Simple Faith – Lesson 1
This transcript was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.
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Table of Contents
- The myth of “simple faith” and its sources
- The pious Yaavetz, the Inquisition, and the claim that the “simple people” endured
- The Lithuanian gap between halakhic intellect and intellectual simplicity
- The story of the forced convert in Safed, the showbread, and the Ari’s judgment
- The radicalization of the concept of simplicity: mistaken belief as a model
- Simplicity as an ideal model versus a factual description of religious attachment
- The irreversibility of disillusionment and the price of thinking
- Hermann Cohen and the critique of a philosophy that lacks “where is the Holy One, blessed be He?”
- The logical problem in demanding that people not investigate, and forbidding examination of the foundations
- The distinction between forbidding the study of certain fields and the logical loop of forbidding investigation
- Rabbi Yerucham Leibovitz: faith as the foundation of life without proofs
- Rabbinic homilies, “I interpret the verse,” and tendentious reading
- The analogy to marriage and trust, and the claim that life rests on faith
- Rabbi Kook on “your mother is my wife and you are my son” and the presumption of reality
- To whom is the call “do not investigate” addressed: the complete believer or the one troubled by doubts
Summary
General Overview
The text presents as a widespread myth the superiority of simple faith over faith that emerges from philosophical inquiry, and shows how strong this myth is both in the Hasidic world and in the Lithuanian world, even though the Lithuanian world relies specifically on the supremacy of intellect in Jewish law. The speaker brings stories and sources to show that the simplicity and emotional attachment of “simple Jews” do in fact endure and create strong religious connection, but he casts sharp doubt on the ideal moral status of banning inquiry and on the logical coherence of trying to educate people not to examine. In the end he sharpens a distinction: there is room to say “do not investigate” to someone who already believes and is whole in his faith, but that cannot serve as an answer to someone troubled by doubts or who has not yet accepted the foundations of religious obligation.
The myth of “simple faith” and its sources
The text describes a common assumption that there is an advantage to faith that is not based on investigation and proof, and gives as an example Duties of the Heart with the commentary Lev Tov, and the introduction there that praises simple faith and even gathers voices warning against philosophical inquiry. The text notes that the section Sha’ar HaYichud in Duties of the Heart does in fact engage in philosophical inquiry, and that some had the practice not to study it and even printed editions without it. The text lays out a range of positions, from those who claim inquiry is absolutely forbidden to those who mainly stress the intellectual aspect rather than the halakhic one.
The pious Yaavetz, the Inquisition, and the claim that the “simple people” endured
The text presents as a yeshiva myth the words of the pious Yaavetz about the exiles of Spain during the Inquisition, according to which it was דווקא the simple Jews who held out, while Torah scholars, intellectuals, and philosophers fell earlier. The text presents this as practical evidence that simple faith creates greater power of endurance under decrees and trials than faith founded on inquiry.
The Lithuanian gap between halakhic intellect and intellectual simplicity
The text describes a “fascinating” phenomenon in the Lithuanian world: the supremacy of intellect and analysis applies with great force in the sphere of Jewish law, but outside of it there is an absence of the use of intellect in matters of thought, alongside a reservation toward worlds such as Kabbalah and the lack of organized engagement with them. The text recounts experiences in Bnei Brak in which kollel students who were “lions in learning” listened to a shmuess on midrash and thought at a level the speaker regarded as poor, without this arousing opposition, whereas in halakhic dialectics such “nonsense” would never pass. The text presents this as a dichotomous phase shift that leaves the myth of simple faith no less strong among Lithuanians than among Hasidim.
The story of the forced convert in Safed, the showbread, and the Ari’s judgment
The text brings a story about a forced convert from Portugal who settled in Safed, heard a homily about the showbread and the sorrow that today there is no prepared thing upon which divine abundance can rest “even on the unprepared,” and began every Friday to prepare two loaves from flour sifted thirteen times, in purity and with great care, and place them before the holy ark in order “to offer them before the sanctuary of God.” The text describes how the synagogue sexton took the bread every week and ate it, while the forced convert rejoiced when he did not find the bread and told his wife that God had already accepted it and eaten it “while still hot,” and urged her not to slacken because “this bread is pleasing to Him.” The text describes a rabbi who saw this, rebuked the forced convert for attributing physicality to the Creator (“Does our God eat and drink?”), revealed that the sexton was taking the bread, and the forced convert wept and asked forgiveness for having misunderstood the homily. The text adds that a messenger from the holy Ari summoned the rabbi, and the Ari told him, “Set your house in order,” because he would die on the Sabbath during the time of his sermon, since he had canceled the pleasure of the Holy One, blessed be He, for “since the Temple was destroyed, the Creator of the world had not had such pleasure” as from the simplicity of the forced convert, and there was no way to cancel the decree; the rabbi wrote a will and died on the Sabbath at the hour he was meant to preach.
The radicalization of the concept of simplicity: mistaken belief as a model
The text argues that the story radicalizes simple faith beyond the usual meaning, because here the belief leads to a problematic mistake of anthropomorphism, meaning belief “in the wrong God.” The text compares this to stories about the Baal Shem Tov in which the prayer is incorrect but directed to the “right” God, and suggests that here too one might say that God “eats” by sending the sexton, but still the forced convert is mistaken in his conception. The text mentions Maimonides’ parable of the elephant in Guide for the Perplexed, about someone who attributes to an elephant characteristics that are not its own and therefore is “calling a pelican an elephant,” and presents Maimonides’ position that one who attributes positive attributes or physicality is not merely mistaken but believes in a different God, alongside the note that the Raavad may not agree. The text says that the story, as it is presented as a tale of “the virtue of simple faith,” creates the impression that simplicity is so precious that one is willing to “bear” even mistaken forms of belief.
Simplicity as an ideal model versus a factual description of religious attachment
The text argues that there is a descriptive truth in the fact that people who do not investigate sometimes develop stronger emotional attachment to prayer and faith, whereas Torah scholars can be “colder” because they know that things depend on definitions and that human hands shaped parts of the tradition. The text presents a view according to which there are “things the public cannot bear,” and therefore a Torah scholar does not tell everything to simple Jews, while the simple people reject attempts to change customs with phrases like “my grandmother did it this way.” The text asks what the moral significance of these facts is, and whether it is right to educate from the outset toward a model of non-investigation as an ideal worldview, rather than merely recognizing the legitimacy of the common people or as an educational compromise.
The irreversibility of disillusionment and the price of thinking
The text suggests that there is something about thinking that does not allow one to “return” to simplicity even if one wants to, because once disillusionment occurs the door closes. The text explains that personification and anthropomorphism arise from closeness and from the desire to grasp the Holy One, blessed be He, as standing opposite the person and as part of his world, whereas a philosopher can live with a “detached” God without needing attachment. The text presents the idea that the error itself is invalid, but alongside it there is a benefit of emotional closeness that is sometimes closed off to one who does not err in that way, and it raises the question of what to do with that tension.
Hermann Cohen and the critique of a philosophy that lacks “where is the Holy One, blessed be He?”
The text tells a story about Hermann Cohen, who drew closer to Judaism in the latter part of his life, met a Jew to whom he recounted the “wonders” of the results of his investigations, and the Jew finally asked: “And where is the Holy One, blessed be He, in all this?” The text presents Hermann Cohen as saying this with identification, as recognition that there is an authenticity in the simple Jew that does not depend on philosophies. The text presents these stories as a model that not only tolerates simplicity but sees in it a source of attachment to God that “the greatest philosophers will not attain.”
The logical problem in demanding that people not investigate, and forbidding examination of the foundations
The text defines as “absurd” the attempt to set simple faith up as a binding ideal whose meaning is to live a certain way “even though you have not examined it,” and especially to forbid examination and inquiry into whether the whole system is true. The text illustrates that if a secular person were to say he is committed to “simple atheism” and is forbidden to think, the claim would be seen as intolerable, so there is no principled difference between someone who holds faith without examination and someone who holds unbelief without examination. The text distinguishes between accepting halakhic authority after one has accepted the system and forbidding examination of the very foundation of obligation, and argues that it cannot be that the Torah forbids examining the basis of one’s obligation to Torah. The text brings a hypothetical example of Moses forbidding people to examine whether there is a Holy One, blessed be He, and whether he was sent with the Torah, and argues that one should not listen to him because “who says I have to listen to him” without examination, and compares this to the paradox of a sign in a library saying, “Please do not read anything in this room, including this sign.”
The distinction between forbidding the study of certain fields and the logical loop of forbidding investigation
The text rejects the comparison between forbidding the study of the Hebrew Bible (Tanakh) in certain circles and forbidding inquiry, and argues that forbidding the study of the Hebrew Bible does not necessarily mean forbidding examination of the system that obligates you, and therefore does not create the same circularity. The text explains that halakhic authority operates after you have accepted the system, so you do not need to identify with the reasons for enactments such as the prohibition of poultry with milk, but examining the very authority of the system is another matter that cannot be forbidden.
Rabbi Yerucham Leibovitz: faith as the foundation of life without proofs
The text presents an article by Rabbi Yerucham Leibovitz of Mir on “and I will betroth you to Me in faith,” where it is argued that if one could perform an analysis of every action one would reach the ultimate purpose, and in the end the purpose of the Torah is fear of God, based on “And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you but to fear.” The text cites from the introduction to Duties of the Heart the words of “one of those considered among the sages of the Torah” who said “tradition will stand in place of inquiry,” and presents Rabbi Yerucham as concluding that the vitality of the Jewish people does not come from proofs and demonstrations but from living “from tradition and from faith.” The text identifies here a pragmatist argument of “it is true because it works,” and rejects it as an unjustified move from the useful to the true, comparing it to the fact that “the way of the wicked prospers” too, and that the success of a model does not prove its truth.
Rabbinic homilies, “I interpret the verse,” and tendentious reading
The text cites Rabbi Yerucham’s claim that the Sages did not base their foundations on proofs and demonstrations but on “Mount Sinai is enough,” and also presents the saying “I interpret the verse” in the context of “our patriarch Jacob did not die.” The text argues that presenting “I interpret the verse” as proof for the cancellation of evidence is tendentious, because Scripture itself describes Jacob as dying, and the point is rules of homiletic interpretation that do not stand the tests of plain meaning or history (“one does not refute a homily”). The text adds that when people try to write books to justify simple faith, unavoidable “loops” are created, and therefore if simple faith were an absolute ideal it would be better “to remain silent” and not try to justify it.
The analogy to marriage and trust, and the claim that life rests on faith
The text cites Rabbi Yerucham’s example that family life is not built on proofs and demonstrations, and that a wife does not demand proof every time that her husband is faithful to her, but lives on the basis of faith and trust even in the face of outside claims. The text accepts the claim that one cannot live without basic trust even in everyday matters, such as relying on someone who tells you the time or how to get somewhere. The text asks whether this is simply a rule of practical conduct because of practical difficulty, or a rule of inquiry that says someone who doubts without cause is “not all there in the head.”
Rabbi Kook on “your mother is my wife and you are my son” and the presumption of reality
The text cites from Ein Ayah by Rabbi Kook on Sabbath 30 two stories about someone who said to Rabbi or to Rabbi Chiya, “your mother is my wife and you are my son,” and in both cases they offered him a cup of wine—“drink and burst.” The text presents Rabbi Kook’s interpretation that the response rests on the fact that there are things established by presumption and one has no need to doubt them without a reason, and that in order to doubt one needs grounds, even without formal proof. The text brings an example from a prayer quorum in Bnei Brak in which people debated whether a father is believed about the age of his son for bar mitzvah, while in practice they simply ask the child, “Are you thirteen?” and move on, and cites Rashi: “one witness is trusted in matters of prohibition, for you have no person who disqualifies his fellow.”
To whom is the call “do not investigate” addressed: the complete believer or the one troubled by doubts
The text states that even those who forbid inquiry cannot really address this demand to someone who does not believe or who is in serious doubt, because that returns us to the logical paradox of forbidding examination of the foundations. The text suggests that the call “do not investigate” is directed to someone who already believes in a basic and whole way and is only troubled by the fact that he lacks philosophical grounding; in that case one can say that the absence of sophisticated arguments is not a flaw in faith. The text presents a position according to which one may say, “I simply know He is there,” as a basic intuition no weaker than proof, and that such a state does not require a person to become a philosopher in order to be a believer. The text ends by saying that the real debate is whether inquiry has value in completing the believer, while it is impossible to set up a prohibition on inquiry as a general rule for someone who has not yet accepted the foundations of faith and obligation, and that he will continue next time.
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Today we’ll try to discuss, to talk about, the issue of simple faith—a fundamental question in Jewish thought, it seems to me, maybe even a question about Jewish thought itself, if you like. There’s this accepted notion, this convention, that there’s something very good, more elevated, in a person who believes with simple faith—not out of investigations and proofs and philosophical searches of one kind or another. And people talk about this quite a bit. The prominent example is what I looked at there, and in the end it’s in Duties of the Heart with the commentary Lev Tov. There’s the introduction by the author of Lev Tov, and he gathers all those authorities, more or less, who forbade engaging in philosophical inquiry and speaks in praise of simple faith. In that edition I saw a somewhat different introduction, I don’t know. In any case, he does say it because the first section of Duties of the Heart is Sha’ar HaYichud, and in Sha’ar HaYichud he really does engage in philosophical inquiry. The book as a whole is more a book of ethics / morality, but the first section is a section that does deal with philosophical inquiry, and indeed there were people who had the practice not to study it. There were even editions, I think, that were printed without Sha’ar HaYichud; they printed only the rest of the book.
[Speaker B] He himself, the Lev Tov, doesn’t comment on it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, right. So somehow it’s accepted—and again, in different degrees—that there’s something much stronger, let’s call it that, in simple faith than in faith that comes through inquiry. Now, there are different degrees here. There are those who say it’s absolutely forbidden, God forbid, “do not stray after your hearts and after your eyes.” All in all, there are also halakhic / of Jewish law aspects here that need examination, but I’m not going into the halakhic questions right now because that’s not really—I don’t think these can really be handled with halakhic tools. It all starts from the question of what we do with this on the level of thought. And this is one of the famous myths, right, of the pious Yaavetz in the yeshivas. That’s always how they tell it: the pious Yaavetz says about the exiles from Spain that the ones who held out there in the period of the Inquisition were precisely the simple Jews. The Torah scholars, the intellectuals, the philosophers—there were quite a few of them there—they fell much earlier. And specifically the more simple people, with simple faith, held out under the decrees and trials there much more strongly. And truly, it seems to me that in the more modern world they managed to produce—and especially in the Lithuanian world, it seems to me—they managed to produce a genuinely fascinating phenomenon: people who basically grow up on the supremacy of intellect, meaning on the importance of analysis, definition, the logical examination of everything—certainly in Jewish law, of course, mainly in Jewish law, but also beyond that—there is some reservation, say, about Kabbalah. Almost nobody will say that he rejects it, but it’s not really something that is part of his world, not only for a yeshiva student; I think even for his Lithuanian rosh yeshiva. And together with that, there’s a complete disregard for fields that are not Jewish law, the intellectual fields and the use of the intellect in areas that are not halakhic. And there somehow we remain in the Hasidic world—at least as a generalization. I don’t think it’s really true about all Hasidim—but this world that is supposed to accept things with simplicity, without asking, without investigating, without defining. I’ve already told more than once about the experiences I had regarding kollel students in Bnei Brak when I used to pray there. Guys who were really lions in learning—it was a pleasure to be there and talk with those people, truly amazing people, unusual intellectual power in learning—and every now and then on Friday night some Jew would show up, the mashgiach. A rebbe in a yeshiva or something like that, and he’d give some kind of shmuess on a midrash or on thought, what we call thought here. And I looked right and left to see whether the guys—was this okay, I mean, what he was saying? Because I was a little—it was embarrassing. I mean really, at a very childish level. And people sat there and listened; some of them dozed off, but they definitely didn’t think there was any problem here. It’s like the giving of the Torah. Meaning, when they learn, then of course they learn and ask and challenge and try to define and don’t just accept things because he said them, or because you need to analyze them, understand whether they hold water, see if they make sense, not defer automatically to people or to arguments. But once you step a little to the right or left outside the halakhic or analytic world, somehow the phase is completely different. There’s some kind of phase transition here. Suddenly you become this kind of innocent Jew who listens to nonsense that my kids in kindergarten wouldn’t buy, I think—and these guys are lions, really, talented people, very intelligent people, and nothing. They sit there as if this is—I don’t know. It’s a fascinating phenomenon. It occupied me quite a bit when I was in Bnei Brak. And even though I wasn’t an integral or built-in part of that group, it was easy for me to keep a bit of distance and still remain sane, meaning still to understand that this was nonsense, even though I was there and part of the regular listeners. It’s truly an amazing phenomenon. These are things at a very low level, and in learning something like that would never begin to pass. The guys would crucify whoever said things like that. I mean, it just wouldn’t get past them. So there’s some kind of…
[Speaker C] Right, and even in learning it seems to me that if they see some medieval authority (Rishonim) saying a difficult argument, usually they try to reconcile him too.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, there is authority to the medieval authorities (Rishonim), but even then you’ll hear, okay, these are the words of an astonishing midrash. I think I once told this story: I was with Rabbi Shlomo Fisher in Jerusalem with the guys from Yerucham. We were there with the whole yeshiva, and he gave us a lecture there, and somehow—I don’t remember exactly how he got to it—he said something about someone acting unawares regarding forbidden fats and sexual prohibitions being liable because he derived pleasure, something like that. So I told him there—I asked, because there is a Ran who says that even in positive commandments, if you do it while acting unawares, there is this reasoning that he derived pleasure—never mind, it’s a halakhic principle, not important—the reasoning that he derived pleasure, which is a novelty. And then he said, “That’s an astonishing midrash,” and kept talking, as if he hadn’t even answered me. Meaning, all right, what are you bringing me these kinds of things for? They don’t even get started. Even now, he’s also—well, he’s a Jewish fellow… what? Also in thought? Yes, true, he also deals with thought, but—
[Speaker E] Also in a lecture I once heard from him, on Rabbi Akiva Eiger, something like that, I don’t remember which topic, he just killed it, killed it, without…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s true that with him he really does engage in thought, but—
[Speaker E] Rabbi Akiva Eiger—that’s what I heard from him.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So indeed it seems to me that, let’s say, maybe not at the sharpness level of Rabbi Shlomo Fisher, but in the halakhic world they don’t buy nonsense. They try to explain, and if it doesn’t work—okay. And even when they try to explain, if it’s too forced, then everybody understands: okay, they’re explaining him because he lived before the sixteenth century, but still, it’s not nice to hurt his honor, he’s a medieval authority (Rishon), but still, this isn’t really it. Everybody understands what’s going on; there are clear codes. But there is an extremely strong dichotomous separation between the world of thought and the halakhic world, even among this group, which is definitely an intellectual group, a group for whom rational analysis is central to their whole being. There are criticisms of Lithuanianism that it’s only intellect, with no emotional dimension and no other dimension, but somehow they managed to narrow it or confine it only to the halakhic sphere and not let it spill right or left. Meaning, the myth of simple faith is no less strong among Lithuanians than among Hasidim. The difference between them is maybe in the world of learning—or I don’t know, not only in learning—but somehow in the world of thought this myth is very strong in the Lithuanian world as well. And that’s good—it’s a surprising phenomenon—but in any case, that’s the point of departure. So maybe I’ll bring, as an illustration of this matter, a story that has several angles worth thinking about—a story about the virtue of simple faith. It’s brought in books; I don’t know what these books are. I’d heard this story before, but I found it on the internet, so I downloaded it from there. I don’t know what the books are.
[Speaker F] So then it’s definitely true. So it’s definitely true.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. “One of the forced converts came from Portugal and settled in the holy city of Safed. Once he heard one of the rabbis of Safed in his sermon expounding on the subject of the showbread that was offered in the Temple every Sabbath. And apparently that rabbi sighed in his sermon and lamented and said: now, because of our many sins, we have no prepared thing so that abundance may rest even on that which is unprepared.” Fine, never mind. He mourned our fate, that we no longer have the showbread. “That forced convert from Portugal who heard this went in the innocence of his heart to his home and instructed his wife that every Friday she should prepare for him two loaves of bread from flour sifted thirteen times, and that she should knead the dough in purity and with all kinds of careful sifting, and that it should be baked well in the oven in the house, because he wanted to offer it before the sanctuary of God; perhaps God would take thought for him and accept it and eat this offering.” Yes, he wanted to bring his own showbread to the synagogue. “And as he requested, so his wife did for him, and thus every Friday that forced convert would take those two loaves of bread and bring them to the synagogue before the holy ark and pray and supplicate before God that He accept them willingly and eat them and that they be pleasing and sweet to Him, and so on. Thus he would speak and plead like a son importuning his father, and then he would place the bread and leave. The synagogue sexton, who came on Friday to arrange the synagogue and came upon two fine loaves of bread, rejoiced over the find.” Apparently there was no identifying mark on them. Let’s judge him favorably. What? Yes. In non-Jewish churches too, I think, that’s how it was. And besides, the bosses are like non-Jews. All right, in any case—“he came upon two fine loaves of bread, rejoiced over the find, and took them. And from then on, every Friday he would come to the synagogue and take the two loaves of bread, without asking or investigating where they came from or who had brought them. He ate and rejoiced in them as one rejoices in harvest. At the time of the evening prayer, that God-fearing forced convert would run to the synagogue and look in the holy ark, and when he didn’t find the bread there, he would rejoice with great joy in his heart and go and say to his wife: praise and thanks to the blessed God, for He did not despise the suffering of the poor, and He has already accepted the bread and eaten it hot.” Yes, he ate it while it was still hot—the Holy One, blessed be He. He understood that the Holy One, blessed be He, eats the showbread. “And for the sake of the blessed God, do not slacken in making them, and be very careful, because since we have nothing with which to honor Him, and we see that this bread is pleasing to Him”—yes, the Holy One, blessed be He, really enjoys eating this bread—“it is our duty to give Him pleasure with them.” That’s what he said to his wife. “And that forced convert continued this persistently for some time. Then one day, as if by chance, that rabbi—from whose sermon the forced convert had learned to bring the bread—was on Friday in the synagogue and stood on the platform in order to prepare the sermon he was supposed to deliver the next day on the Sabbath in the synagogue.” Yes, he was doing a dry run. “And behold, that man came as was his good custom with the rolls and approached the holy sanctuary and began arranging his words and supplications as usual, without noticing that the rabbi was there too. Out of the great enthusiasm and joy he had when bringing this gift before God. The rabbi, who looked and saw and heard everything the man said and did, was greatly alarmed and very angry. He called to that forced convert and rebuked him and said to him: Fool! Does our God eat and drink? Do you think the Holy One, blessed be He, eats your bread? Surely the sexton takes this bread every week, and you believe and suppose that God is the one receiving it. And it is a great sin to attribute physicality to the blessed Creator, who has no body and no bodily form.” Thus he rebuked him, and said other words of moral reproof as well, until the sexton came as usual to take the rolls. And when the rabbi saw him, he called to him and said: Tell this man why you have come now, and who takes every week the two loaves that he would bring every Friday. And the sexton admitted it without shame. That forced convert, when he heard these things, began weeping and lamenting, and asked the rabbi to forgive him, for he had erred in understanding his homily. He had not correctly understood the rabbi’s sermon and thought he was doing a commandment, but according to the rabbi’s words it turned out he had done only a transgression.” Meaning, he wanted to do a commandment and in the end it turned out he had done a transgression. “In the middle of their conversation a special messenger came from the holy Ari, of blessed memory, and summoned the rabbi to the holy Ari urgently. When he arrived, the Ari said to him: Set your house in order”—leave a will—“for tomorrow, at the time when you were supposed to preach, you shall surely die. And the proclamation has already gone forth and been announced in heaven. The rabbi was greatly alarmed by the Ari’s words and asked in fear: What is my crime and what is my sin? The Ari of blessed memory answered him: I heard that because you canceled the pleasure that the Holy One, blessed be He, had, for from the day the Temple was destroyed the Creator of the world had not had such pleasure as at that hour when that forced convert from Portugal would bring two loaves of bread in the simplicity of his heart and offer them before His sanctuary, sincerely believing that the blessed God had accepted them from him. And because you stopped him from bringing them, a death sentence was decreed upon you, and there is no way to cancel the decree. The rabbi went home, wrote a will, and the next day, on the holy Sabbath”—no happy ending here—“at the hour when he was supposed to deliver his sermon, he passed away, just as the man of God, the Ari of blessed memory, had told him.” That’s the story—yes—told about the wonders of simple faith.
[Speaker F] Where does that appear?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I found it on the internet. I don’t know. If you want the link. What?
[Speaker F] It appears in a lot of versions.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, yes, I had already seen this story. I don’t know the source; I found it on the internet.
[Speaker F] There’s a good version where he always comes to him in a dream. What? That he wakes up dead in the morning, the rabbi. So how do you know it happened?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Here at least he gave advance notice. Okay.
[Speaker F] No, here really, how do—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] How do you know it happened, or how do you know it didn’t happen? In any case, this story has several interesting aspects, because it takes the approach of simple faith much further. Simple faith we usually understand as believing in the correct Holy One, blessed be He, but doing so not through sophisticated arguments or deep study. Here it’s believing in the wrong Holy One, blessed be He. Meaning, really doing something problematic—namely anthropomorphizing Him, thinking He eats the showbread. So here simple faith leads a person into error. Into error. What? Into error, yes. Now, if about something like this we portray it as some exemplary figure or as conduct worthy of appreciation, then this really is a kind of radicalization of that conception of simple faith. Meaning, simple faith is so precious to the Holy One, blessed be He, that He is willing to tolerate even the price that it is really unbelief, basically—not faith, but belief in the wrong God, really. And that already takes it much farther than what we usually mean. The stories of the Baal Shem Tov, of course, also go in that direction, with the one who played the flute on Yom Kippur, on Rosh Hashanah, and so on. It’s the same principle.
[Speaker D] But there it’s directed to the right God—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, true.
[Speaker D] There it’s directed to the right God, only he—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He prayed in the wrong way. Right, same principle, but—
[Speaker D] And here too you could say that really God “eats” by sending the sexton, as it were. What? Because here you could say that by sending the sexton to take the bread, that’s a form of eating.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, but he thought God eats, so he was mistaken. So what did the Holy One, blessed be He, do?
[Speaker F] Here it’s not necessarily the right God; I mean, it’s a God made physical.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean “right”? This is like Maimonides’ elephant, you know. The parable of the elephant in Guide for the Perplexed—do you know it? Someone who thinks an elephant has wings and is white with a pinkish tint—he’s simply calling a pelican an elephant. That’s all. It’s not that there’s a disagreement about what an elephant is; he’s simply not talking about an elephant. He’s talking about something else. And Maimonides brings this in connection with negative attributes, meaning someone who thinks there are positive attributes of the Holy One, blessed be He—it’s not that he is mistaken in faith; he simply believes in the wrong God. He’s a heretic.
[Speaker D] It’s not certain the Raavad would agree with that.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? It’s not certain the Raavad would agree with that. Okay, fine, I’m saying: he doesn’t believe in God, plain and simple; he believes in someone else, whom he also calls God, but it’s not Him.
[Speaker C] No, but it’s not necessary to hold like Maimonides. Certainly not, I’m only saying, but—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Still, belief in anthropomorphism—even if you say it’s the right God, just with a mistaken conception—it’s always a question what the essential properties are, without which it’s no longer this entity at all but another one. And non-essential properties—then it’s still the same entity, you just have a mistaken conception of it. Fine, you can argue about which properties are essential.
[Speaker C] But it seems to me these stories don’t have to be interpreted as saying it doesn’t matter. It’s just hurting the person. What?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That you simply hurt the simple fellow.
[Speaker C] That’s not what I meant, not what was said there. I meant it’s not that it doesn’t matter. It does matter, but the level of his love of God, the desire to serve God—that’s the main thing. Fine, so he didn’t understand correctly.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Too bad. But all right, so they corrected his mistake. What’s the problem? Now he’ll believe even more.
[Speaker C] The assumption is that he also broke the—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine. That’s why I’m saying: it’s not worth the alternative damage. That’s the point. We’re talking about a simple Jew. He probably can’t really grasp—
[Speaker E] That’s not what the Ari told him. The Ari said that the Holy One, blessed be He, had pleasure from it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The greatest pleasure—He had never had such pleasure.
[Speaker C] Right, but the pleasure is not because he did it in the wrong way, but because he really had—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why not because of it?
[Speaker G] Maybe it’s because of the mistaken form.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course it’s despite the mistaken form. But still, there is a statement here that simple faith is so precious in the eyes of the Holy One, blessed be He, even at the cost of mistaken forms.
[Speaker C] He’s not claiming that this form isn’t mistaken. Simple faith here isn’t the point insofar as he didn’t investigate.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Meaning, the point here… For example, there wasn’t talk here about investigations. He doesn’t investigate in the sense that he doesn’t understand that God has no body.
[Speaker C] That is a philosophical question.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Whether God has no body—and he doesn’t investigate. It’s not that what is precious is that he didn’t study. What’s precious is that he loved it. The fact that he didn’t investigate—behind what… the subtext. The fact that he didn’t… Again, the subtext at least, when people bring this as a story of simple faith. Maybe the story in itself can be read differently, but the subtext is that his not thinking is what brought him to that level of attachment. Meaning, the great investigators can’t reach that level of attachment; only a person with some simple feeling toward the Holy One, blessed be He, who doesn’t understand all His philosophical subtleties—precisely he can reach such a level of connection to the Holy One, blessed be He. Like the famous story of Hermann Cohen—I think I already told it here—that Hermann Cohen said—he came closer to Judaism, as is known, at the end of his days, or maybe even in the latter half of his life. And he said that once—this is how they tell it, I don’t know—he met some Jew in the street and told him wonders about the latest results of his investigations. He was an important philosopher, a neo-Kantian, not a student of Kant but a neo-Kantian, head of the Marburg school of post-Kantian philosophy. And he meets some Jew in the street and tells him the wonders of inquiry—what he has now concluded, how God acts and what it all really means. And the Jew looks at him, listens, and at the end, when he finishes, says: Tell me, and where is the Holy One, blessed be He, in all this? And Hermann Cohen said this in identification. Meaning, he really understood that there was something more authentic, more real, in that Jew than in himself, despite all his philosophies. Meaning, there are all kinds of myths like this that speak not only of our willingness to tolerate simplicity because attachment is also good and simple Jews can’t get beyond that. It’s not a compromise. It’s a model. A model that says simplicity is what brought him to this state. Not only that it didn’t get in his way—never mind, he can also be simple, that’s fine. No. Simplicity is an ideal model from the outset. And know this: look where a simple Jew gets to—something even the greatest philosophers won’t attain. Like the pious Yaavetz, and what I quoted earlier. Now, there’s also something genuinely true in this—meaning, as a phenomenon, as an empirical description of reality, I think there’s a lot of truth in it. People who don’t investigate and aren’t great philosophers and don’t think and check everything—those are often the people who have stronger emotional attachment to prayer, to God, to faith in general. And Torah scholars are somehow more cold, more… They also know, after all, that things depend on definitions and not everything came down from Sinai, and you can define it this way and you can define it another way. Meaning, you begin… doubts are awakened now, because after all you know that human hands also took part in shaping our tradition and our ideas. So the question is: how can you really relate to such a thing with that kind of holiness, that reverential awe, the way you see among simple Jews? Very often there is fear of Heaven, in the emotional, inner sense, much stronger among people who are not Torah scholars. That is certainly true. There are these stories about things the public cannot bear, and among other things they express this too—that the rabbi or Torah scholar knows that this whole business doesn’t really need it, but he can’t say that to the simple Jews; they won’t accept it. Some sloppy fellow like him—they’ll throw him down the stairs, because they know their grandmother did it this way. No one is going to tell them stories that you don’t need to do it this way and that there’s reason to do it differently. Don’t tell me those stories. You can say that in the study hall. It doesn’t interest us. Meaning, there’s something very, very powerful in simplicity and innocence. Up to that point, I think it’s a correct factual description. The question is what that means on the value level. Factually I accept it completely; I think it’s a correct description, or at least contains a lot of truth. But the question is: what does it mean in value terms? Meaning, am I willing to accept that this thing really is a model for serving God, one that it is proper to educate toward? Not that we compromise and accept it too, or see it as legitimate—however each person formulates it—but is it right to educate people, the public, students, whatever, specifically toward this model, as an ideal value from the outset? That’s something that has to be examined on its own. Meaning, even if all the facts I described before are correct, and even if I do regard with appreciation that emotional attachment or inner connection that simple people have, the question is whether I’m now supposed to educate people from the outset to be simple people in that sense.
[Speaker H] Isn’t that itself the ideal—that anyone who reaches the truth intellectually would want to be like the simple believer?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Maybe yes, maybe no, I don’t know.
[Speaker H] Maybe he understood that that’s the truth. So now he really needs to be like—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, but that’s already the price of disillusionment. Meaning, he can no longer—that really is problematic.
[Speaker D] Maybe he can’t because he doesn’t reach the same conclusion, the same ideal.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, I think there really is something here, that there’s something in the mode of thinking where you already can’t go back to that simple state, even if you want to, even if you want to. The question is whether you even want to, but even if you do want to, the door has already closed; I mean, it’s very hard.
[Speaker D] So do you think someone would actually think that God eats bread on Friday night after the…?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, but the bond that finds expression in that way of thinking, that closeness—after all, why does he think that way about the Holy One, blessed be He? Because he sees Him as standing opposite him. We’re attentive to one another, so He must be like me. After all, where does all this anthropomorphism come from? This anthropomorphism actually comes from closeness, from some desire to grasp Him as part of my world. A philosopher like that has no problem living with some God about whom I know nothing and who tells me nothing, and I have no problem with that; I don’t need to connect to Him, there’s nothing there, I’m some kind of detached monotheist. But it’s hard to create a real connection that way. Now I’m not talking about the error, but about the price tag alongside the error—the benefit, not the price. Alongside that error there’s some benefit that is closed off, or almost closed off, to people who don’t make that error. And the question now is what to do with that.
[Speaker F] He was compelled; he came from the Catholic world. He came from the Catholic world.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They ate that bread because yes. Okay.
[Speaker D] They did it on Sunday.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In any case, I think this story opens up the issue well. Here I photocopied an article by Rabbi Yerucham Leibovitz of Mir, the mashgiach. He talks about this matter of innocent faith or simple faith. The stuff on the other side is just printouts of other things. “And I will betroth you to Me in faith”—that’s the right page. Okay, in principle—maybe I’ll say something before I start reading here. On the face of it, this model of innocent faith is an absurd model. An absurd model of what? Absurd.
[Speaker F] Meaning,
[Speaker H] Literally speaking, faith isn’t—this isn’t innocent faith. What, just faith isn’t innocent faith? When you believe in something you don’t know, you believe. No, I don’t agree.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think faith and knowledge are synonymous. In any case—and by the way, that doesn’t contradict innocent faith, even if it doesn’t require it. Every time you know, you also believe. If you don’t know, everyone has his own path, but I don’t think all these sayings that faith means it’s not knowledge and all those little quips—I don’t think that’s correct. In any case, there’s a certain absurdity here. I mean, to demand innocent faith from a person as some kind of value is a bit problematic. You’re basically demanding that a person live in a certain way even though he hasn’t examined it. So why do you want him to live that way? How can you even make such a demand—saying, listen people, it’s forbidden to read and examine and investigate and ask and all that kind of thing? Why are Christians allowed to? When you come to a Christian—or you know what, to a secular person—you want to bring him back to repentance, so what do you tell him? Listen, you need to think, examine, see that you’re mistaken. He says, no, I grew up in a home where they always told me not to think; I live by simple atheism. Meaning, I have to go on not believing, without investigating, without asking. Would you accept such a thing? You could explode from a statement like that, right? So then I don’t understand the difference. Neither of them examined anything; both of them are just living the way they grew up, the way they were raised at home. So why—why is it different? He does what he’s used to without examining it, and so does the other one; in his case he does this and in the other case he does that, and who knows who’s right—as long as you haven’t investigated, you can’t know. Right? So how can you educate this way? There’s a logical problem here in a certain sense. You can’t expect a person to do something just because that’s what you think is right. What about him? Doesn’t he need to form an opinion on the matter? I mean, so what if you think it’s right? Not to mention those who forbid investigation—not just the ideal model that it’s better to be an innocent believer, but who actually forbid engaging in inquiry. Now what does it mean to forbid inquiry? I’m not yet convinced that you’re right, and in the name of this absolute justice you’re already forbidding me to examine you? I mean, really—if I go to someone and say, listen, every morning you have to stand on one foot for half an hour, and under no circumstances are you allowed to investigate or ask why you have to do it—I mean, listen, if you need a psychiatrist, I’ve got someone to recommend. What is this thing? How can you expect someone to do something and forbid him to examine whether it’s actually true?
[Speaker H] Because people don’t act
[Speaker C] that way, people don’t act that way.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They don’t act that way, fine, but the fact that they don’t act that way is a problem. But to demand that they not act that way—that’s to demand that they remain in a problematic state. Yes, because there’s something strange here.
[Speaker C] There’s something strange here in the sense that if you try to look at it in isolation, maybe it’s foolish behavior. But since you think it’s true, then for you as an educator, knowing that this is—what does “as an educator” mean?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m not talking right now about tactics. If you shift this into the tactical direction, then we don’t have an argument—or maybe we do, but it’s a smaller argument. I’m looking at this as some kind of demand made of everyone, not just simple Jews. There’s some model that everyone is, in principle, supposed to be at, not as some educational tool toward people who aren’t capable and can’t. No, no, no, if they
[Speaker C] were able to investigate, I think it would harm them, and therefore I direct them to be simple.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And you
[Speaker D] yourself?
[Speaker C] If—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Do you also investigate, or do you also not investigate? So nobody investigates. Meaning, there was one idiot who decided that this thing was true without investigating, and from that point on he raises his children in the same way and forbids them to investigate, and to this day we’re stuck with the whole thing. Why? Because we’re descendants of that idiot.
[Speaker G] But as an example, among Hasidim they don’t study the Hebrew Bible (Tanakh) in principle; it’s dangerous material. Meaning, we shouldn’t forget here the authority of the knowledge of the sage who tells them—and to those with innocent faith. No, but he did study the Hebrew Bible. Exactly, so there’s not only foolishness here, because it’s foolishness if you look at it from outside.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, you’re mixing two things here. First of all, with the Hebrew Bible (Tanakh), in my opinion, there isn’t the logical problem I’m talking about here. You can debate whether it’s correct to forbid studying the Hebrew Bible, but forbidding study of the Hebrew Bible is not forbidding examination of the system that imposes something on you. There isn’t the same problematic logical loop there. It only says: I need to think whether there’s any sense in forbidding study of the Hebrew Bible. Fine, of course that can be debated.
[Speaker D] Someone who examines is supposed to know what’s written in the Hebrew Bible. Yes, okay, no—ultimately yes, what
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] is written in the Hebrew Bible, fine—you read the weekly Torah portion. Not studying the Hebrew Bible means not studying the Hebrew Bible.
[Speaker D] That’s where the problem is; really one has to know whether that’s a problem.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You have to know what “studying the Hebrew Bible” means. We’re not talking about studying biblical criticism. “Not studying the Hebrew Bible” doesn’t mean that in that sense. So I’m saying: if you’re missing the Hebrew Bible, fine, then you’re missing it—just as you’d be missing not studying Tractate Okatzin. Fine, so you didn’t study Tractate Okatzin. I don’t agree with that; I think everyone should study Tractate Okatzin too, but there isn’t this logical problem here that says, I forbid you to examine the reason why my prohibitions are valid in the first place. Yes, it’s like those paradoxes where you enter a library and there’s a sign saying “Please do not read anything in the room”—that includes the sign too, of course. There’s something terribly, terribly strange here on the logical level, and in forbidding study of the Hebrew Bible, that isn’t there. So it’s not the same thing. The Hebrew Bible isn’t the logical basis of my obligation to Jewish law. At least I think so; it seems to me that for most people it isn’t. It’s true that they’d be missing part of Torah if they didn’t study the Hebrew Bible, but there isn’t a logical problem there. The logical problem, I think, exists here, in the question of inquiry.
[Speaker I] There are things the sages did in order to preserve the heritage, the continuity.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, so I’m saying, preserving the heritage is very nice, but what convinces me that this is a heritage I want to preserve? What does “preserve the heritage” mean? I understand why you want to, but why should I listen to you? Meaning, you examined it, you understand that it’s true—excellent. Now I want to be convinced that it’s true. The Christian father also wants to preserve the heritage, and therefore he tells his son: don’t examine, keep serving in innocent faith, going to church every Sunday.
[Speaker I] Let’s see what the Tannaim said, or in the Talmudic text in Ketubot.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s not the same thing as saying we accepted upon ourselves the halakhic authority of the Tannaim, or of the Shulchan Arukh, or whoever. Why isn’t it? It’s not the same because there I’m not
[Speaker G] going to investigate and arrive at something else.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Maybe you would arrive at something else, but there is halakhic authority, and therefore what has to be done is this. If you investigate and reach the conclusion that they have no authority, then you’re right—but no one told you not to examine that. Examine it. But someone who accepts the system is told: the authority is the authority of the Talmud / Talmudic text. The halakhic authority is that of the Talmud / Talmudic text. If you want to investigate whether you really have to obey that statement, whether the Talmud / Talmudic text really has authority, then investigate it—that, no
[Speaker G] one told you not to investigate.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Like legal precedents—that’s the rule. Right, exactly. So here there’s no problem. There’s no principled problem here.
[Speaker I] If he were to say, stand on one
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] foot for half an hour—everything here. No, standing on one foot, I’m
[Speaker I] talking about halakhic authority.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The problem isn’t that. If I say there is a Holy One, blessed be He, and He gave the Torah, and now an authorized sage says one must stand on one foot—then I wasn’t talking about that. Fine, they said you have to stand on one foot. They also said it’s forbidden to eat poultry with milk. Do I have to identify with the idea that poultry with milk is problematic? No. The sages have authority. If they determined that one does not eat poultry with milk, then one does not eat poultry with milk. But that’s all once I’ve accepted the system. I’ve understood that I’m obligated to it; I’ve accepted that obligation. From that point on, I go with the system. Now I’m talking about a deeper plane: the question whether I examine my relation to the system at all, or my faith in the source of the system, yes, in the One who gave the system. Here there is a logical problem. You can’t demand such a thing; it’s simply ridiculous. I’m not even debating the question of sources—whether the sources say it or don’t say it. One can debate the sources. There’s something absurd here on the logical level. Meaning, if Moses were standing here and said, you’re forbidden to investigate—I wouldn’t listen to him.
[Speaker H] Wouldn’t listen to him.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s like if he told me this triangle is round. So “the right is left”—yes, but even if he tells you the right is left, I wouldn’t listen to that either. Why?
[Speaker G] Why? Why? I’m missing a link here. If Moses were to come here—and he probably wouldn’t say this—but suppose he said, guys, don’t investigate, then what would bother the Rabbi?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What would bother me is: who says I have to listen to him? Because he’s Moses—
[Speaker G] our teacher? What? Examine that.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Examine in order to see whether one has to listen to Moses. But he’s Moses himself, Moses our teacher—so what? I’m going to examine whether Moses really is someone one needs to listen to.
[Speaker G] No, but you accepted earlier.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, again. So then there’s no problem; if I’ve already accepted, then fine. But if Moses says, I forbid you to investigate whether there is a Holy One, blessed be He, and whether the Holy One, blessed be He, sent me with the Torah—I’m not willing for you to examine that; it is forbidden to examine that—then I couldn’t care less.
[Speaker D] Ah—and in the books you accepted?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Certainly. No, because I accepted it after examining and deciding that I accept it. But if he hadn’t let me examine it, I wouldn’t have listened to him. I would have left immediately. I wouldn’t even have investigated; I would just have gone.
[Speaker D] So the question narrows down only to the beginning, only to the beginning… Yes, obviously.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] After all, once I have the obligation, I have no problem. I don’t need to investigate whether poultry with milk is really worthy of prohibition. Yes, certainly not. I also don’t know why one puts on tefillin. Fine, there are all kinds of little explanations, but there’s nothing convincing. Fine—but I understand that the system obligates me. I’ve reached the conclusion that the Torah was given and that it obligates me; I have no problem. From now on I go with it. But it cannot be that the Torah would forbid me to investigate the foundation of my obligation to the Torah itself. Okay? There’s something problematic here on the logical level, and it cannot be. About this the Talmud / Talmudic text says: “By God, if Joshua son of Nun were to say it, I would not obey him.” Yes, there is an amora there who says such a thing—even if Joshua son of Nun were standing here, I wouldn’t listen to him. Why? Because it simply cannot be. Of course what he really means is that Joshua son of Nun would never say such a thing, because it cannot be—that’s the point. If Joshua son of Nun were to say it, he would not be Joshua son of Nun.
[Speaker D] So really I also wouldn’t listen to him.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because the Joshua son of Nun to whom I do listen is that Joshua son of Nun who does not say things like that. Okay? That’s one side of the paradox. What? That’s the other side of the paradox. Yes, right. Therefore there’s something very problematic here on the logical level in this conception. So before I even get into the question of what the sources say, who’s right—first of all, can this even be? Meaning, do the logical examination. For me, it doesn’t pass the logical examination. I’m not getting into sources; the sources don’t interest me at all in such a question. Even if all the sources said that those fellows from Lev Tov are right—in the introduction to Lev Tov, that inquiry is forbidden and so on—suppose they all really say that, and everyone else too, not just all of them, all those Hasidim there, but even if all the others said it too—so they said it, so what? There are things that are logical paradoxes, and I don’t accept them from anyone.
[Speaker D] But if we manage to justify just this assumption, of not listening to them—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, then we’re done; the circle closes. In any case, this thesis, as a thesis that presents an ideal, is a very problematic thesis. Now, one can justify it on the practical plane, and by the way that’s usually what people do. On the practical plane they bring the Hasid Yaavetz, who says that in practical terms you see that Jews who give up their lives, Jews who cling, Jews who connect in bonds to the Holy One, blessed be He—these are often the simple Jews. I understand the benefits that come from this, I understand the practical implications, but I do not accept that these things can constitute sufficient justification for this ideal. That is, it’s not that I dispute the factual level—that indeed this is how one succeeds in creating the connection—
[Speaker G] But maybe the problem is that you identify innocence with stupidity? What bothers you? Why stupidity? If “lack of thought”—maybe what is meant by innocence is a Jew like Rabbi Michael Abraham, after he reached conclusions. For example, you reached very strong conclusions, and then you’re enthusiastic, you’re like—but afterward I—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m talking about innocence on the plane of not investigating. You can define other concepts of innocence. For our purposes here, when I talk about innocence, I mean not investigating, okay? That’s the point. Because innocence also means wholeness, in the literal sense. Therefore, by the way, this doubling also says something. That innocence in the sense of “a simple man” is also “whole.” In other words, the terminology itself says something here. The terminology itself says that such faith is more complete—the simple faith. That is, the double meaning of the innocent person, I think, also says something in this matter. Anyway—so that’s—
[Speaker G] Sorry, the overwhelming majority of the population, from this side or that side, doesn’t deal with this at all, right?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So what are they—
[Speaker G] from the outset they behave that way, there’s no problem.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Let them behave that way, but the question is whether I should educate people—for example, people who do want to delve deeper—and tell them, no, no, no, it’s forbidden, don’t do that under any circumstances. That’s the question. I’m not claiming that the whole world consists of philosophers; obviously not. I’m also not claiming that the whole world should be philosophers; I don’t think that either. But the question is: if there is someone who is a philosopher, am I supposed to forbid it to him?
[Speaker D] Obviously those who forbid it certainly think they’re saying it to the philosopher too, otherwise they wouldn’t need to say it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously. So that’s why I say: I’m speaking mainly on that plane, not on the plane of—nobody is under any illusion that the whole world consists of philosophers. In no place, in no society, does that exist. Okay, now there are several more points to discuss here, but let’s do that after we read the clarification. “If a person were able to perform an analysis of deeds and actions, to arrive at their character and their purpose, then everyone would clearly see the true aim of all deeds and actions and where they lead. And for example, in the matter of eating, every intelligent person understands that the purpose is not eating itself but health.” Okay—come on, I don’t know why specifically only health. “And likewise, if one could analyze the matter of health itself, one would see the purpose of health—why health is needed—then that too would have some purpose. And so on in order until one reached the true end and intention. And likewise in all matters we find, ‘And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God ask of you but to fear…’ And what is the whole Torah? The whole Torah is only to bring one to fear.” In the end his claim is that the fundamental purpose is fear of God. Duties of the Heart, in its introduction, brings: “And I asked one of those regarded as Torah sages about some of what I mentioned to you in the wisdom of the inner life, and he answered me that tradition can stand in place of inquiry in this and in similar matters.” Tradition is better than inquiry, or at least as good as inquiry—tradition meaning receiving things through tradition. And behold, Duties of the Heart disagrees with this and brings several scriptural proofs that one really is obligated to understand. That is, tradition is not enough; one must also understand. As it is said, “And you shall know this day and bring it back to your heart.” But in any case, we see that one of those regarded as Torah sages answered him that tradition can stand in place of inquiry. “And so too the Tosafot did not disagree with Maimonides and said that aside from tradition there is no need for anything at all”—I don’t know exactly which Tosafot he means—“and tradition itself suffices for everything, because in truth this is the purpose and intention of it all. And were I not afraid, I would say that one really sees it clearly: that the crown and glory of the Jewish people, the very survival of the nation—where does the vitality of the Jewish people come from? Not from proofs and demonstrations, but the vitality comes from life, from tradition, and from faith.” So what exactly is this argument saying? That we see with our own eyes that the vitality of the Jewish people does not come from investigations but from tradition and faith.
[Speaker F] Does “tradition” here mean tradition?
[Speaker D] Yes—not acceptance upon oneself, no, and not Kabbalah, the esoteric tradition either.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It means tradition—what we received from our forefathers. So what exactly is the meaning of this argument, that we see this is the vitality, and therefore what? First of all, what do we see? True, tradition has a central place in our tradition; that’s obvious. We spoke in the previous series about miracles, that Nachmanides says we no longer have miracles, so the revelation that happened there has to be transmitted to us through the tradition of the generations. There is an important role for tradition because it is basically our source of information; we did not encounter the Holy One, blessed be He. So that’s obvious. But of course he doesn’t mean that. He means that attachment to tradition is apparently something that gives more life to the Jew who serves God, or perhaps passes on more strongly among Jews who serve God. Maybe someone who serves this way is stronger—as we said earlier—more connected than the philosopher, preserves the matter? Yes. In short, we see that it works. Now this is a classic pragmatist argument, because it basically says: it is true because it works.
[Speaker G] Is that Rabbi Isserlein’s argument? Yes, yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And now I say: but does such an argument really hold water? This sort of pragmatist argument? Because, for example, I don’t agree with pragmatism in any area. I don’t think it’s correct to identify the true with the useful. The fact that something is useful does not mean that it is true. Let’s say indeed that this is the path that could strengthen faith more, ensure that no one dares leave us—let’s say I accept all these facts, and there is indeed much truth in them. Does that automatically mean that this is also the correct way to behave? No, not necessarily. If it isn’t true, then fine, it’s terribly useful—but it isn’t true to serve God in this way, or to behave this way, or think this way, or not think this way. So must I pay the tax and behave incorrectly just because it works better? I’m saying this even beyond all the paradoxes I mentioned before—that it’s also absurd to make such a demand—but beyond that, even within the framework itself, not with logic outside the framework. Even within the framework there is an assumption here that the true is subordinate to the useful. A very pragmatist approach, and I don’t think he himself would accept it in other contexts. Not everything is pragmatist. So what if something works? “Why does the way of the wicked prosper?” That too was said, right? So they succeed. If one who is wicked succeeds, then maybe I should be wicked too—because it works.
[Speaker G] If the true endangers the useful, then people are afraid to confront it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, being afraid to confront it is nice, but the question is whether I accept that as an argument, as a convincing argument.
[Speaker G] For someone who wants to continue the useful—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There are—
[Speaker E] dictatorships that are much more efficient than democracies.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. Okay.
[Speaker C] But what is the subject? The true—I mean, the example of the wicked doesn’t seem to me like a good example, because there the claim would be that it works, but it works in a bad direction.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But if I claim that this too works in a bad direction, because he isn’t serving God correctly—he doesn’t think, he doesn’t investigate. If I see that as a value, then it’s not good.
[Speaker C] He misses that value, but many other values he does fulfill.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, and if in the end the wicked person gives charity from the money he earns, fine—but still, if I see this path as incorrect, that doesn’t mean I have to accept it because it works, even if it works in positive directions. There’s some assumption in this argument that slides almost unnoticed from the efficient, from the useful, to the true.
[Speaker D] He also assumes from the start what counts as positive.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. So there is—I’m saying this is beyond the paradox I spoke about earlier. I’m saying, even within the framework. Let’s continue. “And in our holy rabbinic literature we see that they did not establish their foundation at all on proofs and demonstrations, and all their words are only: Sinai is enough.” Yes, as though everything is “a law given to Moses at Sinai,” like that story with Moses who was distressed that he understood nothing, and he entered the study hall there of Rabbi Akiva and understood nothing, and then they said to him, “a law given to Moses at Sinai,” and he calmed down, his mind was put at ease. In two moves, our holy sages bypass—sorry—everything. As though the question is why? You don’t give a reason, you say: it was said. Meaning, as though it is written in the verse. Meaning, tradition is basically a substitute for thought. You see that among the sages. Okay? And the assumption, of course, is that if you see it among the sages, then it’s also true for me. Okay? Now if I wanted to ask: and how do you know that? That what we see among the sages is also correct for me? Then I’m not allowed to ask. Because after all, the sages said that this is how one should act. Again there’s something here. Okay? But I’m asking now: why really be part of the tradition? He tells me: because it’s part of the tradition. Do you understand the circularity of the argument? He accepted it. Okay. No—if he accepted it, then why is he writing all the rest? We could stop here already. “And when they asked him,” I don’t know the name there, “that Jacob our father did not die—was it for nothing that the mourners mourned and the embalmers embalmed?” Yes, the Talmud / Talmudic text describes that someone gave a homily saying Jacob our father did not die. They asked him: what do you mean? The verse describes that they embalmed him, they mourned him—so he didn’t die? What are you talking about? He answered: “I am expounding a verse.” I am expounding a verse. “And if I am expounding a verse, then there is nothing after that.” No proofs can help anymore. This is complete absurdity. What does “I am expounding a verse” mean? In the verse the opposite is written. If you want to cling to the verse, the verse says the opposite. The emphasis is not on the verse; the emphasis is on the one expounding. “I am expounding a verse,” not reading it according to its plain meaning. He places the emphasis on the verse. I go to the verse, after the verse—it’s not reason versus verse. The question is what to do with the verse. After all, it says not that way. No, I’m making a derashah. He means to say—what’s the simple meaning?
[Speaker D] of the Talmud / Talmudic text—what’s the plain sense?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The plain sense of the Talmud / Talmudic text is that I’m making a homiletic interpretation; leave me alone with facts, I’m not discussing history with you. “One does not refute a homiletic interpretation,” in short. One does not refute a homiletic interpretation. What does that mean? I want to tell you some idea that is a true idea; I attach it to an interpretation that is certainly not correct. After all, it’s obvious that Jacob our father died.
[Speaker D] Like that synagogue rabbi who handed out cakes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. It’s obvious that Jacob our father died. So what? I’m giving a homily—don’t examine me in historical terms. Actually, no—it’s a real claim. A homily does not have to stand up to the tests that a plain interpretation has to stand up to. Those are the rules of homiletics. And that’s perfectly fine. One may expound verses; one may read them according to their plain meaning. That’s the meaning of the Talmud / Talmudic text here. Why am I saying this? Because, yes, you see the tendentiousness, that in the end you’re dealing with this in order to promote an idea that is basically impossible. So at least keep quiet. Go on educating the children that everyone needs innocent faith and all that, without explaining. The moment you try to explain why one needs innocent faith, you’re already answering someone who asks whether maybe one doesn’t need innocent faith. The moment you try to answer him, you answer nothing. You have nothing to say. So keep quiet. Have innocent faith, keep going with it to the end. Okay?
[Speaker D] Fine, but if you come to convince the beginning, that first stage, that one really must believe—at that point, once we’ve convinced—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But at that point I want to examine you logically, because at that point you’re trying to convince me. So? Exactly. If you come to convince, then innocent faith—so keep quiet, don’t write books, just keep doing what your grandmother did and that’s it. The problem is that once you start writing books about innocent faith, by definition you enter loops. That is, you can’t avoid entering loops. We should have expected that in advance. It can’t be otherwise. “All the proofs and demonstrations are only in order to lead to the level of faith.” Here he defines what faith is. That is, to a life without proofs and without demonstrations. That is called faith. “Demonstration” here in the sense of proof, not miracle—although even the word “demonstration” has multiple meanings and there’s a connection between them. A miracle is supposed to constitute proof. That’s why both things are called a demonstration. Both a proof is called a demonstration and a miracle is called a demonstration. Why? Because the miracle—we saw in Maimonides’ view, not everyone agrees—in Maimonides’ view we saw that the miracle’s role is to constitute a demonstration, that is, its role is to constitute some kind of proof. A life without understanding. A life without understanding—that is basically faith, according to him. Faith is life without understanding. That’s sort of his claim. Now by “without understanding” he doesn’t mean in the full sense we’re talking about, obviously. He means without understanding in the sense of not entering into investigations. He doesn’t mean without understanding anything and being an idiot. Obviously he’s not going that far. Rather, “understanding” means: are you engaged in understanding things or not? You live without understanding, without engaging in understanding. “And that is the intention and the purpose. And to picture family life between husband and wife,” as the example he gives, “family life between husband and wife is not built on a foundation of proofs and demonstrations. And what taste would there be in such a life if every time and for every single thing she needed proofs that her husband is faithful to her?” Every time she would need two kosher witnesses who stand before a court of three judges to see what he did this morning when he went to the grocery. Fine? You can’t live that way. Life is based on faith. You can’t live without some basis of faith. By the way, this is true. Not only between husband and wife, but in life in general. You ask a person what time it is, and he says quarter to nine. How do you know he isn’t lying? Maybe it’s already twelve? You ask him how to get to such-and-such a place, and he says turn right and then at the second turn go left. Maybe he’s just messing with your head. You believe him. Right? Why? You can’t live if you investigate every—there would be no point in asking; you couldn’t ask anyone anything. What? No, trust and faith—he’s talking here about faith in that sense. Faith in this sense is a kind of trust. Because trust means I have no proof that this person isn’t a liar, but I trust him. That’s basically what he calls faith. “For from all the proofs that brought them to recognition and reliability, they recognized and believed and entrusted themselves to one another. And afterward they need nothing further. For they can be separated from one another by seas, and nothing moves them from their place. People can come and tell the husband who knows what, and she will not be impressed by it at all, in any way. She will not believe; her mouth will be filled with contempt for the speaker. And not because she has proofs that it is not so, for she has no need of proofs. Rather because of faith, and without any proofs she believes in him, period. And even if they come and tell her something black on white about her husband, then too, if she finds no other way to straighten it out, she will say that his intention is only to test me.” Here the excuses begin. We once spoke about “judge every person favorably.” “Judge every person favorably”—the medieval authorities (Rishonim) say that one should not do that against reason. We often say, yes, in the name of Rabbi Chaim, why was a crooked mind created? After all, everything in the world was created. Why was a crooked mind created? So Rabbi Chaim says: in order to judge favorably. If you see someone doing something improper, use your crooked mind until you manage to explain that he really is doing something proper. But the truth is that when you look at the medieval authorities (Rishonim) on the Mishnah in Pirkei Avot, “judge every person favorably,” you see that this is not correct. The medieval authorities (Rishonim) write that one does not work with a crooked mind; one works with a straight mind. The point is that if my assumption is that this person is truly an upright person, then why accept that the act he is doing is improper? Think twice. It may be that there is an interpretation according to which this act is proper. Certainly, if you see someone who is truly a towering righteous person, and you see him doing some act that it’s simply unreasonable that such a person would do, then logic says you should judge him favorably. This is not some commandment or scriptural decree. Logic says that clearly you probably did not understand the situation correctly. Okay? But where it’s clear that that is the situation, you don’t have to be an idiot. No one tells you to be an idiot. There is no such commandment. “And even if they come and tell her black on white”—black on white, meaning some sinful matter—“even then, yes, even if all the standing beings in the world were to say so, his faith would not budge, because he entrusted his reliability to him and they believed one another. A son does not need proofs about his father; he believes in him and needs nothing more. This is a life of faith, not a life of proofs and demonstrations.” There’s a passage by Rabbi Kook in Ein Ayah on Sabbath, on page 30, where there are two stories there about someone who comes to Rabbi and says, “Your mother is my wife and you are my son.” Meaning, the disgrace of a mamzer. Meaning: I had relations with your mother and you are our son. Of course the mother is married to someone else. So he says to him, “Would you like to drink a cup of wine?” Want to drink a cup of wine? He gave him a cup of wine, he drank, and his insides burst. He drank and died. Then there’s another story about Rabbi Chiya. Rabbi Chiya, the son of his brother—no, Rav is the son of Rabbi Chiya’s brother, sorry. In any case Rabbi Chiya too, they say to him the same thing: “Your wife is my wife and your son is my son.” He says to him, “Would you like to drink a cup of wine?” He drank and his insides burst. So what? Rabbi Kook explains there—and it’s a very nice passage by Rabbi Kook. Rabbi Kook explains there: how did they know? Maybe it was true. Fine, maybe it was true. It could also be that my parents are not my parents, but I don’t know who—they’re someone else who adopted me in childhood and never told me. It could be, but I don’t think that’s true. Why? Do I have proofs? No. Do I need proofs? No. Why? There are simple things such that if that is the established presumption, then apparently that is the truth. There are many things like that; in Jewish law too, by the way. In order to have a doubt, you need a reason. That is, if there is no reason, we don’t doubt. It’s not that every time we don’t know, it’s automatically a doubt. It depends on whether there is reason to doubt. I don’t know whether this boy is thirteen or not. He tells me he’s thirteen. We spoke about this too once, I think. When I was in Bnei Brak, in that famous kollel minyan I mentioned earlier, one Jewish fellow’s son reached bar mitzvah—today I’m full of stories—so his son reached bar mitzvah and he gave a whole lecture there about why one is allowed to believe him when he says his son is bar mitzvah and count him toward the minyan. Who says he’s believed at all? The question is whether there is the credibility of “he shall acknowledge,” whether two witnesses are needed, or whether this is a matter of forbidden relations, prohibition or not. He started pilpul-ing there. Everybody simply asks the boy: “Tell me, are you thirteen already?” Not even his father—the boy himself. “Are you thirteen? Fine.” And then “And He, the Merciful One, will atone for sin.” That’s it. There are things you simply don’t ask. The world operates this way. Now why? Maybe it really isn’t true. Maybe this boy is a liar. Especially if he’s young, then there isn’t even any prohibition on him to lie. So he could actually be younger and lie, and you have no way of knowing.
[Speaker D] Rashi bases this on “one witness is believed in matters of prohibition,” because no person would render his fellow forbidden.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, absolutely. Meaning, there’s something here where life obligates us to do this. But notice that there really is room to discuss this. Does the fact that life obligates it mean that it’s true? In halakhic terms, is this a rule of conduct or a rule of clarification? Meaning, do we act this way because it’s impossible to act otherwise, or no, is it actually true, and someone who thinks it isn’t true has something twisted in his head for no reason? Okay? Those are two different things. Now here the assumption is that it’s apparently true, not just that you can’t live this way, because after all, you can live without belief in the Holy One, blessed be He; lots of people do. Meaning, he doesn’t want to claim that you can’t live without belief in the Holy One, blessed be He. He means to claim: listen, if you believe, then you have no reason to cast doubts—so go with it. Now here there’s a very important point that I wanted to get to later, but I can already see I won’t get to it today. When we talk about not investigating, it seems to me that even the greatest conservatives or closed-minded people who say it’s forbidden to investigate are not talking about someone who doesn’t believe. They can’t tell someone who doesn’t believe, or someone who has serious doubts, “Listen, don’t investigate, just have simple faith.” He doesn’t believe. What do you want from him? Usually they’re talking to someone who does have faith. You do believe, only what? He says, listen, I didn’t check. Maybe there’s evidence against it, maybe there are arguments I haven’t thought of; let’s read the books, think, investigate, examine. Here the claim is already not so absurd. Here I come back to the paradox I mentioned earlier, because basically they’re telling a person: look, there are many things in life that you think are true even though you haven’t examined them, and you still think they’re true. You don’t always have to test every intuition you have with philosophical tools, just as you don’t check whether your wife is really your wife and whether your son is not a mamzer. You don’t check that not because… not only because it’s impossible to live that way, but because you trust your intuition. If your intuition tells you he’s your child, then he’s your child. In order to doubt, you need a reason. Now in this context there’s more… you can better understand this claim, or this demand, “don’t investigate.” If I understand that this demand is not addressed as some general value, and not to people who want to ask questions either. Even to people troubled by questions, they say: look, fundamentally you do have faith. A lot of times when I talk to people, that’s actually the first clarification I make.
[Speaker D] So first—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] First of all, I ask him, tell me, do you believe or not believe? So if he tells me, look, I do believe, but look, there are so many smart people and questions and all sorts of things like that, I say to him, listen, fine, there are lots of questions, but first of all, know that believing like that is also fine. The fact that you don’t have some very sophisticated philosophical arguments doesn’t mean you don’t believe. Fortunate is he, and good for him, in that. What? No, no, beyond good for him—I’m talking about whether it’s true. The question of whether it’s good for him or not good for him is like whether he wants to change clothes. So if you… then it’s not a simple matter. We talked about this when I discussed the proofs for the existence of God last year, two years ago, I don’t even remember anymore. So we talked about it when I brought the collection of possible proofs and I said, first of all you have to remember there’s another option. I simply know that He is there. That’s all. I don’t need proofs. Meaning, I have a clear intuition that He is there, and that’s it. After all, every proof is based on some fundamental assumption, so for me that assumption is this. Meaning, that’s perfectly fine; that’s also a way. That’s what Kant forgot in his classification, when he classified all the proofs. And I mean this seriously. And when someone says that, I completely agree with him on that point, with that claim. When someone says, look, I have faith, I really believe in Him, but I’m not a philosopher—fine, you don’t have to be a philosopher. If you really believe, there’s no problem; so you believe, and that’s perfectly fine. I’m talking about someone who is genuinely troubled by the questions. Meaning, he’s not sure he believes, he doesn’t know, he’s troubled by all sorts of questions. In that situation you can’t tell him, listen, just continue with simple faith. Here all the absurdities I talked about earlier arise. But in the first sense, fine, I don’t think it’s such a problematic thing. And here in this passage it really seems that this is what he means. He doesn’t mean to claim that someone who wants to investigate because things are genuinely bothering him should not investigate. He means to say: if you truly believe, like a wife and her husband, like a father and son, and so on—if you have that basic faith—then that’s it, and it’s perfectly fine as faith. You don’t have to be some kind of philosophical believer with sophisticated arguments that bring you to God. The simple Jews who truly believe are no less believers than the philosophers. Because they believe; that’s their way of believing, and that’s perfectly fine. Only in this sense do I accept the claim, but you have to be careful not to take it further than that. Meaning, if that really is the meaning of this demand for simple faith, then it is addressed to people who are whole in their faith, who understand that this is where they are—they are completely there. They just have this nagging thought: yes, but I haven’t checked it philosophically. Fine, so no, I haven’t philosophically checked whether what I see really exists. I also don’t know how you check that philosophically, but I believe that if what I see is apparently there—if I see something, then it’s probably there. Or, I haven’t philosophically checked why murder is forbidden, but it’s clear to me that murder is forbidden. So what, now I have to develop a theory of ethics, because without that I won’t be a moral person? Does anyone make that claim? I don’t think so. Meaning, if I truly understand that murder is forbidden, fine, then there’s no need to check. You need to check only in a place where you really think there’s some problem here. In that sense, this is a statement that I am completely willing to accept. There is still room to argue, and I think the whole argument is only there, only there. The question is whether there is nevertheless value in checking. Does it complete you more, does it make you more whole? Even though you have faith, does investigation make you into something more complete? But certainly no one can—and certainly even someone who says this is simple faith is speaking to someone who is in a state of being whole in his faith. And then he says, look, in that situation there’s no value in investigation either; maybe it’s even forbidden to investigate, if you like. That’s already one further and more far-reaching step. Maimonides, for example, would say no, because you are more complete if you also investigate and ground and deepen your faith, and so on. Fine, so that’s already a dispute regarding believers. But this whole discussion is not talking at all to someone who isn’t there yet. Meaning, if he isn’t there, then that’s not what we’re talking about, because that’s the same paradox I mentioned earlier. Therefore what I said earlier—that even if everyone said this, I wouldn’t accept it—I simply think they are not saying this, contrary to how it is often presented. Even someone who comes out strongly against these things is speaking to an audience that is in a different place, an audience that really believes and whose faith is complete. So he tells him: listen, there is no reason for you to do this. And that’s fine; about that one can argue whether there is value or there is no value. But to derive from here some conception that there is some defect in philosophy, or that if something is troubling someone then even so he is forbidden to examine it philosophically—that simply cannot be, as I said earlier. And since it cannot be, I assume it also was not said. Okay, we’ll continue next time.