2019-04-22 – Between Midrash and Logic – Lesson 1

Table of Contents

• The purpose of the study and the feeling that the key to derash has been lost
• Supportive derash versus creative derash: Ralbag, the question, and the rejection
• Examples of creative derash and their implications for the question of reliability
• Maimonides’ view that most derashot are creative derashot
• The meaning of the rules of derash and the claim that derash is not superfluous
• The historical question: what existed before the derashot, and the ability to change interpretation in different generations
• When and why supportive derash matters when creative derashot exist
• “Gemara gemira lah” and the Netziv on a tradition that originated in derash
• Two purposes: conceptual understanding and practical use of derashot in religious courts
• The decline of derash: Tannaim, Amoraim, medieval authorities (Rishonim), and the explanation of the loss of the skill
• Examples and the question of responsibility: careful use of the tools and the Chafetz Chaim
• Authority after the sealing of the Talmud: the Kesef Mishneh and the acceptance of the generations
• The ongoing need for derash in the face of new problems in Jewish law
• The division of the hermeneutic principles: logical and textual
• The possibility of applying them to other texts and using derashot outside the Torah
• Rabbi Akiva and inclusion-and-exclusion, and Maimonides in the second root

Summary

General Overview

The speaker presents, as this year’s framework, an engagement with the relationship between the plain meaning and derash, especially halakhic / of Jewish law derash and the thirteen principles of Rabbi Yishmael, מתוך a feeling that the tradition regarding how derash operates has weakened, and that readers of the Sages’ midrashim experience them as arbitrary feats of interpretive juggling. He establishes as a basic assumption that the Sages are not “doing whatever they want” with verses, because such a view leads to interpretive nihilism, in which any result can be produced from the Torah. From there he formulates the basic question: how can derash create binding Jewish law, what gives these tools reliability, and why in practice the use of new derashot has almost ceased. He suggests that the main reason is the loss of the operational skill involved in using the rules of derash, not the absence of authority.

The purpose of the study and the feeling that the key to derash has been lost

The speaker declares that the discussion will focus on the thirteen principles of Rabbi Yishmael and on halakhic / of Jewish law derash, with a general introduction because this is a “met mitzvah,” and because there is a sense that we have lost the understanding of how the system works. He describes how, when one reads the halakhic midrashim of the Sages, they sometimes look like an unclear manipulation of verses, to the point that it seems as though the Sages are aiming for a desired result and juggling the text in order to get there. He categorically rejects that possibility, because then the Torah becomes raw material for any result, and all halakhic commitment falls apart.

Supportive derash versus creative derash: Ralbag, the question, and the rejection

Ralbag, in the introduction to his commentary on the Torah, is presented as claiming that all derashot are supportive derashot—that is, the laws are already known by tradition, and the derash is only attached to the verse in order to give it a scriptural anchor. Ralbag explains that if this were not so, amorphous tools would make it possible to generate any law whatsoever, and it is unreasonable that we should be bound by new laws born from them. The speaker states that Ralbag’s claim “doesn’t hold water,” and that there are definitely creative derashot, but he acknowledges that the question that gave rise to Ralbag’s view is a strong one: how do we relate to a system that seems, at least on the face of it, to allow you to get anywhere.

Examples of creative derash and their implications for the question of reliability

The speaker brings the example of “an eye for an eye,” which the Sages interpret as monetary compensation, and presents it as a case that illustrates the need to assume that there are tools given at Sinai, or tools that extract a law that is the Torah’s intention, and are therefore binding. He rejects the possibility that all derashot are merely supportive also because there are explicit sources against that. He brings Rabbi Akiva’s derash on “in her menstrual impurity” (Sabbath 64a), where “the earlier generations” were stringent that a woman should not apply eye makeup or adorn herself, and Rabbi Akiva creates a new law through a derash that is accepted as Jewish law. He emphasizes that here one can even see a moral or conceptual motivation that precedes the text, but at this stage he uses the example mainly to prove that creative derash really exists.

Maimonides’ view that most derashot are creative derashot

The speaker quotes Maimonides in the second root as stating that most Torah derashot are creative derashot, and that only “three or four” are supportive, a very small minority. He explains that this sharpens Ralbag’s question even more, because if most derashot are creative, then how can one rely on their results and not see this as interpretive anarchy. He presents understanding the hermeneutic principles as a condition for addressing this question, because the Sages did not leave us only derashot but also lists and rules, headed by the baraita of Rabbi Yishmael at the beginning of Sifra, which is recited in prayer.

The meaning of the rules of derash and the claim that derash is not superfluous

The speaker argues that the very existence of rules teaches that derash is not anarchy but a system with boundaries of what is permitted and forbidden. The problem, though, is that the rules themselves are not clear, and sometimes seem arbitrary. He adds that the sweeping claim that all derashot are supportive turns derash into something unnecessary, because if the laws are known in advance, then there is no point in midrash at all. He mocks the idea that derash was meant to “calm down” the masses, because elaborate interpretive explanations may look even stranger than simply saying, “this is what we received.” He suggests, as one possible reason for supportive derash, the creation of a connection between the Written Torah and the Oral Torah, but says that this connection is not convincing in itself if it is perceived as unreliable.

The historical question: what existed before the derashot, and the ability to change interpretation in different generations

The speaker raises the theoretical possibility that in Torah-level / of biblical origin law, a religious court in each generation could interpret the Torah entirely differently from earlier generations, unlike the repeal of rabbinic enactments, which requires a court greater in wisdom and number. He illustrates this with the hypothetical example that one could establish “two primary categories of labor on the Sabbath” instead of thirty-nine. Opposed to this he places the possibility of a law given to Moses at Sinai, in which case the derash is merely supportive and there is no ability to disagree. He distinguishes between a situation in which the law was transmitted from Sinai and a situation in which the law is generated through derash.

When and why supportive derash matters when creative derashot exist

The speaker argues that דווקא if derashot can be creative, then supportive derash also matters, because applying a hermeneutic principle to a particular source “uses up” that tool and affects additional outcomes. He gives the example that if “the fruit of a beautiful tree” is learned to mean the etrog through a gezerah shavah, there may be further halakhic implications of that gezerah shavah that need to be clarified. And if “You shall fear the Lord your God” is expounded to include Torah scholars, then the word “et” has already been claimed, and one cannot include something else from it, like Torah scrolls. He defines every case in which a new law is extracted through a hermeneutic principle as creative derash, even if it is perceived as an “extreme” case. He adds that a derash can be created at an early stage and then later become tradition for subsequent generations.

“Gemara gemira lah” and the Netziv on a tradition that originated in derash

The speaker explains that Rashi interprets “gemara gemira lah” as a law given to Moses at Sinai, while Maimonides disagrees. He brings the Netziv in Kedmat Ha’emek, who explains that according to Maimonides this is a tradition that could have originated in a Tannaitic derash, whose rationale has been lost to us. He describes a situation in which, among the Tannaim, the derash was creative, but for us the search for a derash to attach to a law that has already been accepted becomes supportive derash. He adds the distinction that if a contradictory rationale were found, there might in principle be room to disagree, as long as this is not a law given to Moses at Sinai. He concludes that the distinction between “gemara gemira lah” and a law given to Moses at Sinai is critical for defining the boundaries of dispute.

Two purposes: conceptual understanding and practical use of derashot in religious courts

The speaker sets out a conceptual goal of understanding the work of the Sages and the tools in passages that people usually “skip over,” and alongside that a more important practical goal: using derashot for legal decision-making. He argues that there is no source limiting the use of derashot to those who received ordination, or to the Great Court, and that even a court of three judges in monetary law could in principle use the midrashic toolbox to expound verses and decide a case. He says he is not aware of any formal limitation on who is entitled to expound. He notes that gezerah shavah is sometimes considered restricted, but sets that aside for now and promises to return to it.

The decline of derash: Tannaim, Amoraim, medieval authorities (Rishonim), and the explanation of the loss of the skill

The speaker argues that already in the Talmud there are very few genuinely new derashot, and most of them explain Tannaitic laws; after the Talmud, new derashot are extremely rare. He rejects an explanation based on declining authority between generations, and argues that there is no difference in basic authority between different generations. Therefore, if the medieval authorities (Rishonim) are “allowed,” then in principle he is also “allowed.” He suggests that the reason derash went into decline is that people lost the understanding and practical skill of how to use the tools, not that they lacked authority. He adds that the reduction in use actually strengthens, in his view, the idea that derash is not a game but a skill: the person who knows it trusts its results, and the person who does not know it refrains out of responsibility.

Examples and the question of responsibility: careful use of the tools and the Chafetz Chaim

The speaker notes that an a fortiori argument is still understandable today, and therefore can in principle still be used. He gives the example that the Chafetz Chaim, in his commentary on the Torah, makes several interesting halakhic / of Jewish law a fortiori arguments, despite his image as a conservative halakhic decisor. He rejects explanations based on social “status” or fear of criticism as the reason derash ceased, and presents the avoidance as stemming from practical ignorance of how to work correctly with the tools. He says that if he sees a compelling and convincing derash, he will expound and issue a halakhic ruling.

Authority after the sealing of the Talmud: the Kesef Mishneh and the acceptance of the generations

The speaker cites the Kesef Mishneh in the laws of rebellious elders, where he asks why later authorities do not disagree with Amoraim and Tannaim, and answers: “because we accepted it upon ourselves.” He presents this as an entry point into the question of authority in relation to the Talmud, and argues that there is no unequivocal prohibition against the very act of expounding; rather, the boundary is that one does not go against the words of the Talmud. He argues that where there is no contradiction to the Talmud, and even in an entirely new question, one can in principle decide by means of the hermeneutic principles. What holds things back is the degree of persuasion and confidence in the tools.

The ongoing need for derash in the face of new problems in Jewish law

The speaker argues that there is no reason to assume that all laws and all problems were settled in the time of the Sages, and that the Talmud is enough for everything that will ever happen; he presents that as implausible. He describes a history in which, until the sealing of the Talmud, derashot continued to be added at a declining rate in order to answer new questions. Therefore, in principle, he expects the process to continue even afterward, and that the tools of derash were given in order to solve problems for which there is still no solution. He rejects the claim that derash stopped because it was no longer needed, and emphasizes that even where there is need today, people do not expound because they lack the ability.

The division of the hermeneutic principles: logical and textual

The speaker divides the hermeneutic principles into logical principles and textual principles, and says that out of the thirteen principles of Rabbi Yishmael, maybe four are logical: a fortiori, constructing a principle from one verse, constructing a principle from two verses, and perhaps “two verses that contradict one another,” depending on how one understands it. He defines the logical principles as depending on content rather than formulation, like the a fortiori argument in Bava Kamma, which would still exist even if the wording of the verses were different. By contrast, the textual principles are activated because of a linguistic or formal trigger in the verse. He lists as textual examples generalization and specification and generalization, gezerah shavah, juxtaposition, and a case that departed from the general category in order to teach. He emphasizes that the adjacency or duplication in the writing is what generates the derash, even when the substantive similarity is not obvious in advance.

The possibility of applying them to other texts and using derashot outside the Torah

The speaker argues that, in his opinion, textual principles can also appear in other texts and not only in the Torah. He even notes that there are later authorities (Acharonim) who apply generalization and specification and generalization to formulations used by medieval authorities (Rishonim) within responsa. He acknowledges that this involves a claim about the interpretive significance of writing style, but argues that the Torah is written in a way that is open to human interpretation, so this is not an analysis of “the psychology of the Holy One, blessed be He.” He leaves as an open question how, from a textual trigger, one determines “what to include,” and exactly what is learned from the comparisons. He notes that there are many derashot for which it is not clear to which principle they should be attached, and that derashot based on the thirteen principles are only a minority within the whole body of Sages’ literature.

Rabbi Akiva and inclusion-and-exclusion, and Maimonides in the second root

The speaker notes that the particle “et” and other inclusions are not within the framework of the thirteen principles of Rabbi Yishmael, but are connected to Rabbi Akiva’s method of inclusion and exclusion and inclusion. He cites Maimonides in the heading of the second root, where he groups together what is learned from the thirteen principles and from inclusion as a category of “rabbinic words,” which are not counted in the enumeration of the commandments. He concludes the session by saying that next week they will continue with “ten l.”

Okay, so let’s begin. What I basically want to talk about over the course of the year is the relationship between derash and peshat, and about derash in general—about the hermeneutical principles of derash, mainly those of Rabbi Yishmael. That’s what I’ll be talking about now. Not the entire topic of derash, but mainly Rabbi Yishmael’s thirteen principles. We’ll talk a bit about derash in general, but mainly about Rabbi Yishmael’s thirteen principles. I’ll start with some kind of general introduction to this matter, because it’s a bit of a neglected commandment, these thirteen principles and derash in general. There’s a certain feeling that we lost something there along the way, that the tradition somehow got stuck in a certain sense, and we no longer really understand how this whole thing works. When we read the midrashim of the Sages—and I’m talking here about halakhic midrashim, legal derash—when we read the midrashim of the Sages, many times it looks to us like some kind of unclear acrobatics. We don’t understand what basis the Sages relied on, and sometimes one gets the impression that they’re basically doing whatever they want. They want to reach some conclusion, and they juggle the verses one way or another in order to get there. My basic assumption—and I’m saying this now without argument, categorically—is that that cannot be true. Even though there certainly are people, especially in the academic camp, who think that way, I don’t. My assumption is that it cannot be true. Because if it were true, then it would basically mean that you can do whatever you want with the Torah. It would just be total interpretive nihilism. Anyone can do whatever he wants: give me a result, and with these tools I can get to whatever result you want. I’ll just torture enough verses and I’ll get there. The Ralbag, when he talks about the hermeneutical principles, says that it’s simply free interpretation—as in all those things about the brother and the firstborn, those kinds of supporting readings. That’s true regarding derash in general, but not regarding peshat. With peshat, you can argue whether the interpretation is good or not good, and as is the way of Torah there are always disputes. But with derash, it seems there’s no dispute at all that this derash is not really a genuine interpretation of the verse. Rather, we have some other tools. But the question is: what exactly is the meaning of those tools? Do they extract something from the verses? Are they just tools for free creation? What exactly are we doing with them? That’s why I’m focusing specifically on derash and not on peshat. Incidentally, the Ralbag, for example, says it’s obvious that the whole thing is a stacked game. The Ralbag claims that all derashot are what are called supporting derashot—I’m getting ahead of myself, we’ll come to this in more detail later. He says that all derashot are basically supporting derashot, meaning that the laws learned from these derashot are laws already known, and the derash only comes to anchor the known law in Scripture. And the Ralbag explains why. He says that if you don’t say that, then basically anything goes. It cannot be that with tools this amorphous we are prepared to derive new laws and be bound by them. Where does the Ralbag write this? In the introduction to his commentary on the Torah. He says such a thing is impossible; therefore all derashot are supporting derashot. That is the Ralbag’s claim. That claim does not hold water; he is certainly not right. There is no doubt about that. There are derashot that are creative derashot, without question. But the difficulty that led him to that position is indeed a strong difficulty. Namely, how are we to relate to such a system, which seems on the face of it to let you do whatever you want with the text? It seems to let you get wherever you want. How can it be that the Sages interpret “an eye for an eye” to mean monetary payment? I don’t know—supposedly, for some reason they decided to interpret it that way, and the conclusion is that you don’t gouge out the eye, you pay money, and from now on that’s what we do. And anyone who gouges out an eye is committing bodily injury. But the Torah says “an eye for an eye.” So what follows? Necessarily, there must be some kind of tools that were given to us at Sinai, or tools that we believe can extract the correct law—namely, that this really is the Torah’s intention or the Holy One’s intention—and therefore for us, even if it emerges through these tools, it is binding; the law is binding. The option that all derashot are supporting derashot is not on the table, because there are simply sources that say explicitly that it is not true. Aside from the fact that it doesn’t make sense for it to be so, there are also sources that state explicitly that it is not so. There is the derash that people always bring, Rabbi Akiva’s derash on “in her menstrual impurity.” So Rabbi Akiva says—this is in Sabbath 64 or something like that—that the earlier generations used to say that a woman should not put on eye makeup or rouge during the days of her menstruation. Fine. “Then you are making her repulsive to her husband,” says Rabbi Akiva, therefore clearly she may; and he derives this from “in her menstrual impurity” through some derash. So this derash basically created a law, a law that did not exist in earlier generations. In other words, here it is presented openly as a creative derash, not a supporting derash. Here it is even much more problematic, because it really seems that even the motivation for the derash is a moral or conceptual motivation, and not something rooted in the text, in the verses—which is even more far-reaching, and we’ll talk about that later as well. But for the moment I’m ignoring that aspect; I’m just showing that here is something where earlier generations thought one thing, then the expositor came and delivered some derash, changed the law, and that became the binding law—and that’s how we also rule in practice. So there is a derash here that is plainly a creative derash, not a supporting one. Now Maimonides himself writes that all Torah derashot—we’ll get to this Maimonides too—that all Torah derashot are creative derashot except for three or four. He doesn’t call it that, but that’s what he says in the second root. All the derashot are creative, except for three or four. By “three or four” he obviously means a handful; he doesn’t literally mean three or four—it could be twenty. The point is that a very small minority of derashot are supporting derashot; most derashot are creative. Which of course sharpens Ralbag’s question all the more. If all derashot are creative derashot, then what exactly is happening here? With these tools, can one really trust the result that comes out of them? Isn’t this anarchy? Isn’t this something anyone can do whatever he wants with? So that is basically the fundamental question. Now, in order to deal with this question, what really needs to be done is to try to understand the hermeneutical principles of derash. The Sages left us not only derashot, but also lists, different conceptualizations of rules of derash. The best known of them is of course the baraita of Rabbi Yishmael at the beginning of Sifra: “By thirteen principles the Torah is expounded,” which we say in the morning prayers. There is a list there of thirteen principles of derash—there are actually more, but we call it the thirteen principles of derash. So clearly there are some rules here that we are supposed to follow. It isn’t anarchy; it isn’t that the expositor wants to get to some conclusion, does something, and gets there. There are certain rules telling him what to do, how to proceed, what is permitted and what is forbidden. The problem is that those rules themselves are not clear to us, at least many of them are not fully clear to us. We don’t understand exactly how they work; sometimes it looks very arbitrary, like some kind of thing that we don’t really know how to operate. In order to decipher this great mystery—well, even before deciphering it, what is its meaning? It really is a mystery. What is this world of derash? These rules of derash—how does it work? Where does it come from? Is this really some reliable system, or is it just some kind of game the Sages are playing when they know exactly where they want to get? By the way, that is one of the reasons I think the claim that all midrashim are supporting midrashim is very problematic. Because then it turns out they are superfluous. What are they for? You already know all the laws in advance. So why do the midrash at all? Is it just a game? It adds nothing. To calm people psychologically? Psychology is a different department—there’s a department of psychology, you can go there, consult, get medication. What? Through a verse like that? So the midrash is meant for the common folk. And after you explain to them that “shall succeed to the name of his dead brother”—because we’re learning tractate Yevamot now—actually means the brother of the deceased husband, not the son of the widow, and “shall succeed to the name” really means the inheritance, not the name—now they’ll calm down? I’m saying that now they’ll need a psychiatrist, not a psychologist. They’ll need to take a pill now. You think explanations like that calm anyone down? It seems to me he’ll go into a catatonic state. This sort of thing does nothing to calm anyone, because it seems far more puzzling than if you had simply told him: listen, this is the tradition we have, period. That’s how we received it. And that’s what the Ralbag claims—that the laws are basically known, we received them through tradition. The derash—I don’t know exactly why they do it. Fine? So if you already know everything, then say it’s a law given to Moses at Sinai that the law is such-and-such. What’s the problem? Wouldn’t that calm the masses better? These intricate derashot that nobody understands—those will calm them more? Won’t they look at you like someone who’s lost his mind? Maybe it’s their way of showing the connection between the Written Torah and the Oral Torah. Yes, but again, that connection is really not convincing, so what does it help? Maybe the expositor himself—I think that at some level, even though it comes from some reasoning, like you say, that it supports, it comes from some reasoning… The reasoning is a given. But the expositor himself—he sort of thinks he’s deriving it from the Torah. Meaning, even though… What does he think? Is he fooling himself, fooling me? What? Even though what he’s bringing here is external reasoning, he really thinks that’s what the Torah is saying. No, no, let’s separate two things. We’re not talking about reasoning; we’re talking about givens. According to the Ralbag, we have a law that is given. Fine? That the firstborn doesn’t have to be named after his mother’s dead husband—that’s not what it means; it means the inheritance. That’s the given. Okay? Now what does the expositor do? He comes with that given and connects it to the verse, but he also… And what? But there’s some thought that the verse itself also says that. Well, that thought is mistaken. And that’s how he thinks. What does “thinks” mean? Is he right or not? What difference does it make? It makes a very big difference. What difference does it make? It makes all the difference. But if you think all these people lived in some, I don’t know… But you can’t ignore the fact that they engaged in derash all the same. So what? I’m not looking for psychological facts; I’m looking for Torah facts. I’m not interested in psychologically analyzing the Amoraim or the Tannaim. I’m asking whether in their own view—never mind now whether you agree with them or not, that’s another question—in their own view they were engaged in interpretation. They weren’t just playing games to get to a result. That seems to me pretty self-evident. Now, what you’re saying—you can say, okay, that was their view, but they were fools. Basically today we understand that it’s all nonsense. I’m not inclined to think so, and not only because I hold that the Sages were not like that, but because that level of stupidity is really excessive. I wouldn’t even say such slander about anyone, not only about the Sages. Because it really seems so strange that it cannot be just a game. No one can even fool himself into thinking that this is really how the verse is explained. Rabbi, and second, this raises a very difficult question for us. Let’s say we take the case of the etrog. What was in the time of Moses, before the derashot? Was there a commandment of the four species? Rabbi, the commandment of the four species? What’s so hard about that? So he took an orange. It could be. Why not? Meaning, there were four species as practiced in Moses’ time, and now we turn it into something else? Whatever you interpret in the Torah, that’s what you do, no? So if Moses thought it meant an orange, then he took an orange. Then Rabbi Akiva, or one of the Tannaim, came and proved through derashot that it comes out as etrog, so then you take an etrog. “You have only the court of your own generation,” right? Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation. Maimonides at the beginning of the Laws of Rebels writes that a court which wants to overturn the words of an earlier court has to be greater in wisdom and number. That’s in the Talmud. But that applies only to rabbinic laws. For Torah laws there is no such requirement at all. Any court in any generation can interpret the Torah completely differently from all previous generations. So it could become reversed again now? Correct. If a court came today and decided on the basis of these or those interpretive-hermeneutical considerations that there are only two primary categories of labor on the Sabbath rather than thirty-nine, then that’s what it would be. There would be only two. That’s it. Unless—one second—unless we’re dealing with a law given to Moses at Sinai. If it’s a law that Moses transmits to us by tradition from the Holy One, then indeed the derash is a supporting derash, not a creative one. Then that law was given at Sinai; we are all bound by it. Now we have to see what to do with the derash—whether we understand it or not. But I’m talking about a creative derash. Assuming the derash is a creative derash, there is no reason in the world to assume that what I do today is what Moses did. No reason in the world. And etrog really does look like a supporting derash. What? Right, etrog definitely—judging by the structure of the sugya—looks like a supporting derash. The fact is that every time they bring a different derash and reach the same conclusion. That is one of the indications—scholars have already pointed this out—of a supporting derash. It is a derash where the conclusion is already clearly known in advance, you can see this from the sugya itself, and each time they try from a different direction, and when one direction is rejected they bring another. Because somehow it seems clear to everyone what the result is, and I’m only looking for the reason. But not all derashot are like that. There’s a contradiction here. But before the rabbi rejected this whole idea of supporting derash, the rabbi said that if we have the tradition, how do we connect it to the verse? So that’s why the rabbi went with the Ralbag’s approach, which really seems exaggerated. But here, there are cases where it’s obvious that it’s a supporting midrash. Correct. And I can answer that question easily. I’ll give a whole series of answers to it later. But if you want one now, I’ll give you one. Once derashot can be creative—they can be creative—then it’s very important to also do supporting derash. Why? Because if you do a supporting derash, say you found that etrog comes from some verbal analogy, that “fruit of a beautiful tree” means etrog. Fine? It comes from a verbal analogy. Then it turns out you are making a verbal analogy between two verses. That verbal analogy can have additional legal consequences that you did not receive by tradition. You need to learn them. Or alternatively, you derived it from the word “et” as an inclusion, for example. If you derived it from “et” as an inclusion in a supporting derash—say we had a tradition that one must fear Torah scholars. We’re looking for where it comes from, so we do a supporting derash: “The Lord your God shall you fear”—this comes to include Torah scholars. But now that has a very important consequence. Because now that “et” is taken. So you can no longer now include, say, Torah scrolls from it: “The Lord your God shall you fear”—to include Torah scrolls. No. That “et” has already been used to derive Torah scholars. Once there is the possibility of creative derash, that gives meaning to supporting derash as well. But if you say that all derashot are supporting, then it’s just a game. Fine? That’s all. Now that’s one example; I could bring many more. Why does that detract? But maybe sometimes in Jewish law, comparing things—you have all the laws, but comparison between things, maybe as the rabbi said there are additional laws here, that doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t identify similarities regarding edge cases and things like that, so then maybe a verbal analogy could lead… Those edge cases—did you derive a new law from the verbal analogy? Then it’s not supporting, it’s creative. What difference does it make whether it’s an edge case or a central case? You created a new law and relied on that. So by simple definition that is a creative derash, fine? What matters there is the timing. What do you mean? I mean, the timing of the creation happened earlier, and later it became tradition. That doesn’t contradict. No, that’s obvious. Often it’s like that. Very often, for example, the Talmud says “it is learned as a tradition.” Rashi everywhere writes that “it is learned as a tradition” means a law given to Moses at Sinai. But Maimonides disagrees. Maimonides says in several places that “it is learned as a tradition” is not a law given to Moses at Sinai. The Netziv explains, in his introduction to Ha’amek She’elah—at the beginning he has an introduction there, a long and interesting one, worth going through. There he explains that according to Maimonides, unlike Rashi, “it is learned as a tradition” really means some tradition that may have originated in a derash. Today we don’t know what derash created that law, but the Tannaim created that law through a derash. We received that law by tradition, but we were not told that it is a law given to Moses at Sinai; we were only told that this is the law. So since we don’t know on what basis the Tannaim derived that law, for us it is “learned as a tradition.” We received a tradition that this is the law; they apparently made some kind of derash. For them the derash was a creative derash, among the Tannaim; it was not a supporting derash. But for us today, if we now begin searching for what derash the Tannaim made, then for us it would already be a supporting derash. Because we received the law from the Tannaim—it is not a law given to Moses at Sinai, it is from the Tannaim—but we do the derash in order to support an existing law. The difference is of course that if we, for example, don’t agree, or don’t find such a derash, and on the contrary we find a derash saying that this law is not correct, then maybe we would need to disagree with the Tannaim. Then that becomes the question of our authority today. That’s another question—whether we have such authority or not—but in principle, say, for a court of later Tannaim who could disagree with earlier Tannaim for the sake of discussion, then they really would change the law if so. But if it’s a law given to Moses at Sinai and the derash is a supporting derash, you can’t disagree with it—it’s a law given to Moses at Sinai; you can’t disagree with that. So here, if you didn’t find the derash, you remain with the matter unresolved, and that’s all; there’s nothing to do. Fine. Therefore it is very important whether it is “learned as a tradition” or a law given to Moses at Sinai. Good. Now, when we want to deal with this riddle, there are two goals. One goal is theoretical: simply to understand how the Sages worked, to understand the tools. Just as we try to understand every sugya, we also need to understand the parts of the sugya that we usually skip over—the parts dealing with derashot. It’s worth trying to understand that too; that is also part of Torah. But I think there is another goal that is much more important, and that is the goal of actually using derashot. Nowhere is it written that in order to use derashot you have to have semikhah, or you have to be the Great Court. Nowhere. On the contrary, from Maimonides’ plain formulations, any court in any generation—any court of three sitting in judgment between Reuven and Shimon, his ox gored the other’s ox, and now they want to know the law, whether Reuven is liable or exempt. That same court that is valid for monetary law—it doesn’t matter if it is ordained, no ordination is needed, Rav Aha, all that material at the beginning of tractate Sanhedrin, no matter what kind of court it is. Fine. That court, among other things, uses the hermeneutical toolbox of derash. That is part of its toolbox. It can go to the Torah, expound a verse, and decide the law. Fine. What does that mean…? No, no—I’m speaking now on the level of principle. There is no principled limitation, I don’t find, and I don’t know of anywhere, any principled limitation saying who is allowed to make derashot and who is not. There is no such limitation, at least none that I know of. Directly from the Torah, you can? From anywhere you want. There are thirteen principles: make a verbal analogy, draw conclusions, derive laws. But verbal analogy, that is… No, verbal analogy too—that is also not true, but we’ll get to that later. Verbal analogy too can be expounded. Is the toolbox only the thirteen principles? No, no, all the principles of derash. So there are disputes about that which until today haven’t… Fine, and there were disputes among the Sages too, so did they refrain from using them because there was disagreement? What happened? You formulate a position and use it as you understand it, just as the Sages did. Where does it stop? There is no formal limitation whatsoever about who may use derashot and who may not. So why did it nevertheless stop? And it stopped very early, by the way. Many have already pointed out that even in the Talmud there are very few genuinely new derashot. Most of the derashot are ones that come to explain Tannaitic laws or Tannaitic derashot. In other words, for the Amoraim this was basically a supporting move, not a creative move. Because the law already… The main expositors were the Tannaim. Among the Amoraim there are derashot, but they are mostly not new; very few new derashot, and they generally come to explain Tannaitic laws. Most of them. Fine. After the Talmud it is already almost completely over. Here and there there’s a tiny little flash of a derash by some medieval authority, very, very rare, almost nonexistent. But if so, as you can already see, the division has nothing to do with ordination or the Great Court. In the time of the Amoraim… With an aleph, of course, yes? That is, this was not a process that stopped at some stage when ordination ended. So why indeed did it stop? My feeling—again, a feeling—and it seems to me pretty well grounded in what I know of the material itself, is simply that people stopped knowing how to do it. We lost the understanding of how these tools work. It is not a problem of authority. It is not that I lack the authority to make derashot because I am not ordained, or because I’m not in the Great Court, or anything like that. I simply don’t know how to use these tools of derash. I know how to say them every morning in prayer: a fortiori, verbal analogy, deriving a rule from one verse, deriving a rule from two verses, general and particular, particular and general, general and particular and general, and so on. I know how to recite it all. But what does it mean? How do you use it? How do you derive laws from it? That ability, we lost. But it’s not only something logical. It’s simply that the medieval authorities are like the opening of the vestibule and we are like the opening of a needle. But even the medieval authorities didn’t make derashot. What do you mean the medieval authorities didn’t make derashot? The medieval authorities didn’t make derashot. No, by “medieval authorities” I meant the earlier ones, the Tannaim. So what does that mean? That little by little we lost the ability to make derashot. Yes, but not in some intellectual sense. It’s not that they were less smart or more smart. I didn’t say intellectual. We lost the ability. It’s a kind of skill. We lost that skill. How do you explain disagreements among derashot? What? Wait, wait, I’ll get to all of that. Right now I’m only giving some kind of general introduction; we’ll enter those points in more detail. Fine? I just want to give some general outline. Therefore it seems to me that this process of decline or diminution in the use of derashot was not due to lack of authority. There is no difference in authority between medieval authorities, later authorities, or Amoraim. There is a difference in authority between ordained judges or the Great Court and one who is not ordained or another court—that certainly exists. Those are clear differences. But there is no difference in terms of principled halakhic authority between different generations. No difference at all. If the medieval authorities are allowed, then I too am allowed. Out of respect for the medieval authorities, I’ll try to understand what they say. “Decline of the generations,” yes or no—we won’t step into that minefield now. But still, the principled authority exists for me as well; that’s obvious. Rather, what? Since the feeling is that I am less confident in myself, I no longer really know how to do it, then if I am responsible I don’t do it. We are not just playing games. On the contrary. Precisely because the use of derashot dwindles, it seems to me that this only strengthens the claim I made at the beginning: using derashot is not a game. Using derashot is some kind of skill, and one who knows how to use it knows that he is deriving correct results. He has confidence in these tools. Once I have stopped understanding how it works—and the farther we get from the source, the more and more we stop understanding how it works—then responsibility requires that we use these tools less and less, because we are no longer really confident in ourselves. So one has to use this very carefully and very cautiously, if at all. Once we have completely lost that ability—and that seems more or less to be the situation today—then all the more so. Maybe here and there someone can still do it. There are some famous a fortiori arguments by the Chafetz Chaim in his commentary on the Torah. He is generally regarded as a conservative decisor, the Chafetz Chaim. But in his commentary on the Torah he makes several very interesting legal a fortiori arguments. I seem to recall that someone once wrote about this, though I no longer remember where. But from the other side of the coin, power. What do you mean by power? Intellectual power, whatever—it’s not that. If you understand how it works, then you can use it. If you don’t understand how it works, you can’t. Now, with a fortiori reasoning we do understand how it works, even today. So if we understand how it works, we can use it. But I don’t think it’s because—it’s a dangerous tool, and because it’s a tool that is a bit, I don’t know, unusual—you could say there was the standing of Rabban Gamliel in Yavneh making derashot, and Rabbi Akiva making derashot. Clearly there is an issue of standing, clearly there is some issue of… What standing? Where is that written? Where does Jewish law establish that? Not legal standing, but clearly, that is, there is some sense that because the tool is a tool requiring… What are you actually saying? Since the tool is one that requires great skill and great subtlety, then simply some kind of understanding that you can derive many things from the Torah. I don’t know what that means; those words are unclear to me, define it better. What did Rabban Gamliel have that I don’t? Besides the fact that he was ordained and in the Great Court—forget that, let’s talk about Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Akiva was not ordained and was not in the Great Court. No, but he had a kind of authority, simply halakhically—he was a genius, he really could expound, and no one would say… What do you mean no one would say? Is it correct or not? What is this, social intimidation, that people wouldn’t accept it? Nonsense. Nonsense. Rashba said very far-reaching things without being worried at all that someone would disagree with him. Or Maimonides—not to mention Maimonides. Maimonides wrote an entire book as if it were the oracle of Delphi. He got attacked for it too. So the fact that he doesn’t explain things—why? Because it was clear to him he had authority, and that’s it. So why does this certainty end here? Because it’s a dangerous tool. Not dangerous; it’s a tool he doesn’t know how to use. What does dangerous mean? It’s dangerous because using it requires a certain skill, a certain subtlety, that we have lost. No, that’s not right. It’s a dangerous tool because the connection between the derash and the plain meaning is really… So you’re just repeating in different words what I’m saying. Why isn’t that the same thing? You think it’s a matter of misunderstanding, and it’s a matter of the fact that the connection is really… Okay, then why did Rabban Gamliel do it? Because he had standing. What does “because he had standing” mean? But is it really written in the verse or not? “The Lord your God shall you fear”—to include Torah scholars. Is that really what the Holy One told us in the verse? If yes, then why doesn’t Maimonides do it? If not, then why did Rabban Gamliel do it? I don’t understand. We don’t understand Maimonides, why… I simply do not understand the alternative. Not that I disagree; I don’t understand the claim. He says there can indeed be a difference in standing—not legal standing—but even if we say these are supporting derashot, and even if we agreed earlier, and even if there are certain specific reasons for supporting derashot, one can still see a difference between Maimonides and Rabban Gamliel. Why does he expound and Maimonides doesn’t? If, for example, it’s just to show the connection between the Written Torah and the Oral Torah, and if by chance that was a period with Karaites and Boethusians and Sadducees waging religious war… The Karaites existed in Maimonides’ time too; there were major wars against the Karaites then. But let’s ask you about the Karaites—why are you leaving them out? No, that’s exactly the point. I’m trying to get a claim out of you. I don’t see an alternative claim here. One can explain the fact that even if one says it is a supporting derash, they basically understood that “The Lord your God shall you fear” comes to include Torah scholars, they just didn’t say it because they were afraid. That’s basically what you’re saying. Who? Maimonides. That’s what you’re saying. You’re saying that Maimonides basically knows how to make derashot like Rabban Gamliel, only he doesn’t dare do it because people will beat him up. Is that what you’re saying? What, Maimonides would be afraid that people would beat him up? Then it seems to me he wouldn’t have written anything. Even if Maimonides said that it’s a supporting derash… Maimonides says explicitly that it’s a creative derash. He says so explicitly. So with Maimonides there isn’t even any point arguing. He explicitly writes that all derashot are creative except for three or four. Good, I’ll show you if you want. In fact it seems to me the opposite would be more logical. Very logical, but he says otherwise. He says so in Sefer HaMitzvot… Fine, there’s no point denying the facts. And when he talks about this in the Laws of Rebels, he says: “the court according to what appears correct in its eyes.” According to what appears correct in its eyes. They make derashot. What’s the problem? I don’t understand. According to what appears correct in its eyes. Right. So? Whatever seems right to them, that’s what they do. What, then what? What seems right to me? No, but there he isn’t speaking in terms of interpretation. He’s speaking in terms of the power of the court. Nonsense. “What appears…” Again, interpretation versus non-interpretation is a loaded term to which we’ll return. But the court makes derashot as it sees fit. Obviously. Right, as it sees fit. Whatever it understands, it expounds, just as whatever it understands, it also interprets. Obviously—it’s the same thing. What’s the difference? He isn’t talking about interpretation, by the way. Derash and interpretation are two kinds of tools for extracting legal information from verses. The court uses those tools according to the best of its understanding, as it appears right to it. What? “As it appears right to it”—what is that, a lottery? “As it appears right to it”—does he mean to say: “I really want people to fear Torah scholars, so let’s invent a rule: ‘et’ always comes to include, so ‘The Lord your God shall you fear’ comes to include Torah scholars, and that’s it”? Is that what appears right to it? Is that the claim? I don’t understand the claim. Obviously the court uses these rules; it doesn’t invent them. It uses them and understands that these rules are legitimate tools for extracting information from the verses. It does this according to what appears right to it. Obviously there is reasoning here, obviously there is skill involved in using the tools—we’ll see all that. But obviously it does what appears right to it, yet after doing it it understands that this is what the Holy One embedded in this verse. This is what is supposed to come out of this verse. It is not using them as ad hoc tools. So then now I ask: if so, why doesn’t everyone do it? Because they don’t do it because they don’t know how to do it. That’s a simple fact—go and see what people do. You’ll see that nobody today knows how to use these tools. That’s simply the fact. And the medieval authorities write this too. They write this. We do not know. We do not know how to use these tools. You can even see from the explanations they do give that they didn’t know it either. Because those explanations very often limp along. Yes? Rabbi, and this regarding halakhic derashot. Do you think that if we understood the method of derash, then today we could make derashot? Certainly. I’m talking about halakhic derashot; as for non-halakhic derashot, whatever you want. Because I understood that what was true in earlier generations, among the earlier authorities, was that they were more rooted in tradition. I think Torah can be understood in many ways; many times there are many disputes. You can understand it this way or that way. There were also disputes in the time of the Tannaim. If disputes had deterred us from making derashot, then they wouldn’t have made derashot either. I’m only saying that one can conclude that there are several directions in which the Torah can be interpreted. Therefore what was fixed—simply because it was fixed too—was closer to the tradition, closer and closer to Sinai. And therefore the standing of it is higher, not necessarily because the earlier authority has more power, but because of proximity to tradition. No, that claim I completely agree with. But what does that have to do with what I said earlier? Suppose Sinai… Then the derash itself too—meaning, one can perhaps make a derash on something… Right, even if I understand how to make derash, very nice, but in the end what the Torah may have meant is something else, and I can’t determine that because there are lots of data I don’t have, that were lost over thousands of years. And therefore the standing of the derash… The question is whether the lack of knowledge is due to data lost over the years, or whether it is due to unfamiliarity with the tools. For my purposes that doesn’t matter. What does matter for my purposes is that the difference lies only in the ability to use the tools and not in authority. I’m just trying to understand: if you were to find a derash that contradicts something already established—and it happens—and you are convinced that the derash is correct, then I say that apparently you made a mistake, because there are data you don’t know. Maybe. What data? And in interpretation there aren’t data I don’t know? I make halakhic decisions all the time. So what? Maybe there are data I don’t know. So no—what are you saying? So why stop there? Where is the line? I don’t understand. There is no line. The Kesef Mishneh writes this in the Laws of Rebels. When Maimonides asks—when Maimonides rules—that in order to overturn laws established by an earlier court, if they are Torah-level laws, one need not be greater in wisdom and number; only for rabbinic laws does one need to be greater in wisdom and number. The Kesef Mishneh asks: if so, why don’t we disagree with the Amoraim? And why didn’t the Amoraim disagree with the Tannaim? And what does he answer? Because we accepted them upon ourselves. Fine, we accepted them upon ourselves. What did we accept upon ourselves? The Tannaim and the Amoraim, right. Here the question of authority comes in. The question of authority enters in relation to the Talmud. The Talmud was accepted as something not to be disputed. That’s all. But is that a logical matter, just some kind of acceptance, a custom? Certainly. That’s what the Kesef Mishneh says. Obviously there is some real basis to this, and the real basis is the fact that we genuinely feel less secure in these tools. Therefore they set up a fence and said: okay, from here on, whatever the Talmud determined is determined. But there is no fence saying we may not make derashot; there is no such fence. There are some medieval authorities here and there who write that, and other medieval authorities who do not write that. There is no unequivocal fence here that we may not make derashot. What the fence does say is that if we derive something against something in the Talmud, it doesn’t work. We accepted upon ourselves that we do not disagree with the Talmud. But because we accepted it upon ourselves—that is the point. Now, in a place where I have a new law, not against the Talmud and nothing of the sort—I want to know the law—then I’ll make a verbal analogy, I’ll derive a rule from a prototype, I’ll do whatever, general and particular and general, and I’ll make a derash, and whatever comes out is what I do. In principle that is what I am supposed to do. Why? I’m not speaking against anyone now; I’m speaking of something entirely new. Or even just to decide between a dispute among medieval authorities—there too there is no problem doing this. But I’m speaking even of something entirely new. What’s the problem? Why shouldn’t I do that? Only because I can’t—because I don’t know? Because I’m missing data? What does that mean, I’m missing data? Anyone can always worry that maybe he’s missing data. The bottom-line question is whether you are sufficiently convinced that the tools in your hand are good tools, and that you are convinced of the result. If yes, then Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation. If not, then not. That’s all—it’s a matter of responsibility. Obviously someone who has not reached significant conviction should not use these tools. Fine? I’m just trying to understand what the rabbi wants to say with this. Now if, say, someone were to come to him with a question—say the question is whether I can use some new technology of a current of particles passing through a filament and emitting light for a Hanukkah lamp. The rabbi said that in principle, if I had the principles of derash, I could open the Torah from the beginning… No doubt, yes. And I wouldn’t need to go by opening Techumin or whatever here. Open Techumin. What would be written in Techumin? The same thing would be written there too. They’d make derashot there, and that’s what they’d do. Or interpretation, it doesn’t matter. Today, for example, they made that decision without making derashot. Fine, it doesn’t matter. But there are decisions for which derashot will indeed be needed. Do you really think, on the level of principle—think about it—did all halakhic issues really end in the time of the Sages? Did they solve every problem? Is what appears in the Talmud supposed to contain information about everything that moves, meaning that nothing is needed beyond what is written in the Talmud? That seems highly unlikely to me. Highly unlikely. Just as legal questions required derashot all through history until the sealing of the Talmud, there is no reason to assume that after the sealing of the Talmud this process was no longer supposed to continue. After all, throughout the whole period until the sealing of the Talmud, new derashot were added, at a steadily declining pace of course, but they were added. Why were they added? Because questions arose for which no answer was found in the existing law, so the Sages took the tools they had received—the tools of derash—and used them, right? So now what happens with a legal question that arose five hundred years after the sealing of the Talmud, or two hundred years after the sealing of the Talmud? It doesn’t matter—after it ended. So now it’s impossible? What does the Holy One expect us to do with it? Not make derash? Of course yes, because that is what these tools were given for. These tools were given in order to provide solutions for problems for which no solution has yet been found. Why shouldn’t we say that part of the reason people make fewer derashot is simply that I have more information from earlier derashot? Because I think that doesn’t stand the test. I think there are no fewer open questions than there were in the time of the Tannaim and Amoraim. The question is one of questions and of degree, of quantity of information. Meaning, Moses gives the Torah, there are six hundred and thirteen commandments, and we try to use them to know what this means in our lives. A question arises that we don’t know—we now have six hundred and fourteen. Another question arises that we don’t know—six hundred and fifteen. And until today we have… Theoretically, theoretically that could be a correct explanation. But after all, you can’t deny that we really did lose the ability to make derash. So are we just going to ignore facts? Maybe we lost the ability to make derash because there really was no need. But at the moment we have lost the ability to make derash. And if there is a need to make derash, what will we do? We won’t make derash, because we don’t have the ability. So the only question is how many places actually arose where there was a need to make derash. That can be our disagreement. Fine, let’s not argue about that now. But it is clear that right now, even where a need to make derash has arisen, we will not make derash because we do not know how. Not because there is no need, but because we do not know how. Yes. Rabbi, isn’t it worth distinguishing among the principles by which the Torah is expounded—whether the thirteen or other systems—between principles that are logical, even in the Greek sense, and principles that are not exactly logical? So we will make those distinctions. There is no principle that is formally non-logical. A fortiori—not even that. Well, it isn’t a formal principle. If you turn a fortiori into a syllogism, I’ll give you a Nobel Prize. Okay, in any case there are things—I’m sure the rabbi agrees—that there are principles which are completely understandable to us too, like a fortiori. Now there are other principles that perhaps require—because of closeness to prophecy or things like that—they received the ability because these require some kind of higher spiritual inspiration, something like that, like juxtaposition. Juxtaposition requires more than just one word here and one word there. No, certainly, certainly. We’ll talk about that. As for spiritual inspiration and things like that, I don’t know what that means. But we’ll talk about this process, and I will indeed argue otherwise. But there you can form your own opinion. I think it is simply loss of skill. That’s all. And it can be reconstructed. That is the claim. Good. There are things that I think I can already show some reconstruction of—not complete or anything, but there are things where one can definitely see reconstruction. Why doesn’t the rabbi make derash and rule accordingly? What? If there is a place where I see a compelling derash and I am convinced by it, I will make derash too. There’s no problem. The rabbi doesn’t want to say this is some kind of loss of divine inspiration? No. How does the rabbi know it isn’t? I’m inclined to think not. How do you know it is? Why is the burden of proof on me? No, there are sayings, for example, like what you said earlier, that there is decline of the generations. Fine, obviously there is decline of the generations—we all know that. I think the decline of the generations is exactly the loss of that intuition of how to use these tools. You can call it divine inspiration; I call it understanding. But that’s already another question. I may give that a bit of justification later, although in the end it is clear that it will stand or fall on ideological questions. Fine? Good. So, what I’m basically trying to claim is that there is great value in trying to reconstruct this skill of using the tools of derash. The question is: how do you do that? How do you do such a thing? Here, of course, one has to divide the principles of derash into several kinds. The division between logical principles and non-logical principles has already been mentioned, and indeed I think that is an important division and we’ll enter it later. Let’s say within Rabbi Yishmael’s thirteen principles, maybe there are four logical principles. There is a fortiori, deriving a rule from one verse, deriving a rule from two verses, and perhaps also two verses that contradict one another. That depends on how one understands it, but maybe that too is a logical principle. The rest of the principles are what from here on I’ll call textual principles. These are principles where the trigger for the derash is a textual trigger. For example, when the Torah is expounded—when the Sages expound by general and particular and general—why do they do that? Because there is a formulation of a verse where the wording uses a general term followed by specific terms and then again a general term. It does not arise from some understanding of the content of the verse. It arises from the formulation of the verse. The form of the wording is what causes the derash. By contrast, with a fortiori reasoning or deriving a rule from a prototype—prototype means “what do we find,” yes, same thing—so with a prototype or a fortiori there is no connection whatsoever to the wording of the verse. No connection at all. It depends on the content. Verbal analogy is textual. Verbal analogy is textual, yes. Textual, but it is also logical. What? Fine, not important, I’m not… One can. One can discuss that too. But for now, in the initial division, what is the trigger for the derash? When we make an analogy or an induction or a fortiori argument, we do that everywhere, not only in the principles of derash, not only in the world of derash. We do it everywhere; that’s how our reasoning works. So that doesn’t depend on how things are written. If the Torah had written the law of goring, tooth, and foot in the public domain differently, we would still make the a fortiori that the Mishnah makes in tractate Bava Kamma. It does not depend on how it is written. It depends on the content. If goring here is liable and tooth and foot here are exempt, then that means goring is more severe than tooth and foot. So if so, then in the injured party’s courtyard too, goring is more severe than tooth and foot, and that’s all. So from understanding the contents, the conclusion follows. Therefore a fortiori is a logical principle. Fine? The same with deriving a rule from a prototype. It’s just an analogy. I make an analogy between two things that seem similar to me. That’s all—“what do we find.” Therefore it is a logical principle. Fine? By contrast, most of the principles are textual principles. These are principles whose basis is the question of how the Torah wrote it. Now, these “hows” of course divide into many principles. There is verbal analogy in a place where there are two words that are identical in two contexts and we make a comparison between those two sources. Or if there is juxtaposition, say, if the Torah wrote two laws adjacent to one another, verse next to verse or even in the same verse itself, then that means there is room to compare them. But again, that follows from the form of writing. Not because from the content of the laws I understand that the laws are similar. Rather the opposite: even if I do not understand that the laws are similar, since the Torah wrote them in proximity, I am now supposed to assume that they are similar and derive some conclusions from that. There is general and particular, which I mentioned earlier, regarding general language, singular language, and general language. “A matter that was included in a general category and then singled out to teach—not to teach about itself was it singled out, but to teach about the whole category was it singled out.” That is basically a kind of duplication: the Torah says some general law about all sacrifices, say, and elsewhere it says something about peace-offerings. So why repeat it? It already said that it is true of all sacrifices. Therefore, “a matter that was included in a general category”—the rule is “not to teach about itself was it singled out, but to teach about the whole category was it singled out.” But what kind of principle is that? A logical principle? No. It is a textual principle, right? Once the Torah duplicated its reference to peace-offerings, writing it both in the framework of all sacrifices and separately, it thereby hinted to me that I should make some kind of derash here. So the trigger for the derash is not the content involved but the form of writing in the Torah. Fine? And so it is with all the other principles of derash. We’ll go through them and get to know them. What? Does that work only on the text with the textual method? No, no. In principle, only on the text of the Torah. Surprisingly enough, at least in the principles that I worked on in more detail, I can show that this is true of other texts too. Even general and particular and particular and general and things of that sort. On what texts? Even non-Torah texts? Yes. Like what? Whatever you want, whatever composition you write. If we open it, can we make a general-and-particular-and-general from it? Again, not on the same level of strictness as the Torah, but the idea of general and particular and general can exist there too, yes. I’ll show that as well. By the way, there are several—one second—there are several derashot of general and particular and general that later authorities apply to the writings of earlier authorities. There are responsa. A responsum writer just writes sentences the way we write, right? Then a later authority comes and makes a derash of general and particular and general on it. He takes a sentence written by Maharam of Rothenburg and makes a derash on it of general and particular and general—because Maharam of Rothenburg began with general language and continued with specific language, just an ordinary sentence he wrote. Well, that’s an interpretive claim. All interpretation is a kind of psychology. It is a claim that if one writes this way, one means such-and-such. But the language of the Torah—is that the psychology of the Holy One? No. The Torah is written in a way that was given over to our interpretation. The way we interpret the Torah has nothing to do with the psychology of the Holy One. Maybe we can see a verse and know that there is a trigger here for derash. But why should we say—and that is an excellent question, and I’ll get to it—that I should expound it to include your older brother? That’s an excellent question; I’ll get to it, fine? But right now I’m only making the basic division. Because even if I have a textual trigger—there is an “et” written: “The Lord your God shall you fear.” It is known that “et” comes to include. That too is a textual derash, right? But what does it include? Does that come from the verse? Does it come from reasoning? Where does it come from? How can I decide on a verbal analogy between slave and woman from “lah lah” from woman? Should I now say that a woman too is acquired like a slave? That one may abuse her like a slave? What am I supposed to learn from this derash of “lah lah” from woman? That is a question that needs attention. Does it come from the verses, or is there some textual trigger for that too, or perhaps it is reasoning? How exactly does that work? In most of the derashot I encounter, I can’t attach them to any one of the principles. For example, three times three… Right, in most derashot it is not clear from them which principle was used. Correct. Derashot based on the thirteen principles are quite a small minority of the derashot in rabbinic literature. “Et” also—and “gam” too—those are not from the thirteen principles. Right, because that’s a principle of Rabbi Akiva—inclusion—whereas Rabbi Yishmael… Rabbi Yishmael’s thirteen principles. You can see, for example, that in Maimonides, in the heading of the second root, he writes that everything learned from the thirteen principles and from inclusion is rabbinic. That is, he does not count it—he says inside, he does not count it in the enumeration of the commandments. Meaning, he adds Rabbi Yishmael’s thirteen principles and inclusion—that’s Rabbi Akiva, of course, who expounds by inclusion and exclusion and inclusion. Fine? Good. So that is just a general overview. We will of course need to go into much more detail. I already have to run, as I told you. So next week at quarter to two. At ten to? At ten to? Then we’ll start at ten to.