkable. Okay. Anyway. In the United States, by the way, I don’t know, there are all sorts of urban legends, I don’t know exactly what’s true. You’d have to ask legal experts who know the area. There are also other stories. A burglar once broke into a house, and the homeowner put glass on the window in order to injure him. He got injured and sued the homeowner. And in America that can happen. And the urban legend says he won. I don’t know how true that is. In the United States? Come on.

[Speaker B] That the defense was unreasonable?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? I don’t know exactly. The famous story some time ago was with the kid and the sandwich, if anyone knows that story. It was publicized not long ago—some kid who was constantly bullied, they took things from him, a kid probably not entirely okay in class, and they bullied him and took his sandwiches and everything. So he put poison in the sandwich. And someone took the sandwich and, I don’t know, died, or was injured—I don’t even remember the details exactly or whether it really happened. Some such story was published and caused a stir. I’m entirely in favor, but that’s a different discussion.

[Speaker B] Isn’t there some Talmudic passage like that in Bava Kamma? Where someone puts something in his yard? No?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, there’s a case of an animal that enters and rummages around, it eats something that harms it and gets hurt. The question is whether it can claim against the owner of the yard for damage done to the animal. Those are Talmudic passages, yes. That’s a different discussion. By the way, the answer there is not so simple. But fine, that’s another story. Something like that existed according to Rabbi—

[Speaker B] In any case, it was once publicized that they asked some rabbi, Rabbi Zilberstein, about that question. Apparently whether it’s permitted to put poison inside—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It suits him very much to deal with that question. There is a responsum… I saw it and was very surprised if there was indeed some piece from Rabbi Zilberstein, according to what was published then, where he said it was permitted. Oh, really? Fine, interesting. I would have assumed it was forbidden. Anyway, so I don’t know. In short, I’m not committing myself that this is in fact American law, but it’s certainly the American ethos. Okay? Also among the British, right? “A man’s home is his castle.” That’s a British saying. In any case, I completely identify with that view, and after the Shai Dromi story happened, I wanted to write an article on the subject. And I naturally looked at the Talmudic passage in Sanhedrin, and there it seems otherwise. In the Talmudic passage in Sanhedrin it says that the permission to kill the thief in the case of a tunnel burglar is only because a person does not stand by his property—you will defend it, and then he will kill you in order to overcome you—and since that is so, he is a pursuer, so you are allowed to kill him. So from the Talmud it appears that the permission to kill a thief is the law of pursuer; it is not because of the property, that some prohibition is threatening you. So I wrote an article there with several proofs that this is not correct. One proof: the Talmud there, for example, says this may be done even on the Sabbath. What, do you need a verse for that? There is a verse. You need a verse for that. Under the law of pursuer, if someone threatens me on the Sabbath—right?—someone who threatens me on the Sabbath, I can kill him. There is a law of pursuer even on the Sabbath. Ignoramuses, the Jerusalem Talmud says, would not lie on the Sabbath. But there is no… and in the law of pursuer there is no difference between the Sabbath and—

[Speaker B] But Torah scholars do lie?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? Torah scholars can. It’s not… there are scholars who lie even on the Sabbath. Anyway, they know there is a prohibition on lying. Prohibition on lying, prohibition on lying—it’s not nice. That’s the problem with Torah scholars. Anyway, so that’s one proof, right? Why on earth do you need a verse that it’s permitted also on the Sabbath? If it’s life-saving, then it’s life-saving; what does the Sabbath have to do with it? Fine, the verse does say it is permitted. You can say there was an initial assumption that it wasn’t, and the conclusion is that it is. You can push that proof away. But just as a matter of logic—I have more proofs there—but as a matter of logic: a person can stay in the house, in his room, and not go outside, right? What’s the problem? You’re sitting there, sleeping in the house, he comes into your apartment—in the case of Shai Dromi, or into the room downstairs, I don’t know where—and steals all sorts of things. If you don’t go out, nothing will happen. He’ll leave with the property and drive home.

[Speaker B] The Talmud says a person is frantic about his property.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] A person is anxious about his property. And the simple intuition basically says, fine, he won’t be able to hold back; if you tell him not to go out, no way—he’ll definitely go out. But in many explicit sources that’s not the case. The Talmud says, for example, that you may not extinguish a fire—it’s not just that extinguishing is forbidden; on the Sabbath it’s forbidden to rescue things from a burning house except for food for three meals, the clothing you need for the Sabbath, and sacred writings. Those are things you’re allowed to save. And the whole rest of the house can burn down, all of it. Including all your property—your whole life’s possessions are going up in flames. Okay? You’re supposed to sit there and sing Sabbath songs. Okay, I don’t know who could stand such a thing. Now, you have to understand that extinguishing there is a rabbinic prohibition, because it’s a labor not needed for its own purpose. In that case of extinguishing, you don’t need the coals. A labor not needed for its own purpose is, in any event, a rabbinic prohibition. And therefore the Talmud says—why? Out of concern that maybe you’ll come to extinguish the fire, so you’re not even allowed to rescue things. Because once you start rescuing things, you’ll get drawn into the situation and you’ll also extinguish the fire. So they tell you: don’t save anything. A person is anxious about his property—this isn’t three goats that he’s going to steal from my pen; my whole life is now going up in flames. My house with all my property, everything is burning. And that they can demand of me—that I sit quietly and do nothing? So what about the property? What can’t they demand of me? This is human life. So you’ll allow me to kill? Then say: give up your three goats in order to save his life, don’t kill him. Go to the police afterward, so they won’t do anything. What’s the problem? There’s a very simple solution. That’s what they always said against the Shay Dromi law, right? This isn’t anything new; it’s not that things changed all that dramatically—there was some change. So why really doesn’t he have to stay in a locked room, not go outside, not confront him, and then there won’t be any threat to him and he won’t have to kill the pursuer, like Pinchas, right? So my claim was: because he doesn’t have to stay in the room. You want to steal, I want to prevent the theft. What do you mean? I have a right to prevent the theft. “A person is anxious about his property”—I don’t remember the exact wording in the Talmud there—because it’s his right, not because he can’t withstand it if we demand it of him. Since a person is allowed to do this, it’s his right, and we’re not going to stop him. He’s allowed, and if that puts him in mortal danger, then let him stop the thief, exactly like Zimri. I gave an example there: someone threatens me with a gun and says, “Give me a shekel, and if you don’t give me a shekel I’ll kill you.” So apparently, give him the shekel and send him on his way so he can buy Bazooka gum. What, kill him over that shekel—are you crazy? I don’t think there’s a halakhic decisor who disagrees that I’m allowed to kill him. And that’s not because… what?

[Speaker B] Kill him over the shekel—I’d kill him so that he won’t threaten… so that there won’t be murder, if I think he’s serious, yes, if he’s not just…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But no—he’s not threatening me with murder; if I give him the shekel, he goes on his way. Elijah came and told me that he’s serious, okay?

[Speaker C] Forget the finger on Wikipedia—Bernhard Goetz on Wikipedia. Know him? Some guy named Bernhard Goetz was riding the subway, I don’t know, at some desolate station in New York, and four thuggish black guys came by and said, “Give us the money.” He reached toward his wallet, pulled out a gun, killed two, wounded two, and became a hero that all of New York identified with, and got fined one dollar for possessing an unlicensed weapon and nothing more. That’s the great symbol. There’s more expansion on this in Malcolm Gladwell’s book The Tipping Point.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, so that was sixty seconds on Bernhard Goetz. In any case, for our purposes, the claim is that I don’t have to stay in the room. And if it’s like with the shekel, I can kill you if you threaten me. I don’t owe you a shekel. What do you want—to force me to give you the shekel? I don’t want to give you a shekel; I don’t owe you a shekel. You’re threatening to kill me if I don’t give you a shekel—I’ll kill you first. No problem, I’m allowed to. Because this is the law of a pursuer. But couldn’t I solve the problem by giving him a shekel? I don’t owe him the shekel. The law of a pursuer, where I can save myself by injuring one of his limbs, applies where instead of shooting him in the head I shoot him in the leg. But I don’t have to give up something that I have a right to keep in order to save him. I have to do something less extreme. But where he demands that I give up something that is one of my rights in order not to kill him—that I do not have to do. Why should I have to give up my rights in order not to kill him? By the same token, that’s also the law of the burglar tunneling into a house. What do you mean? To complete the picture—the editorial board of Techumin did not fully agree with what I wrote there. There were stormy arguments there; I don’t know if there were ever other arguments like that there. At some point the editor told me they wanted to turn to the presidency of Techumin to decide whether to publish it; there were polemics and all sorts of things like that. Not that they had good answers to my proofs, in my opinion at least, but that was… that was the argument. They wanted to turn to Rabbi Shaar Yashuv, of blessed memory by now, Rabbi Lichtenstein, also of blessed memory by now, and Rabbi—may he live a long life—Rabbi Ariel. What’s his name? Rabbi Yaakov Ariel. And then after a few days the coordinator of the system told me: actually, those three don’t remember that they’re on the presidency of Techumin. They were given some honorary appointment thirty years ago; they don’t even remember it. So in the end they published the article with their objections and my responses, and that’s how it was finally published. That’s all introduction just to say—I only wanted to say…

[Speaker B] What did they say about the Rebbe of Gur?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They said nothing. In my opinion, they didn’t have good answers to what I said. Except that in the Talmud it seems not that way—but I showed them that I can explain the Talmud too. Let’s say: I brought proofs for how I would explain the Talmud according to them. The plain simple meaning in the Talmud is that it really is the law of a pursuer. But look, there are several… The only thing they say you can’t kill is your father. Because the Talmud says: “If the sun has risen upon him, he has blood.” And the Talmud learns from there that if it is as clear to you as the sun that he will not kill you, then you may not kill him. If your father comes to steal from you, it’s clear that he will not kill you; even if things deteriorate, he came to steal from you, he won’t kill you. So there you’re forbidden to kill him. Now apparently this also supports the idea that this is basically the law of a pursuer. But notice: in ordinary law of a pursuer, you do not need absolute certainty that he won’t kill you in order to forbid you from killing him. On the contrary. You need near certainty that he… exactly. Meaning, in situations of doubt you do have to take that action. And here you need some absolute certainty in order not to kill. That does not exist in the ordinary law of a pursuer. Therefore I think the whole business there is ultimately just to preserve, in some way, the sanctity of human life—not to cheapen it. But at base it is permission to defend property. It is not permission under the law of a pursuer. So does that mean one is allowed to go in and save property from a house burning on the Sabbath? No. But it’s my right—it’s my property! What do you mean, your right? It’s a prohibition; this isn’t a question of what someone else may say about it. It’s not a question of rights. Why can’t you desecrate the Sabbath? Why kill on the Sabbath? Why kill on the Sabbath? Right—because of the laws of the Sabbath. That’s why you need a verse. That’s why you need a verse—exactly, that’s the point. Because there it’s mixed in with more than just the problem of the permission to kill. The permission to kill is from reasoning. But desecrating the Sabbath—how are you allowed to desecrate the Sabbath? You stay in the room not in order not to kill, but in order not to desecrate the Sabbath. So on a weekday, in the case of the burglar tunneling in, in order not to kill, that really doesn’t need a verse. But on the Sabbath you need a verse that tells you that even the prohibition of the Sabbath is overridden here. So in effect you’re also saying it’s from the law of a pursuer—just that you’re allowed to enter a situation of pursuer? Right, right. For example, if I can manage to protect my property without killing him, I think I’m forbidden to kill him. Not American all the way, okay? Meaning, if I can—if I’m strong enough, say—and I can physically defend the property without resorting to killing him, then I’m forbidden to kill him. But if I fear I won’t succeed, or if he threatens me or something like that, then I’m allowed to kill him. I don’t need to enter a situation of pursuer, all right? But still, at base this permission is permission to defend property, not permission to defend life. Because after all there is always the option of staying in the room, not confronting him, letting him take the property and go home. That I do not have to do. Even if that brings me to a situation where I have to kill him. All right? The issue of killing someone is also a prohibition from the Torah, right? So if I permit doing the… violating a Torah prohibition, why can’t I… That’s my next sentence. Please—there’s some Magen Avraham, I don’t remember the details anymore, I just remembered this example now, but there’s some Magen Avraham that talks about border towns, and I no longer remember—it’s very difficult. He says some very strong things there; I don’t remember exactly, but I answered him also in this direction, so that was one of my proofs there. My claim, after all, is that killing is also forbidden. That too is a prohibition. So how am I allowed to violate that prohibition in order to defend my property? It’s not a matter of his rights. What about my prohibition? Okay? My claim was—and here I get to the point that I said is more novel than what I said before—my claim was that where a person exploits the Jewish law in order to violate my rights, in order to gain something from me, the Jewish law is suspended. The Jewish law freezes itself. Meaning, where you basically tell me, “Give me the shekel so that you won’t have to violate the prohibition of murder,” he doesn’t care about my spiritual condition. So he says, “So that you won’t have to violate the prohibition of murder, give me the shekel.” I say: you’re using the prohibition of murder as leverage to extract from me a shekel that is not owed to you, so the prohibition of murder is canceled. There is no prohibition of murder with respect to you. Yes? Meaning, there is something here that says that where you try to invade my domain—that’s why I connect this to… Every time you try to invade my domain, the Jewish law freezes itself. And if I go back to this issue of “a person cannot prohibit something that is not his,” you asked earlier—after all, forbidden mixtures are forbidden mixtures; there is a mixture here. I claim the same thing. When you want to harm someone else, and that prohibition will harm someone else—those are your forbidden mixtures. So the Jewish law freezes itself. Even though the mixture of grain with a vineyard is a vineyard-forbidden-mixture and it prohibits both sides, where you are trying to invade someone else’s territory, even though in principle it should become forbidden, the Jewish law freezes itself. Now, of course, this has many boundaries, and I won’t go into all the details here. For example, if I mix meat and milk belonging to someone else, it becomes forbidden. And the medieval authorities discuss why—after all, a person cannot prohibit something that is not his. What’s the problem? Why does it become forbidden? Or if I threw some forbidden piece of meat into someone else’s pot—yes, what’s the difference between that and forbidden mixtures? Why there can I prohibit it? And it’s clear that I can prohibit it. So there are various distinctions that differentiate between something dependent on an action and something dependent on intention. I think the idea behind what Kovetz Shiurim says—Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman says this—is that there are things in which I do the action and the Torah prohibits. Say, if I mix meat and milk, I am not the one prohibiting the other person’s thing; I only turned the meat into something mixed with milk. The Torah, when it sees a mixture of meat and milk, says: this may not be eaten. Wait—so why isn’t forbidden mixtures the same? One second. And therefore, in such a case, the Torah can prohibit it for whomever it wants. I cannot prohibit things belonging to my fellow; the Torah can prohibit everything. But when I am the one who prohibits the thing—for example when I bow to someone else’s object and make it idolatry—his claim, and this is a claim that has to be examined on its own merits, and this is the answer he offers here, is that there I prohibit that object; it’s not that I turned it into something else, because I didn’t do anything to it, nothing happened to the object, I just worshipped it. So basically what happened here is that I prohibited it, not that I did some action and as a result of the state that was created the Torah prohibits it. Such a thing I cannot prohibit when it belongs to someone else. If I create the prohibition for the other person, I cannot—that belongs to his territory. What’s the difference between meat and milk and forbidden mixtures? His claim is that in forbidden mixtures I am the one who prohibits, not the Torah. It’s exactly the same thing: I take two things and mix them. It’s the same thing—there’s an action and a prohibition is created. Here too I take the meat, there’s an action and a prohibition is created. Right, it’s the same on the technical level. But the question is: what is the conceptual meaning behind it? Is the action done by me the thing that prohibits, or does the action create a state and then the Torah comes and prohibits it? He has various proofs for this; one would have to look at them, but as an answer to this difficulty, this is the answer he offers. But not only that. In forbidden mixtures, the vineyard is already there and then I came and prohibited it. To now tell the other person, “uproot this vineyard so that this won’t be,” is different from meat and milk, because with meat and milk I can just not drink it, not eat the food, and that’s it. Throw it out—what are you going to do with it? Fine, but that’s not found only after the fact; that’s already after the fact. The vineyard has been here for years, and suddenly someone comes and prohibits it for me. My pot has also been here for years. Cholent—the cholent that’s been left on the fire for years, not twenty-four hours. Okay. Now someone comes and threw a piece of pork in there. So what difference does it make? What difference does it make? Throw it out with danger to life. Okay, but I choose my dangers, and I don’t want that danger to life—only this one. Regarding saving property on the Sabbath, basically if someone set the fire, then maybe I actually can go and save the property? Interesting question. Maybe. Because you said that it’s like meat and milk. No, not about meat and milk—about the border towns. Meaning, there’s a place where, when someone exploits my Sabbath observance—border towns—if someone exploits my Sabbath observance, the Sabbath is suspended. Do what you want. Not to defend money, not property—I think that’s the point in the Magen Avraham. Meaning, from the Talmud it emerges that it’s because of the concern that in the end it will come to danger to life, and therefore they say we go out even on the Sabbath for border towns because in the end, in the end, it will come to danger to life. But in the Magen Avraham it’s written otherwise. In the Magen Avraham it says that we go out for the property. It seems to me, if I remember correctly—I need to check again where this appears. And my claim was that this is exactly the point. Where the gentiles exploit the fact that we are Sabbath-observant—after all, that’s exactly what “until they subdue it” was in the Hasmonean period, right, that they would go out to fight us on the Sabbath on the assumption that on the Sabbath we would not fight. And then the Hasmoneans expounded “until they subdue it”—even on the Sabbath, one fights on the Sabbath. And what’s really the point behind that? That the Jewish law is suspended where you exploit the Jewish law. Where you exploit the Jewish law and use it as a spade to dig with, at its own expense, the Jewish law freezes itself. Say, but what if someone publishes bad things about you on the Sabbath and you can prevent it? Meaning, I don’t know, someone sends out on Twitter—shaming, something like that. That’s more indirect, because here in order to stop it you need, say, to desecrate the Sabbath. If it’s the same thing, then I’ll say the same there too. It’s the same law. The question is whether it’s the same thing—how indirect the damage is versus my ability to prevent it—so one has to discuss each case on its own merits. But in principle I would say the same there too. So where you exploit the Jewish law in order to make profits at its expense, the Jewish law freezes itself and the person defending himself can do whatever he wants. That is the basic idea of the burglar tunneling in; that is the idea of the pursuer over the shekel; and even the idea of Zimri. I have the right to sin; you cannot enter my territory. You want to stop me from sinning? That’s a fine goal, but achieve your goals in your own domain. I alone am responsible for what I do. And if you enter my territory, you are a pursuer, and I’m allowed to kill you. Even though I have the option of saving myself if I stop sinning. It doesn’t matter. That is my territory; you cannot enter it. But what if it’s a religious court? If it’s a religious court, that’s something else; then you’re forbidden. For example, I’ll give you an example. There is the Mishneh LaMelekh in the laws of murder, and he brings there the Talmudic passage of Pinchas and Zimri, and then he says: let’s carry this further. What happens if the blood avenger now comes to kill me? The Torah gave him permission; there are opinions that it’s even a commandment—a dispute among the Tannaim. Right? Am I allowed to defend myself and kill him? He is a pursuer. The Mishneh LaMelekh claims yes. Now he says more than that: if an agent of the religious court comes to kill me—I desecrated the Sabbath before witnesses and with prior warning. An agent of the religious court comes to kill me. He’s a pursuer—shall I kill him? There he says no. Obviously. That’s not… it’s a matter of authority. That makes sense, but the question is: what is the halakhic mechanism? Obvious is obvious as a matter of reasoning—that’s how it should be, common sense. But what is the halakhic mechanism? Why does it stop there? With Pinchas too it’s very obvious: Pinchas is doing an important act, saving the Jewish people from a terrible problem, the Holy One, blessed be He, gives him His covenant of peace. And I’m allowed to kill him because he’s a pursuer. I have a right to sin. So why don’t I have a right to remain alive after I desecrated the Sabbath? It is in your authority, it is your right to remain alive, and it is your right to kill me—but it is also my right to defend myself and kill you so that you don’t carry out your right to kill me. Okay? What difference does it make? My claim is the following claim, and I think this is the mechanism behind the Mishneh LaMelekh. The obligation to kill—now I go back to the religious court—the obligation to kill a Sabbath desecrator is an obligation imposed on the public. It is not an obligation on me to commit suicide. Right? Suppose I desecrated the Sabbath before witnesses and with prior warning. Fine? And there is no religious court today, there are no ordained judges, no capital jurisdiction. So am I supposed to go up to the roof and commit suicide? There are some midrashim like that. Maybe there are such midrashim, but not in Jewish law. No, I’m not supposed to commit suicide, and apparently I’m even forbidden to. Apparently. Maybe one could quibble about that a bit. But I’m forbidden. Certainly I’m not obligated. Why? Because there is no religious court to do it. So what? I am liable for death because the obligation to kill me is imposed on the public; the public has to kill me. And there is a legal mechanism for how the public acts. If there is no authorized religious court that can do that in the name of the public, then there is no one here who is obligated in this commandment. There is no public, really, in the full sense today. As long as there are no regular institutions, then a public does not exist in the halakhic-legal sense. Okay? So in fact the obligation to kill me is imposed on the public, of which I too am a part. Right? Of course through the public—I’m not required to commit suicide, as I said before. Not that I’m supposed to kill myself. But the representative of the public who comes to kill me is also my representative; he is acting for me too. So naturally it is clear that I cannot kill him in self-defense because of my supposed right to stay alive. Not my right—the Torah imposes on me, it’s not that someone else is pursuing me. The Torah says that you have no right to remain alive; rather, you must be killed, and the obligation to kill you is imposed on you yourself as well. This is not self-defense between two people—that’s the difference between Pinchas and this case. Pinchas is not acting on behalf of the public. This is an act of a zealot, a legitimate act, even a blessed act according to the Torah. But it is his act, his decision; he does not represent the public. If you do not represent the public, then however lofty and blessed and good your act may be, I have the right to defend myself; I owe you nothing. I stand opposite you—even though you are right and I am wrong, I have the right to be wrong. My accounts are with the Holy One, blessed be He, not with you. But where I stand opposite an agent of the religious court—and that was your question about the religious court—there it no longer applies. Because the agent of the religious court is also my agent. I too am obligated to see to it that the laws of the Torah are upheld. In that case one must allow the agent of the religious court to kill me. It’s a bit Socratic, right, the story of Socrates with the cup of poison—they suggested that he flee and not drink the cup of poison, and so on. He says no, it was the court of Athens, and they did not justify him, according to his view. But if the public decided to kill him, then he must die. He understood himself—by the way, it’s an amazing story. Truly. I don’t know how clearheaded he was, but an amazing story. Meaning, in the conception—that this is exactly the conception, this is taking to the extreme the conception I’m describing here. That basically Socrates understood that once the public decided to kill him, even though he personally thought the public was wrong, still the public are also his representatives, he too is part of the matter, and he must cooperate with it. One can argue with that bottom line, but the conception is basically to take what I’m saying here to the limit. Meaning, that I too am obligated—but didn’t they say to the one to whom agents of the court are coming to kill him that he can always say that maybe this is the greatest evasion? Okay. And if the public decided, then yes. The public decided. In any event, here the public decided two things. Is one allowed to defend oneself against an agent of the religious court if I know and think that the court erred? Socrates claims not. But according to Jewish law, I mean. I don’t know of a clear source for this, other than the Mishneh LaMelekh who says it is forbidden. Meaning, there’s no clear proof, no Talmudic passage; the Mishneh LaMelekh claims it is forbidden, and I agree with him conceptually. So now to discuss this nuance—what happens when I think the court erred—as a matter of intuition, obviously I run away. I don’t know about killing the court’s agent, but running away is certainly allowed. I have no doubt about that. Tosafot says on Sabbath 94—the Talmud there discusses someone who stuck bread onto the inside of an oven. Fine? You stuck bread in the oven, and if you let the bread bake then you are liable for death—you committed Sabbath desecration. Okay? Now remove it, take it out of the oven, and it won’t bake, and then you won’t be liable—you’ll save yourself from a capital liability. But removing the bread is also a prohibition. Granted it’s a light prohibition—“it is a skill and not a labor”—but it is a prohibition. Now the question is whether I am allowed to violate that lighter prohibition and remove the bread in order to save myself from a stoning offense. They discuss there whether yes or no. Tosafot says—say this is where there are witnesses too, even if I do it? For the sake of the discussion, it doesn’t matter. So Tosafot says there that of course he is allowed, because he won’t listen to us even if we tell him it is forbidden. Wonderful reasoning. Meaning, I think what Tosafot means to say is: it is impossible that we should forbid a person something that will basically put him into a situation where he will die. You obligate a person, because of a rabbinic prohibition, to enter a situation in which he becomes liable to death? That is simply unreasonable. The person won’t listen to us—but the fact that he won’t listen to us is only an indication. It indicates that such a thing cannot be created. Meaning, this is not… no reasonable person would listen to you. And where a reasonable person would not listen to you, it is probably also not correct. Meaning, one cannot demand such a thing. I think that is Tosafot’s claim. All right, how did I get to this? I don’t remember. The Mishneh LaMelekh and all that—I was speaking in connection with your question about a religious court, what happens when the religious court does it. So let’s return for a moment to our line of thought. So the claim, basically, is that the Jewish law freezes itself where someone uses it as a spade to dig with. He exploits the fact that I observe the Jewish law in order to violate my rights. So in such a case the halakhic wall melts itself, meaning it doesn’t exist. That’s the claim. Now that is a very novel claim. Because this principle—that a person cannot prohibit something that is not his—has a verse, or at least forbidden mixtures have a verse. In other things it’s more complicated. But there is a claim that there is a verse for it. Here these are things that emerge from reasoning. Border towns—the Sages derived that from reasoning. Meaning, the burglar tunneling in is already written in a verse, but the question is what exactly the definition of the burglar tunneling in is there. The shekel, that one who threatens me over a shekel—that has no clear source, nor does the case of Zimri. But they derive it from reasoning. Meaning, the Sages apparently have some reasoning strong enough to innovate laws that allow one to violate prohibitions of murder, you can… they permit here the gravest prohibitions imaginable by force of this reasoning. This reasoning that says that the Jewish law is frozen where someone uses it cynically. Okay? And therefore it’s much stronger when I tell you that this is basically a product of reasoning and not of some verse or another. By the way, they also acknowledge the law, although Rashi explained in that direction, but… the medieval authorities discuss there whether that really is the source or not the source, or whether it is self-imposed prohibition, which is itself not really a source. Certainly in that law they do bring it, the medieval authorities bring it, but in self-imposed prohibition it’s not a source at all. All these things are reasonings. Dreams—the status of a dream—nobody brings any verse there. These are definitions of the medieval authorities, of the Talmud; nobody brings any verse. It is all reasoning. Meaning, there is something in the Sages’ conception that drew a very sharp and clear boundary between my domain and the public domain. In all these aspects, of all kinds and varieties, in my domain I am the exclusive ruler. Outside, what operates are the regular general public rules of the Jewish law—evidence, and all the matters of danger to life, all these things. But with regard to my domain, I am the exclusive master. It’s a conception we would not expect, I think, from a simple look at the Jewish law. There is here a conception that recognizes very strongly the autonomy of a person over his personal territory, over the subjective realm or the personal realm—not necessarily subjective in the psychological sense, right, but his personal realm. Let’s maybe bring a few more examples in this direction. There were, for example, two articles in Techumin, one by Rabbi Ovadia and one by Rabbi Ariel. Rabbi Ovadia discusses the question of what happens if a child wants to go to a yeshiva where they don’t study secular subjects, and the parents pressure him to go to a yeshiva high school, some place where you also take matriculation exams, which opens options for livelihood—there the parents also want some education or vocational training and the like. The question is whether he must obey his parents. The basic principle is: “Each man shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths.” Meaning, where parents tell you to violate a prohibition, from the context in which it is written in the Torah, the Sages derive that if your parents tell you not to keep the Sabbath, you do not have to obey them. Okay, so the obligation to obey them lapses where they tell you to violate a prohibition. The question is whether something like this falls into the category of parents telling you to violate a prohibition. Rabbi Ovadia claims that there are those who would say that here the parents are telling you to perform a commandment. But Rabbi Ovadia apparently isn’t all the way there, although I think he has some balanced approach also to this area of livelihood. But he discusses the question whether nevertheless this thing is called telling you not to do a commandment, telling you to violate words of Torah. And there he discusses whether yes or no, whether it is beautifying a commandment or whether it is a commandment, and on that he makes depend the question whether to obey the parents or not. Fine. That’s one article by Rabbi Ovadia, an article whose conclusion I no longer remember, by the way. The second article, by Rabbi Ariel, deals with the question of what happens if we have here an officer—if a person wants to volunteer for an officer’s course in the army and the parents do not want that, because it will require signing on for regular service, all right? Signing on for regular service. And the parents don’t want that; they want him at home. Must he obey them? So Rabbi Ariel also discusses there the question whether serving is mandatory service, and someone who goes to officer training and signs on for regular service is volunteering. True, they’ll put you in the kitchen if you don’t agree, but it’s volunteering. Okay? So the question is whether he calls this beautifying a commandment, basically, okay? If in his view enlisting is a commandment and becoming an officer is beautifying the commandment—you do it in a more comprehensive way, okay? So the question is whether beautifying a commandment enters this category, that if your parents tell you not to beautify a commandment, whether you need to obey them or not. If they tell you not to fulfill a commandment or to violate a prohibition, certainly you do not need to obey them, but if they tell you not to beautify a commandment, that’s another question. By the way, I also have an interesting comment about that too, and I think we once talked about it. There is a very common mistake among people, that people relate to all kinds of things as voluntary when they are not. For example, the blue thread in tzitzit. Some people say: after all, it says in the Talmud, in the Mishnah, that the blue does not prevent the white and the white does not prevent the blue, so apparently the blue thread is a voluntary matter. If you want, the commandment is white threads, and if you add blue, excellent, but it doesn’t prevent the white. That is a great mistake, of course. The blue thread is a positive commandment. But what? If you don’t have blue thread, or even if deliberately you didn’t put in blue thread, you did not lose the commandment of the white. It doesn’t prevent the commandment of the white, but that doesn’t mean you fulfilled the commandment in full. You did not fulfill the commandment of the blue. You have neglected a positive commandment of blue. It is an obligatory commandment. Many times when something doesn’t invalidate, the feeling is as though, okay, it’s a voluntary matter. No—it doesn’t invalidate something else, but it itself can still be a complete obligation. For example, if I return to beautifying a commandment, it says: “This is my God and I will glorify Him”—beautify yourself before Him in commandments. So usually the prevalent approach, even among halakhic decisors, by the way—even in tzitzit there are formulations. Beautifying a commandment, yes. Regarding beautifying a commandment, this is my God and I will glorify Him, beautify yourself before Him in commandments. People understand that as a voluntary matter, meaning that beautification doesn’t invalidate. You can have a kosher etrog, so it’s kosher, not especially beautiful, fine. But if not, then not. A Hanukkah menorah or whatever it may be. In my opinion that is a mistake. Beautifying a commandment is a commandment. It is an obligatory positive commandment. Not a positive commandment that invalidates if absent—for other reasons I think not—but it is a commandment, it is a positive Torah obligation. It simply does not invalidate the commandment. Meaning, if you took an etrog that is not especially beautiful, then you fulfilled the commandment of the etrog, but you did not fulfill the commandment of beautification. Only, without the beautification, the commandment of the etrog—you did fulfill your obligation. It does not invalidate the basic commandment. But that does not mean it is voluntary to beautify. That is something else entirely, a completely different conception. Therefore, if we understand it that way, I think the simple answer is that even if parents tell you not to beautify a commandment, you are not supposed to obey them. What’s the difference between beautifying a commandment and a commandment? Beautifying a commandment is also a commandment. It does not invalidate the commandment, but “this is my God and I will glorify Him” you did not fulfill. That’s just a parenthetical comment. But let’s return to what I really want to say, which is that all those discussions between them are irrelevant. They aren’t speaking on the right plane at all, Rabbi Ovadia and Rabbi Ariel. Why? Because they discuss whether this thing falls into the category of commandment, and then if they tell you not to fulfill the commandment you do not have to obey your parents, or not. I claim it starts much earlier. If there is something that in my eyes is very important—I want to be an officer. Fine, I have a friend who once made a film called To Be an Officer, an old film like that following three guys side by side; one of them is a good friend of mine. So he wants to be an officer; that is how he sees his life, it matters a lot to him, it is meaningful to him, that is what he wants to do. If the parents tell you they don’t want you to sign on for regular service or go become an officer, I do not obey them not because it’s a commandment to be an officer. It clearly is not a commandment to be an officer. But if this is something essential for me, this is my territory. Parents cannot interfere in my life. Parents can ask me for help. Where I harm them, of course I may not. But they cannot dictate to me things that concern my life. Since when? Now, there is no source for this, but it is obviously true. Obviously true. And therefore if someone wants to volunteer for officer training because it is important to him—not just because it’s some pastime or other—it matters to him. For him it is very meaningful. Not beautifying a commandment and not all those things—just, he wants to lead, I don’t know, develop his personality, whatever you want, it doesn’t matter, each person as he sees it. The parents cannot tell you not to do it. Not because it’s beautifying a commandment or not beautifying a commandment, and not because of all the halakhic definitions, but because this is outside their territorial range. They cannot dictate to me, in my territory, what to do. And likewise with a child who wants to go to a yeshiva where they do not study secular subjects. If the parents tell him not to do that, in my opinion he does not need to obey them. Because this is an intrusion into his territory, even though I think the parents are right in this case. But that doesn’t matter. The decision is his decision. Of course, afterward the parents can say to him, okay, but support yourself—meaning, don’t expect us to pay for it or to support you. That’s another question. But in terms of honoring parents, if I decided to live this way and I’ve reached age eighteen, or even if I’ve already formed my own judgment and I’m legally an adult, then I decide my path. And no parent can tell me what to do—not because of commandment and beautifying a commandment and all that, but because it is outside the scope of parental control. It belongs to my personal territory. Why did the Torah need to tell me “Each man shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths”? Because there it really does not belong to my personal sphere. It is a halakhic matter. Where it really is significant in terms of my life, you don’t need it to be a commandment at all in order for me not to obey them. I’ll give you an example: the Maharik writes—brought as practical Jewish law in the Rema in Yoreh De’ah—the Maharik writes that if parents tell someone not to marry a certain woman—they don’t like her, or she doesn’t look right to them, or they think she won’t be good for him as a partner—he does not need to obey them. Now when you look very carefully at the Maharik’s reasoning, and people miss this because they start discussing the question, wait, is marrying a woman a commandment, is it not a commandment, and they drag it back into this law of “Each man shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths.” Marrying a woman is not a commandment according to most opinions. According to Maimonides they claim it is a commandment, the commandment of betrothal; there too, in my opinion, they are not correct. He counts it, but Maimonides also counts things that are not commandments, so there is a mistake there. But according to most medieval authorities it is not a commandment; it is preparation for a commandment. Meaning, you need to marry because that is how you can fulfill procreation. The commandment is procreation, not betrothal. Betrothal is preparation for the commandment of procreation. That is the dispute between the Rosh and Maimonides at the beginning of Even HaEzer; people always bring that up. So they discuss this in the Maharik, and when you read his language carefully, there are two reasons there. One of them is this, that it is preparation for a commandment and not a commandment. But the second is: when I want to marry her, that is not your grandmother’s business, with all due respect to the parents. Meaning, it’s my life, I choose how to live my life, and a partner is not—it’s the most basic thing imaginable. If parents can dictate my partner to me, they can dictate everything to me. Or if there is one thing they cannot dictate, it is which partner I choose to live with—or spouse, it makes no difference. So this doesn’t even enter the sphere of honoring your father and your mother. Exactly. But I’m saying, there is no source for this. Because there is a dispute in Yevamot 6, there in Tosafot—there is Tosafot and Rashba. There is a dispute there over whether there is an obligation to honor parents where it is not for their need, but rather they want to tell you something for your own good, not for their good, because they think it is for your good. The question is whether there is an obligation or no obligation. There are medieval authorities who say there is an obligation to obey them even in such a situation. A dispute among medieval authorities. A Talmudic dispute or a dispute among medieval authorities? A dispute among medieval authorities around the Talmudic passage in Yevamot 6. A Talmudic dispute? The question is on what basis, the position of the person who obeys. Exactly. And according to the position of those medieval authorities who say that there is an obligation to obey parents even where it is not their need, but there is some general idea of obeying parents—I claim that even according to that position, you do not need to obey them when the parents tell me whom to marry. You don’t have to. I decide whom I marry. This is the way I choose to live my life. Or my career, or my profession. These are things—significant decisions. Where the line is, I don’t know; I have no idea how one determines that line. But in something significant, you don’t need to obey them. And why? Because this is my personal territory, and in that territory they have no power to determine. Here I am the exclusive ruler. Again, the same territorial, subjective idea—call it what you want. In that place the laws of the Torah do not apply; this is a freezing of the laws of the Torah. Meaning, the laws of the Torah basically say to obey—according to those positions among the medieval authorities, one must obey one’s parents even in what does not concern them, and there is no source for this Maharik, he does not bring a verse, there is no source. So how does he decide that it does not apply there? By reasoning. Since here is the boundary of my domain, the Torah stops here. That’s all. From here onward, I decide what happens to me. All right, this is a very, very strong statement, and it has quite a few somewhat unexpected proofs. But I think it reflects very strongly this libertarianism, yes, this conception that says that my territory is my fortress, I am the exclusive ruler. Even the Torah freezes itself in these contexts. Not the Torah in commands imposed on me—the Torah certainly imposes commands on me that concern my personal life, that is obvious. But where this gives someone else authority to impose restrictions on my territory, there is no such authority. When it concerns my territory, that authority is nullified. And without a source—there is no source, no verses, nothing at all. From the very fact that this is my territory.