The Thought of Rabbi Gedaliah Nadel – Homiletics in Halakha – Lesson 5
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
- A fortiori reasoning and the move to verbal analogy
- Textual hints, “available for exposition,” and linguistic sensitivity
- Verbal analogy versus other exegetical rules and the concern about arbitrariness
- Tradition from one’s teacher, the dispute between Rashi and Tosafot, and the multiplication of “et”
- The example of “the best” in Bava Kamma: verbal analogy versus the meaning of the verse
- Verbal analogy within the same passage, dispute as a sign of non-tradition, and the parallel to Hanukkah
- Verbal analogy that is not literal identity and judgment in comparison
- Clarifying meaning and verbal analogy from the language of the Prophets
- “Fifteenth, fifteenth”: available on one side and the exposition of the obligation of the first night
- A halakhic-analytic discussion: rain in the sukkah, the Vilna Gaon, and the reason for the verse
Summary
General Overview
The text presents a transition from learning by a fortiori reasoning to learning by verbal analogy, and emphasizes that verbal analogy rests on a textual trigger but still involves the expositor’s reasoning in deciding what to compare and for which law. It argues that applying verbal analogy is not technical, and therefore hints such as “available for exposition” or linguistic irregularities are needed; from here comes the importance of “linguistic sensitivity” for identifying redundancy or unusual forms. It brings disputes about tradition versus exegetical creativity, presents examples like “the best” and “fifteenth, fifteenth,” and also reaches broader questions about the relationship between plain meaning and exposition and about the limits of using the reason for a verse in halakhic decision-making.
A fortiori reasoning and the move to verbal analogy
The text states that on page 25 they dealt with a fortiori reasoning and then moved to verbal analogy, which is an exegetical rule that begins with a textual trigger and does not operate only on the plane of logic. It argues that in verbal analogy too, as in all exegetical rules, the expositor’s reasoning is involved, because after the textual trigger the expositor decides with respect to what to compare, in which direction, and regarding which law. It expresses doubt about the claim that the whole matter depends on rules of language, because rules of language ought to be responsible for plain-sense interpretation and not for exposition, but it agrees that in a certain sense, with verbal analogy, skill in biblical language is indeed required in order to identify redundancies or irregularities that hint at an exposition.
Textual hints, “available for exposition,” and linguistic sensitivity
The text explains that verbal analogy is not activated automatically every time two identical words appear, and that there are pairs of similar words between which no verbal analogy is made. It cites Michael Chernick, who argues that the earliest verbal analogies were made on words that are unique in Scripture, and that in later generations verbal analogies were also made on words that are not unique, and it describes a layered analysis and dating of generations of verbal analogies. It quotes Rabbi Gedaliah Nadel’s explanation that this expansion is not a new invention, because the Talmud’s requirement of “available for exposition” creates an alternative textual indication, such as a redundant word or a special form, and thus there is a hint whether to make a verbal analogy or not. It connects this to linguistic sensitivity, because one has to know whether a word is in fact redundant or irregular relative to normal biblical usage.
Verbal analogy versus other exegetical rules and the concern about arbitrariness
The text argues that verbal analogy is especially exposed to the problem that one can “get wherever one wants” if words are compared without control, because it lacks the logical control that exists in a fortiori reasoning. It cites Abarbanel, who argues that if verbal analogies were made freely one could load any desired comparison onto any pair of words, and it contrasts this with clearer structures such as general-particular-general, where the structure itself is the trigger for the exposition. It argues that in the other rules, once the structure defined by the rule exists, the rule is always applied, whereas in verbal analogy two identical words are not enough without hints of availability, redundancy, or irregularity. It explains that this is why specifically verbal analogy is discussed explicitly in the Talmud in terms of being available on one side or on both sides, and why it is said that “a person does not derive it on his own” with verbal analogy, as opposed to a fortiori reasoning where “a person derives it on his own.”
Tradition from one’s teacher, the dispute between Rashi and Tosafot, and the multiplication of “et”
The text presents the principle that verbal analogy requires that one “received it from his teacher,” and explains that the tradition is not the verbal analogy itself but rather the paths of language and the judgment needed to identify what counts as available for exposition and what does not. It mentions a dispute between Rashi and Tosafot in Sukkah regarding whether all the exegetical rules are like verbal analogy and only a fortiori reasoning is derived independently, and opposite that it notes that most medieval authorities (Rishonim) hold that only verbal analogy is exceptional and all the other rules are like a fortiori reasoning. It compares this to Akivan expositions of the multiplication of “et,” and argues that there too it is not likely that every “et” is expounded, but rather that there are criteria of linguistic irregularity that indicate where “et” comes to include something.
The example of “the best” in Bava Kamma: verbal analogy versus the meaning of the verse
The text brings the dispute between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Yishmael as to whether “the best” is measured by the best land of the damager or the best land of the injured party, and frames the question through the gap between inferior and superior land of the two sides. It quotes the Talmud’s exposition according to Rabbi Yishmael: “Field is stated below and field is stated above… just as the field stated above refers to the injured party, so too the field stated below refers to the injured party,” and opposite that Rabbi Akiva, who reads “the best of his field… of the one who is paying.” It emphasizes the Talmudic phrase “the verbal analogy is effective and the verse is effective,” and interprets this as proof that exposition and plain meaning are two parallel interpretations that can stand even when they appear contradictory, and that the rule “a verse never departs from its plain meaning” leaves the plain sense intact alongside the exposition.
Verbal analogy within the same passage, dispute as a sign of non-tradition, and the parallel to Hanukkah
The text argues that this verbal analogy is unusual because it is within the same matter and the same passage, and cites Tosafot in Arakhin that this teaches about the very nature of verbal analogy. It argues that if there had been a Sinaitic tradition about a certain verbal analogy, Rabbi Akiva would not have disputed it, and it cites the claim of Nachmanides and his students that the very existence of disputes in verbal analogies indicates that they are not a tradition from Sinai. It compares this to the question of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel regarding Hanukkah lights—whether one adds and goes on or decreases and goes on—and suggests a reading in Maimonides where “they instituted” refers to days of praise and thanksgiving, while the lighting of candles is presented as “and they light,” so that Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disputed what to institute and not an existing tradition. It weaves in comments about the responsa From Heaven of Rabbi Yaakov of Marvege, about tefillin found at Masada according to both methods, and about Nachmanides’ interpretation of “yours is greater than theirs” as connected to Hanukkah candles for future generations.
Verbal analogy that is not literal identity and judgment in comparison
The text brings “A tanna from the school of Rabbi Yishmael: this returning is this coming” as an example of verbal analogy even from words that are not literally identical, and presents a rule that when there is a similar word and a dissimilar word, one learns from the similar one, but when there is no similar one, one learns even from the dissimilar one. It adds that if one can derive a verbal analogy from two matters with different laws, one prefers the source that has more sides in common for teaching. It concludes that comparing matters in verbal analogy depends on judgment that examines how similar they are, and that this is the content of the tradition required for verbal analogy.
Clarifying meaning and verbal analogy from the language of the Prophets
The text describes a situation in which the Sages make a verbal analogy between the language of the Torah and the language of the Prophets, and explains that this makes sense if one understands the learning as clarification of linguistic meaning and not as comparison of laws; it notes that the medieval authorities (Rishonim) call this “clarifying the matter.” It distinguishes between verbal analogy as derivation of a law and verbal analogy as a kind of dictionary for understanding the meaning of a word, and gives as an example deriving “if it gores—meaning with a horn,” even with a detached horn, from the verse in the Prophets, “Zedekiah son of Chenaanah made for himself iron horns… with these you shall gore Aram.” It notes that medieval authorities write that clarification of meaning may not require a tradition from one’s teacher, unlike ordinary verbal analogy, and remarks that according to Maimonides there may be a practical difference between exposition that is rabbinic in status and a plain-sense interpretive tool whose status is Torah-level.
“Fifteenth, fifteenth”: available on one side and the exposition of the obligation of the first night
The text asks how one makes a verbal analogy from the calendar date “fifteenth” if the date is written only to indicate time and is not available for exposition. It proposes a solution by comparing the formulations of Passover in Parashat Bo, where “fifteenth” is not mentioned at all and instead it is described as “on the fourteenth… in the evening,” with Parashat Emor, where it says explicitly, “and on the fifteenth day of this month is the Festival of Matzot,” and argues that the mention there of “and on the fifteenth” is redundant and therefore available for exposition. It notes that in the same passage it also says, “on the fifteenth day of this seventh month is the festival of Sukkot,” and therefore the Sages compare “fifteenth, fifteenth” in order to learn that the obligation to eat on the first night exists on Sukkot as well, just as on Passover there is “in the evening you shall eat matzot” as an obligation on the first night. It explains the meaning of “seven days you shall eat matzot” as an instruction that when one eats bread it must be matzah, and not as an obligation to eat matzah on all seven days, and compares this to a doctor who says, “You must eat only black bread,” in order to explain why on the first night there must be an obligation so that there will be an indication that the commandment has entered into force.
A halakhic-analytic discussion: rain in the sukkah, the Vilna Gaon, and the reason for the verse
The text raises the question of the implications of this explanation for a halakhic discussion such as rain on the first night of Sukkot and the difficulty of eating in the sukkah when “this is not a sukkah,” and presents the debate whether the obligation is “to eat an olive-sized amount of bread,” which then automatically requires a sukkah, or “to eat an olive-sized amount of bread in the sukkah.” It mentions a dispute regarding the matter of the blessing over eating matzah on all seven days and attributes one position to the Vilna Gaon. It connects these explanations to the question of deriving law from the reason for the verse, and notes that this is a tannaitic dispute between Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Shimon, and that in practice the law follows Rabbi Yehuda, that one does not derive law from the reason for the verse in a way that determines halakhic definitions. It concludes that even if in practice reasons are always taken into account, the question remains where the principle “we do not derive law from the reason for the verse” stops, and it ends with, “Okay, we’ll stop here.”
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] On page 25 we were basically dealing with a fortiori reasoning. After that we moved to verbal analogy, which is an exegetical rule that begins with a textual trigger and doesn’t operate only on the logical plane. But there too, as I said, like in all the exegetical rules, the expositor’s reasoning is involved in the exposition, because once there is a textual trigger, the expositor has to decide what to do with it. So if there is a verbal analogy between two places, then the expositor has to decide with respect to what he is comparing those two places. Is it with respect to this law, another law, from A to B, from B to A, all kinds of things of that sort. We also saw that he said this depends on understanding the rules of language. He attributes to the Sages, to Hazal, some deep understanding of the rules of language that helped them decide verbal analogies. On this point, I’m not sure I agree with him that it really is the rules of language, because the rules of language are supposed to be responsible for plain-sense interpretation, not for exposition. Exposition is interpretation on a parallel plane to plain-sense interpretation. But it is true in a certain sense, at least with regard to verbal analogy I think it is true, and that ties into another point we discussed, which he also noted: verbal analogy is not something completely technical, in the sense that if a certain word appears in one context and the same word in another context, we immediately compare. Not always. Sometimes there are pairs of similar words between which we do not make a verbal analogy. So I brought something someone once wrote—someone who wrote a book on verbal analogy, I forgot his name, once again I forgot, I forgot it then too—Michael, ah, Michael Chernick. Michael Chernick. He wrote a book on verbal analogy that was published in Lod, at the institute there near the library, and there he argues that the early verbal analogies were made on a pair of words that is unique in Scripture. Meaning, only on words that appear only twice in the whole Bible, and then it’s clear that we are supposed to compare them. But ordinary pairs of words, when those words appear elsewhere in Scripture too, that wasn’t that kind of verbal analogy. But he too says—he does some kind of layered analysis there, yes, a dating of the generations of verbal analogies—and he shows that as the generations advanced, verbal analogies were already being made even on words that were not unique. But then, as Rabbi Gedaliah Nadel explains here, it’s not that they suddenly invented something new, because on the face of it that really seems to have no justification. If the rule is to do this only with two words that are unique, then where do the Sages get permission suddenly now to do it otherwise? Either you do it according to the rules you received at Sinai, or you’re making things up. I already spoke about whether this is invention or a tradition from Sinai, and I said it’s really both. But in this context, what Rabbi Gedaliah explains—and I think he is completely right about this—is that this is the Talmud’s requirement when it says the term has to be available for exposition. Meaning there has to be some indication in those two words. It’s not just that the two words are similar; they also have to be redundant in some sense. That is, something is supposed to give us a hint whether we should make a verbal analogy here or not. That hint can be that the word is redundant, or that it appears in some special form or another, or something like that. And that is of course a substitute for the requirement that characterized the earlier expositions, that the words had to have a unique appearance in Scripture. That’s one kind of hint, but if there is another hint showing us that a particular pair of words should be expounded through verbal analogy, that also works. In that way it becomes an expansion, a natural expansion, of the earlier verbal analogies. Now, if that is indeed the case, then there is room here for linguistic sensitivity, because after all you need to examine whether a certain word is redundant, or whether it appears in an odd form, where it should not have appeared and another word should have appeared instead. That gives you some indication that this word is meant for exposition. But those indications are obviously based on understanding the rules of language; that is, you need to know whether this is really a normal appearance or an exceptional appearance in biblical Hebrew.
[Speaker B] What is really the essential difference between an available word that’s used in verbal analogy and an available word that’s used for inclusion or exclusion or some other exposition? Like, I don’t know, “you shall surely raise up,” say—where…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Where you find another word in another context that’s also available, say if—
[Speaker B] If it’s available.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, you could just ask in general about all sorts of expositions, not specifically verbal analogy. Why didn’t they enter Rabbi Yishmael’s list of thirteen? Fine, so about that, Sefer HaKeritut already discusses this at length. He talks about it and brings several explanations there. One of them is that some of the rules are aggadic exposition, so they weren’t included. Another explanation is that some of the rules are disputed, so they weren’t included. Because we know, for example, that Rabbi Yishmael’s rules didn’t include inclusion and exclusion, because for him it’s general and particular. Rabbi Yishmael expounds by inclusion and exclusion? No—so inclusion and exclusion are not included. What are called Akivan expositions also weren’t included by Rabbi Yishmael. The explanation he gives—he brings three explanations. The third explanation is that there are expositions that have the status of plain-sense interpretation. Meaning that this is the plain meaning of the verse. Even though the route by which you arrive at the plain meaning of the verse is midrashic, still it is basically the plain meaning of the verse. And it’s interesting to look at those expositions and see what makes the difference, but that’s another discussion. In any case, he goes through the rules there one by one. Incidentally, he doesn’t cover all of them either, but he goes through rule by rule. He also goes through the thirty-two rules of Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yose the Galilean, but there are more. There are more than thirty-two. The Talmud contains additional rules. But in principle he at least gives the direction. Those are the three possible explanations for why it didn’t enter Rabbi Yishmael’s list. Another possibility, I assume, is exactly the same reason why Rabbi Yishmael’s rules didn’t enter Hillel’s list. It’s just a further specification of an earlier rule. Meaning, it is there, but in a later generation the resolution gets finer. So you start distinguishing between two rules that were once considered two different applications of a single rule, and now you make them into two separate rules. I assume that would cover the examples. So what I only wanted to say is that therefore, what he says—that one needs understanding of linguistic sensitivity—is true also for verbal analogy, at least in the sense that you need to identify whether this word is indeed a candidate for exposition. Does it appear here in a non-standard form, in an exceptional form, such that you are then meant to expound it? Now, to decide that this is so, you need to know the language. So even though verbal analogy is not plain-sense interpretation—because he seems to relate to it as though it is plain-sense interpretation—on that I do not agree with him. But I do agree that what is required here is skill in biblical language, not only in plain-sense interpretation, where of course skill is required because plain-sense interpretation is based on analysis of language, but also here. In fact, it is required precisely because what you are doing here is not plain-sense interpretation. So you need the linguistic skill in order to see that it is not the plain sense. Because you need to understand how the plain sense works in order to decide that this word does not fit the verse’s regular way of appearing. Consequently, you need to do an interpretation here that is not according to the plain sense but rather an exposition. So for exactly the same reason that plain-sense interpretation requires linguistic skill, exposition through verbal analogy also requires linguistic skill. In general and particular and general, for example, I think this is less true. Because in general and particular and general, it seems to me that one always has to expound. There I think the trigger is much more unequivocal than a pair of words. Abarbanel writes in the introduction to his commentary on the Torah—he speaks there about verbal analogy—and he says: look, if we were doing verbal analogies freely—he claims that all expositions are merely allusions, I once cited him on this—he claims that all expositions are merely allusions. Expositions cannot create new laws; that is impossible, because this method is so unreliable, so non-unequivocal, that it is impossible that new laws were created by expositions. Clearly he is wrong, but that is what he says. Now he says—but with regard to verbal analogy, he says there: look, take verbal analogy for example, that’s his example. We could derive whatever we wanted from it. Just take any two similar words in Scripture, load onto them whatever comparisons you want—whatever you want you can do. So indeed verbal analogy is very exposed to that problem. More exposed to that problem than other exegetical rules. A fortiori reasoning, for example, can also be refuted. A fortiori reasoning is not—no rule is a necessary rule. Even a fortiori reasoning is not necessary; we discussed that at length. It can be subject to refutation. But there is logic in a fortiori reasoning. We understand the logic. Even when there is a refutation, we understand why that logic collapsed. So it still works in a logical way. With verbal analogy you have no logical control. If with verbal analogy you just take any two words and make comparisons from them, you can get anywhere you want. Therefore it is obvious that you need some textual indications to tell you where to make a verbal analogy. Otherwise Gersonides would really be right, that you can do whatever you want with this. But Gersonides is not right, because it is not true that you can do whatever you want with it. The triggers depend on availability, on some redundancy or irregularity in the wording of the verse. True, once we identify two words, what we do with them is a matter of reasoning—but that’s true in many things. I’m only bringing this as a contrast to general and particular and general, for example, where you don’t need a textual trigger or textual hint. Because in general and particular and general, by definition, once you have a verse that begins with general language, moves to specific examples, and returns to general language, that itself is the trigger. You don’t need some additional hint that this structure should be expounded and another structure should not. That structure itself is the hint, because why does the Torah move from general language to specific examples and then return to general language? That itself is the trigger. In verbal analogy, the similarity between the words says nothing in itself. We have a language; we use words from the language. The fact that we use the same word in two contexts is no hint of anything. It’s because in both contexts we needed that word—what does that tell you? So there Gersonides is indeed right that without availability and all those textual hints, we could do whatever we wanted. In general and particular and general that is not true. And likewise with anything that was included in a general rule and then singled out to teach—in all those things it is not true. I don’t know whether it is only verbal analogy; one would have to think through all the rules, but it is almost only verbal analogy. And so it is no accident that only with verbal analogy do we find in the Talmud a detailed discussion of the constraints—which pairs of words are expounded and which are not, available on one side, available on both sides—the Talmud itself deals with this. We do not find that in the other exegetical rules. In the other rules there is a rule and it is supposed to be applied whenever there is a structure of general and particular and general, or something that was included in a general category and singled out to teach, or whatever, two verses that contradict one another—all these things, once you have what the rule speaks about, you have to activate the exegetical rule and expound it. With verbal analogy it is not like that. With verbal analogy, when you have two words, that still is not enough. You need some hint to make the exposition and derive the conclusions. Therefore verbal analogy, in that sense, is the symbol of the textual, non-logical expositions, the freer expositions. Incidentally, that may be the reason that in verbal analogy a person may not derive it on his own unless he received it from his teacher. Specifically verbal analogy—what, and in the other rules not? Can there not be mistakes? Of course there can be mistakes. In every rule there can be mistakes, after all the rules are not necessary, we talked about that—even a fortiori reasoning, an analogy from a paradigm text, the logical rules, they too are not necessary. But in verbal analogy there is something that looks completely arbitrary. It cannot be that we just take any two words and make comparisons—we would arrive at complete absurdities.
[Speaker B] And in that, again, if you—true, we said there are rules, the words need to be available, and maybe—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Some hint that here the word is available.
[Speaker B] Okay, that hints that here—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So you need the linguistic skill, which is what he was talking about here, in order to understand that here the word is available or exceptional.
[Speaker B] But even in general and particular and general, it’s really in the structure of the verse itself, it cries out on its own. What you derive from it—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s what I said. That’s true in all the rules. It’s true in all the rules. Obviously, then you still have to decide by your own reasoning what you do with it. But first, deciding that here an exposition is taking place—I think in that decision verbal analogy really is exceptional.
[Speaker B] Because it doesn’t cry out from the structure of the verse or from the plain sense.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The fact that there are two similar words says nothing. We use language, fine, what does that prove? So you need some availability, some irregularity, some alertness to irregularity in the text in order to activate the exposition. That is what you need the tradition from your teacher for.
[Speaker B] And what—
[Speaker E] Is received in tradition?
[Speaker B] After all, this is the easiest exposition of all.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, because you see there’s a contradiction, that’s it. Now you look for a third verse and that’s all; on the face of it it’s completely mechanical. But here, in one second, in this very skill that he’s speaking about here—that is the tradition one needs for verbal analogy. Verbal analogy does not mean that everything really came down from Sinai and we are all just hollow pipes. That cannot be right. I already cited Nachmanides as also writing that it is not right. In a moment we’ll see that he too brings examples of this. It’s simply—many medieval authorities write this—it cannot be right that there are disputes, and it is clear that people derived verbal analogies on their own. So what does the Talmud mean when it says one does not derive unless he received it from his teacher? “Received it from his teacher” means he received from his teacher the ways of the language, in order to understand what is called available for exposition and what is not called available for exposition, and then he knows how to apply this rule of verbal analogy. Not that the verbal analogy itself is transmitted to you from your teacher. All right? So on this point I think I completely agree with him, because there really is something in verbal analogy that differs from all the other rules, and it is no wonder that specifically about this they said that a person does not derive unless he received it from his teacher. Incidentally, I already mentioned the dispute between Rashi and Tosafot, because with a fortiori reasoning it says explicitly that a person derives it on his own. With verbal analogy it says explicitly that a person must receive it from his teacher. About the other rules it doesn’t say. Now the question is whether the other rules are like a fortiori reasoning, or whether the other rules are like verbal analogy. Among most medieval authorities, it is accepted that the other rules are like a fortiori reasoning; only verbal analogy requires the tradition from one’s teacher. All the rest a person derives on his own. But there is a dispute between Rashi and Tosafot about this. I don’t remember anymore who says what, but I think in tractate Sukkah one of them says that all the rules are like verbal analogy; only a fortiori reasoning a person derives on his own. But that is not the accepted position among the medieval authorities. In other words, most medieval authorities say that verbal analogy is exceptional, and now we have explained why. Because in verbal analogy there really is something freer, more open-ended, and you need some tools in order to understand when and how to expound it. Without that, you simply can’t do it. And that is what he is talking about here.
[Speaker D] Things that aren’t connected to the thirteen rules—say, including all the occurrences of “et,” what would that be here? It’s a word that gets used at the ends of verses.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, so we talked about that too—I think in one of the previous times. Regarding including all the “et”s, I also don’t think—after all, very few expositions of “et” have remained in our hands. As the Talmud describes, Shimon HaAmsuni used to expound every “et” in the Torah, until he reached “the Lord your God you shall fear.” So it sounds as though he expounded every single “et.” “In the beginning God created et the heavens and et the earth”—you know, yes, every such “et” he expounded. I very much doubt that he expounded every such “et.” In my opinion, there too, in the inclusion of “et,” it is similar to verbal analogy in this sense. With Rabbi Yishmael, the inclusion of “et” does not appear because that is an Akivan exposition; the school of Rabbi Yishmael did not use inclusions but rather general and particular. But with Rabbi Akiva, the inclusion of “et” is like verbal analogy with Rabbi Yishmael. Because when “et” is just written ordinarily, it is not right to include from it. “Et” appears there because that is the normal way the language works. In other words, you write “et.” How would you write without “et”? Ben-Gurion—yes, Ben-Gurion was wrong. That’s not correct, because the language should be with “et.” “Et” is a normal word that people use. It is not a redundant word.
[Speaker C] You can understand the sentence without the “et.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You can understand it, but you could also understand it if it were written in abbreviations. But that’s not how people speak.
[Speaker F] Meaning, we—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Speak normal language with “et”s.
[Speaker F] Of course, you know, this one, this one, and this one, and this one.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So therefore with “et”s too it is quite clear to me that Hazal had some criteria for where the “et” is exceptional or out of place, and therefore there one has to include something from it. How should the verse have been written differently, and if they wrote it with “et,” then presumably it came to include. Not every “et” in the Torah was really expounded to include. I do not believe that is true. I don’t think it is true. And that is exactly the same point: just like verbal analogy with Rabbi Yishmael, Rabbi Akiva’s inclusions are also like that. Okay. So now let’s read at the bottom of page 25. We also learned regarding “the best” that Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Yishmael disagreed whether we assess according to the best land of the damager or the best land of the injured party. Yes, whether “the best of his field and the best of his vineyard he shall pay”—the damager must pay with the best land. The Talmud expounds that he must pay with the very best quality land—superior, medium, and inferior—he must pay with the best, the superior land. When you pay the injured party, provided that you pay with the best—even money or money’s worth is also called the best. But among lands, it has to be the best quality land. Now the question is: what does that mean? The best land of the damager, or the best land of the injured party? Suppose the damager’s inferior land is like the injured party’s superior land. Does the damager then have to give his own superior land? Or can he give his inferior land, which is like the injured party’s superior land? In other words, by what standard is this measured? Now again, of course the value is the same value. There’s no—you have to return the value of what you damaged. The question is only in what currency you return it: in this sort of superior land or that sort of superior land. And the Talmud explains: what is Rabbi Yishmael’s reason? “Field” is stated below and “field” is stated above. Just as the field stated above refers to the injured party, so too the field stated below refers to the injured party. Meaning, at the beginning of the matter it says, “and it consumed in another’s field,” that is, in the field of the injured party. Yes, from the meaning of the language itself: “and it consumed in another’s field,” in someone else’s field, in the field of the injured party. Yes, the animal is eating in the injured party’s field. And if so, the field stated later as well—“the best of his field and the best of his vineyard he shall pay”—whose field? The injured party’s. The same as is written above. So it refers to the injured party. And the Talmud continues: And Rabbi Akiva says, “the best of his field and the best of his vineyard he shall pay”—that means the field and vineyard of the one who is paying, not of the injured party. Fine, in other words, he reads the verse differently. Fine. Now the Talmud says, and according to Rabbi Yishmael, the verbal analogy is effective and the verse is effective. The verse really suggests “the best of his field and the best of his vineyard” of the one who is paying, but the verbal analogy says that just as the field above belongs to the injured party, so too “the best of his field” belongs to the injured party. So here you have both a verbal analogy and the meaning of the verse, and they are opposed. All right? So Rabbi Yishmael says: no problem, I learn something from both. Both from the verbal analogy and from the—“the verbal analogy is effective,” as I said, that “the best of his field” is that of the injured party. “The verse is effective” in a case where the damager has superior land and inferior land, and so on—it derives some other law from that. What is the meaning of the verse itself, yes? By the way, that is a very interesting remark. What does “the verbal analogy is effective and the verse is effective” mean? After all, it’s the opposite. Is it the field of the injured party or the field of the damager? This is exactly the proof that exposition is not the deeper plain meaning. Rather, exposition and plain meaning are two interpretations that are not bound to each other; they work with different rules. Therefore they are two interpretations, and you have to accept each one separately, and it does not bother us at all that there is a contradiction between them. These are two ways of reading the verse, and one cannot challenge one from the other. One cannot challenge the exposition by saying, wait, but that is not the plain meaning of the verse. Of course it isn’t. If it were the plain meaning of the verse, it would be plain meaning, not exposition.
[Speaker C] But we said that the exposition is the plain meaning.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, on the contrary—I brought those who say that. I don’t agree with them; the Vilna Gaon doesn’t agree with them. I’m holding onto the hem of his garment, and I don’t agree with them either. So I think exposition and plain meaning are both parallel interpretations. And there is no point in attacking exposition because it does not fit the plain meaning of the verse. The plain meaning of the verse is one interpretation, and exposition is another. I brought his view and all his arguments. So from here, I think this is an excellent example of that. “The verse is effective and the exposition is effective”—that says exactly that verse and exposition are two things. Not that the exposition is the interpretation of the verse. If the exposition were the deeper interpretation of the verse, then what would “the verse is effective and the exposition is effective” mean? Once there is an exposition, then you have discovered that what you thought was the plain meaning of the verse is not really its plain meaning. Rather, the exposition is the plain meaning. No—the exposition is on the plane of exposition, and the plain meaning remains what it is. A verse never departs from its plain meaning. All right? Now the Talmud calls Rabbi Yishmael’s derivation a verbal analogy, even though this is not a regular verbal analogy, since everything is in the same matter—yes, in the same passage. Verbal analogy is usually two words in different passages. If it is two words in the same passage itself, that is not verbal analogy in the ordinary sense. This teaches us—it’s Tosafot in Arakhin—this teaches us about the essence of verbal analogy in general. Rabbi Yishmael did not receive this verbal analogy from Sinai. Because if he had, Rabbi Akiva would not have disputed it. There is an assumption here that if there were a tradition, Rabbi Akiva would not have disputed it. Why would he not have disputed it? It could be that the tradition became corrupted. But here that is less likely. Because this is also the claim of Nachmanides—I cited Nachmanides and his students, also Ritva and some of his students—who say that once disputes arose about verbal analogies, that is a sign that the verbal analogy is not a tradition from Sinai. The very fact that disputes arose about them. That is already Nachmanides’ claim. What is the idea here? If Rabbi Yishmael comes and says, look, I have a tradition that here one expounds by verbal analogy, and now Rabbi Akiva did not receive that tradition, then why would he dispute it? Okay, so now he will receive it from Rabbi Yishmael. Once it is a tradition, there is no point in disputing. Not that corruption of a tradition is impossible—it is possible for a tradition to be corrupted. Unless he has a tradition—exactly, unless he has a tradition that here one does not expound. But generally there is no such tradition. Tradition tells you where to expound, not where not to expound. All right? Therefore it is not likely that there would be a dispute if we were speaking here about tradition. Because even if Rabbi Akiva did not receive it or did not think that way, once he heard it from Rabbi Yishmael he should have adopted it. Why dispute it? But if he disputes it, that is a sign that Rabbi Yishmael derived the exposition himself, and Rabbi Akiva disagrees with him because he does not think it should be expounded here. And they decide on their own whether to expound. It is not from their teacher. This somewhat recalls, in current matters almost, Hanukkah. There is the famous question about Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel: how did that strange dispute arise? Yes, I don’t know how many—one hundred years after they instituted the enactment, one hundred fifty years after they instituted it, suddenly a dispute arises, two hundred, I don’t know. After they instituted this enactment of lighting candles, Beit Hillel say one adds and goes on, and Beit Shammai say one decreases and goes on. What did their father do? Like Rabbi Yishmael… Rabbeinu Tam and Rashi, right. But with Rabbeinu Tam and Rashi it’s not such a difficulty. Because with Rabbeinu Tam, it could be that his father did what Rashi did; about his grandfather we know what he did. But his father could also have done what Rashi did, and Rabbeinu Tam disagrees with him. He says: you’re wrong, I think otherwise. But with the enactment of the lights it is not a question of disagreement; the question is what was instituted. In interpreting the Torah you can disagree. You can say: my father didn’t do that, but I think my father was mistaken, so I do differently. What is the problem? I am allowed to disagree with my father in interpreting the Torah. But in an enactment, the question is what was enacted. So this has nothing to do with logical reasoning. The question is what they enacted. So what are they disputing there? You know, in the responsa From Heaven—do you know Rabbi Yaakov of Marvege, of Troyes, yes—so he asks there, question two or three right at the beginning of the book—after all, he asked dream-questions, one of the Tosafists. He asked dream-questions and received answers, like the Oracle of Delphi, sort of vague answers that afterward you can hang on them whatever you want, in a large portion of the cases at least. But he asked about the tefillin, whether Rabbeinu Tam’s or Rashi’s. And they told him: just as there is dispute below, so there is dispute above. You know they also found at Masada… at Masada, yes, at Masada they found tefillin of Rabbeinu Tam.
[Speaker D] And also of Rashi.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And also of Rashi, yes. So that is very interesting, because there it really does seem to be two early traditions. But I say again: with tefillin it is not problematic, because with tefillin I can disagree with my father; but with lighting candles the question is what was instituted—that is what needs to be done. Why should I care that you disagree?
[Speaker B] It could be that it wasn’t such a formal enactment; it’s like how some people put a flag on the car and some put a flag only in the window.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, something like that. It could be there weren’t such people who—I’ll tell you more than that: I’m not at all sure there was an enactment earlier. When you read Maimonides in the laws of Hanukkah and look carefully at his wording—there isn’t a Maimonides here?
[Speaker C] No, no, above.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Should I bring it for you? Never mind, it’s not critical. Maimonides writes there—after he describes what happened, that they found the flask of oil and so on—because of this the sages of that generation instituted, roughly a quote, that these should be days of Hallel and thanksgiving, and they light candles on them at the entrances of the houses, and something else, and lighting the candles on them is a commandment of rabbinic enactment, excuse me, like the reading of the Megillah. Now when you look at Maimonides’ wording, it’s a bit strange. What about Hallel and thanksgiving? Isn’t that also an enactment of… isn’t that also rabbinic, like the reading of the Megillah? Only the candle-lighting? Also notice the shift in language: the sages of that generation, the generation that won, instituted days of Hallel and thanksgiving, and we light candles on them. They did not institute candle-lighting; we light candles. They instituted Hallel and thanksgiving. We light candles. And therefore Maimonides says at the end of the halakhah: and lighting the candles is also a rabbinic commandment—not only the Hallel and thanksgiving, which is obvious, because the sages of that generation instituted it. We light candles not because they instituted it—so who instituted it? Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel instituted it. And we light the candles, but by the way, that too is a rabbinic commandment, like Hallel and thanksgiving, like the reading of the Megillah. Then it’s clear why Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai disagreed: they disagreed about what should now be instituted, not about what our ancestors did. Our ancestors didn’t do anything; maybe they lit one candle per household, but the level of the mehadrin min hamehadrin was at least instituted by Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai, and about that they argued what should be instituted. They simply argued what the proper enactment was: increasing day by day or decreasing day by day. That’s all. By the way, this fits, of course, with those claims that after the destruction—since Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai of course straddled the destruction. Yes, Hillel and Shammai themselves were before it, but Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai already reached Usha, Yavneh, afterward. So there, in the period of the destruction, the accepted claim is that the focus of the celebration shifted from the military victory to the miracle of the flask of oil, to the spiritual victory, because there was no longer independence, so it had already become somewhat irrelevant to celebrate the military victory, sovereignty, so they shifted to the flask of oil, to the spiritual victory.
[Speaker C] The Talmud refers only to the flask of oil.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The Talmud brings the flask of oil, but in the prayer, for example, it isn’t like that. There’s something very interesting here in the way this developed. And it may very well be that with Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel this is the process. Meaning, they instituted the candle-lighting because they were already around the destruction, a little after the destruction, so now they decided that candle-lighting should also be instituted in order to add the spiritual miracle in place of the military miracle, which had become more problematic to celebrate. And then they argued how to institute it: increasing day by day or decreasing day by day. That’s why they argued. I remembered this because here too—I mean, how can there be a dispute if we received a tradition? Yes, it’s the same question he asks here. So the same question is asked regarding Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. And the answer is: indeed there is no tradition. And here too the same answer: there is no tradition, that’s not correct. A gezerah shavah does not require a tradition.
[Speaker D] But according to Maimonides, there’s an explanation I once saw—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t know if it’s Maimonides. That’s how I think it says in Maimonides, but—
[Speaker D] According to Maimonides, as I remember, this enactment was apparently already known in Temple times. On the question in Beha’alotekha, why is that section juxtaposed to the section of the princes? Since he was distressed—Rashi says, since his spirit fell—so the Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: yours is greater than theirs. Why? Because you prepare and light the candles. So what’s the answer? So what if you prepare them? Nachmanides says, the answer is—Nachmanides adds to Rashi—that they were only at the dedication of the House, while your lighting will endure for generations, even when there is no Temple. Meaning, the enactment that in the future all of us, the entire Jewish people, throughout the generations, will light even when there is no Temple—Hanukkah—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] candles—
[Speaker D] Hanukkah. That is Aaron’s consolation.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously the enactment is after Aaron; there’s no argument about that. It’s aggadic midrash. But when after Aaron? It could be at the time of the victory, and it could be, as I just said, after the destruction. I don’t know; everything is open. In any case, it’s after Aaron.
[Speaker D] Obviously after Aaron, but the enactment was enacted after the destruction.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So I’m saying: I don’t know if it was after the destruction or at the time of the victory.
[Speaker D] But it was already fixed at the creation of the world, because you bring from Nachmanides, but—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s aggadic midrash.
[Speaker D] How did they console Aaron by saying that we would light candles until today? While they celebrated the dedication of the House only once—that was the consolation.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Well, by the way, regarding Hanukkah there really are hints that it was more ancient, before the victory of the Hasmoneans. The Ari already writes this, and others too. Hanukkah was an ancient festival, even before they lit candles, before the Hasmoneans. There was some connection to candles. What exactly its nature was, I don’t remember; I once read an article about it. There are several sources suggesting that this was some ancient festival from that period. The dedication of the altar? There’s even some hint to this in Megillat Ta’anit, I think, that on these days—even before the Hasmonean victory. No, but there’s something there from earlier. I think there’s some hint in Megillat Ta’anit to the matter; I don’t remember. I once read something about it, I really don’t remember anymore; I’d have to look at it again. There was some ancient festival there that is mentioned even before Hanukkah. Okay, but that’s just in passing. Let’s get back to this. So the claim is that since there is a dispute, he says that gezerah shavah does not depend on, does not necessarily depend on, a tradition. Because that’s what he says: this teaches us about the nature of gezerah shavah in general. Rabbi Ishmael did not receive this gezerah shavah from Sinai, because if he had, Rabbi Akiva would not have disagreed. Rather, he learned from the fact that the Torah continues to use the same expression for equivalence in content within the same passage. That isn’t really gezerah shavah, but it is the logic of gezerah shavah. All right? And we find that even from words that are not actually identical they derived a gezerah shavah. A teaching of the school of Rabbi Ishmael: “This return is this coming.” They make a gezerah shavah from “return” to “coming.” But that is only where there is nothing more similar; where there is something more similar, from the more similar term we derive it. In a place where there is a similar word and a dissimilar word, we learn from the similar word. But sometimes they make a gezerah shavah even from a dissimilar word if there is no other similar word. Say I have a term that is available for a gezerah shavah, but I don’t find another such similar term elsewhere that is also available, or in general I don’t find another such term, or not in a context relevant for comparison, or something like that. Then they make a gezerah shavah even from a dissimilar word. Meaning, you see that this whole business is not technical. Meaning, it’s not some clear algorithm that tells us what to do here. It’s all a matter of interpretive or exegetical judgment. And we also find that if one can derive a gezerah shavah from two matters, and the law in each one is different, they prefer to derive it from the one that has more similar aspects to the case being learned. It turns out that the comparison of matters in a gezerah shavah depends on judgment that examines how similar they are. What that means, basically—that’s his whole move—is that some judgment is needed here in order to decide what to expound through gezerah shavah, and that is basically the meaning of the tradition required for gezerah shavah: that a person does not expound a gezerah shavah unless he received it from his teacher. The point is not that he received the gezerah shavah itself from his teacher, but rather the mode of thought and the judgment that tells you what to compare to what and what not to compare, where to expound and where not to expound, and so on. And sometimes we find that the sages make a gezerah shavah between the language of the Torah and the language of the Prophets. On the face of it, that makes no sense. Did the Torah rely on what would later be written in the Prophets? But if we understand that gezerah shavah means that use of a certain expression indicates a certain meaning, then even from a prophet’s use of that expression one can learn the intent of using that same expression in the Torah. That is how one learns by way of clarification of meaning. In fact, in the language of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), gezerot shavot of this kind are called clarification of meaning. That is already basically in the Talmud itself, but the medieval authorities formulate it explicitly: there are really two kinds of gezerot shavot. There is a gezerah shavah that really is between two similar words in different contexts, and we make a comparison; and there is a gezerah shavah that simply teaches me the meaning of the word. In another context the same word appears, and there I know what it means, so I say, fine, that’s the meaning of the word, so that’s true here too. I’m simply learning what the word means. It’s not a comparison between two contexts; it’s a dictionary, just understanding the meaning. In an ordinary gezerah shavah, it has nothing at all to do with the meaning of the word. For example, “taking, taking” from the field of Ephron: “When a man takes a woman,” and “I have given the money for the field, take it from me.” So from “taking, taking” they learn the woman from the field of Ephron, that a woman is acquired by money. So “taking” means only by money—the Talmud says there. But what does that mean? Does it mean the meaning of the word “taking” is by money? I don’t think there is a linguistic claim here. It’s a gezerah shavah. Just as the taking done there was done with money, so too the taking done here is done with money. It’s a law.
[Speaker B] I think Tosafot rejects the possibility that this is merely a lexical derivation.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, and the Ritva too. The Ritva—the Ritva in the end maybe does remain with that, or there’s a contradiction in the Ritva; it appears in two places, this “taking, taking,” at the beginning of tractate Kiddushin. There it’s pretty clear that this is not clarification of meaning. It’s a real gezerah shavah. Meaning, it’s not that the meaning of the word “taking” is by money; rather, it is a law, that wherever “taking” is written it must be done by money. It’s not a dictionary meaning. Therefore it is not clarification of meaning; it is a gezerah shavah. But here, for example, “the field of the injured party” and what appears here in the same passage—that is clearly clarification of meaning and not gezerah shavah. Tosafot says: what is this field being spoken of? Meaning, this is not some law I learn—just as there is a law there, so too here. Rather, I understand the meaning of the word “field”—who is this “that one” being referred to? It is the same one mentioned above. So this is clarification of meaning more than gezerah shavah. The medieval authorities even write that clarification of meaning may not require a tradition from one’s teacher, unlike gezerah shavah, where one does require a tradition from one’s teacher in order to expound it. Meaning, they even distinguish between these two things, which somewhat undermines his argument. Because he is trying to show that even the ordinary gezerah shavah contains the logic of clarification of meaning. He is basically saying that the ordinary gezerah shavah has logic. What is that logic? Lexical logic, like clarification of meaning. But in the medieval authorities you see that this is not so. In the medieval authorities you see that these are understood as two types of exegesis. Both of them may sometimes be called—sometimes, not always—gezerot shavot, but they are two types of gezerot shavot, and they operate differently. One is lexical clarification of meaning, and that can even be done from the Prophets—that is, from the Hebrew Bible (Tanakh)—not only from Torah to Torah. A real gezerah shavah is done only from the Torah. What does that mean? That gezerah shavah is not lexical clarification of meaning. It is not true that gezerah shavah is lexical clarification of meaning. But still, you do need the ways of language, what he said earlier—that part is true. But the identification he makes between the two things, I don’t think he is right.
[Speaker E] The truth is that clarification of meaning gives the sense that it’s stronger than—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, because that’s something we do everywhere. Any text you have—there’s a word you don’t understand. Look at other places in the text where that word appears and see what it means. After you understand what it means, that is probably what it means here too, and that’s a very sensible thing. Therefore clarification of meaning very plausibly is not one of Rabbi Ishmael’s thirteen hermeneutical rules at all. It’s just an interpretive rule; it’s even plain-sense interpretation, not midrash. By contrast, gezerah shavah is midrash. According to Maimonides, this has a practical implication, because midrashic derivations are rabbinic. And if clarification of meaning is a plain-sense tool, then what comes out of clarification of meaning is not rabbinic; it is Torah law. All right? Thus one learns by way of clarification of meaning that “if an ox gores” means with a horn, and even with a detached horn—from what is said in the Prophets: “Zedekiah son of Chenaanah made himself iron horns and said: With these you shall gore Aram.” This is a passage in Bava Kamma where they learn, regarding horn-damages, that even a detached horn counts, and they also learn it by way of clarification of meaning, and they learn it from a verse in the Prophets. Yes, “Zedekiah son of Chenaanah made iron horns”—that is not a verse from the Torah, and still they learn the meaning of goring, that it is with a horn with which one gores. Now, on the face of it one might challenge what we said above, that one does not make a gezerah shavah from function words because they do not express a special content. This somewhat contradicts the word “et,” which we come to include according to Rabbi Akiva. It’s not gezerah shavah, but still we are anchored in a function word, and we still expound it. But really, as I said there, I think this can be done only where the “et” is apparently superfluous or unusual or replaceable—I’m not sure exactly. There has to be some indication of where one expounds “et” and where one does not. So he says that one does not make a gezerah shavah from function words because they do not express special content. But what about the famous gezerah shavah of “fifteen, fifteen” from the Festival of Matzot, from which they learn that eating on the first night in the sukkah is obligatory, just like on Passover night? Yes, the Talmud in tractate Sukkah makes a gezerah shavah of fifteen-fifteen from Passover to Sukkot: just as on Passover the first night there is an obligation to eat matzah, whereas during the rest of the time there is no obligation to eat matzah, only a prohibition on eating leavened food. Meaning, if you want to eat bread you must eat matzah. But it’s not that there is a commandment to eat matzah. It is only to avoid the prohibition of eating leavened food. On the first night of Passover you must eat matzah—that’s the commandment of eating matzah that we fulfill on the Seder night; there is an obligation to eat matzah. All right? The Talmud learns the same thing regarding Sukkot. In Sukkot too there is no obligation to eat in the sukkah. If you don’t want to eat, don’t eat. But if you eat, eat in the sukkah in order to avoid the prohibition of eating outside the sukkah, let’s say—the wording assumes something, never mind, but for the sake of analogy I’ll put it that way. But on the first night of Sukkot there is an obligation to eat an olive’s bulk in the sukkah, all right? There is an obligation to eat an olive’s bulk of bread in the sukkah, and they learn this by gezerah shavah, fifteen-fifteen, from Passover. Now he asks: the Torah has to write what the date of each festival is, so what kind of gezerah shavah is fifteen-fifteen? The Torah wrote fifteen here and fifteen there because the date here is fifteen and the date there is fifteen. What should it write? Not fifteen? Thirty? What? It has to write the true date. So how does it even make sense to make a gezerah shavah here? And if so, there would seem to be no special content here from which to derive a gezerah shavah, and it is not available either. It is not superfluous, so there is no hint, no reason to make gezerot shavot from this. So why do they make a gezerah shavah from it?
[Speaker G] Because festival to festival, and “taking”…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, because there you can say: why did the Torah use “and he takes” rather than, I don’t know, “he seized” or some other word? Meaning, there there might be some consideration that says we should compare, but fifteen—what else could they say? Not fifteen? It’s the fifteenth. And “taking” isn’t exactly obvious—
[Speaker H] Why should it say “seized” when people say “took”? What happened? Why? Because the Torah… for example there’s the same story with agency—where do we learn agency from? When we take “and sends her from his house” and say it should have written “and divorces her,” and therefore since it says “and sends her,” that means one can send through an agent. What happened? Why did it have to write “and divorces her”? Isn’t “and sends her” a perfectly good expression?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But “and sends her” also teaches you about agency.
[Speaker H] No, the opposite. At the stage where the sages first decided that it was very important to make betrothal possible through agency—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, it works in both directions. Since from “and sends her” we learn agency, now when the Torah—when the Holy One, blessed be He, came to write the Torah—He had to think: if I write “and sends her,” they will learn agency from it. So if He didn’t want us to learn agency, He would have had to write “and divorces her,” not “and sends her.” Why did He choose specifically to write “and sends her”? Because He really did want us to learn agency. It’s something that builds on itself, you understand?
[Speaker B] But agency is a concept endowed by… by… by “and sends her.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, what do you mean? The concept exists. When Abraham sends Eliezer his servant, he sends him. So what? Agency is a concept in Hebrew.
[Speaker B] And therefore it says, “When a man takes a woman,” because “I have given my daughter”—if one gives, then the other takes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, but why “takes” and not “seizes,” for example?
[Speaker B] Because “I have given my daughter”—if one gives, then the other—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Maybe “seizes”; why “takes”? No, I’m just saying, I don’t know if that’s the consideration, but I’m saying: in “taking, taking” I might have thought—again, I don’t understand the ways of language well enough—but I’m saying, I might have thought there are considerations there that explain why to make a gezerah shavah. But with fifteen-fifteen, what do you want them to write? They write the correct date. Right? So here there can’t be such a consideration. So how—what do they want? How do they make a gezerah shavah from that?
[Speaker H] It all looks as if they set the goal, mark it, and then go looking for the biblical source. For example with agency. Apparently one of the sages decided it was very important that one be able, say, to divorce through an agent, and then he looks for the word in the Torah and finds the word—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I won’t rule that out. I’m only saying that it works in a more complex way; it works in both directions. Because after he in fact does this, it also has a justification. Since there is an alternative, and the Holy One, blessed be He, also had before Him two alternatives for how to write it there, and He also knew that I would derive agency if He wrote it one way and would not derive agency if He wrote it another way, and He nonetheless chose to write “and sends her” and not “and divorces her”—that means that from His standpoint too, apparently I am supposed to derive it. I’m saying, I agree with what you said; I’m just saying that in the end it also comes out justified. I have no problem with the fact that people came with such an agenda; obviously that’s how it is. I said: every midrashic derivation is based on some underlying reasoning, either reasoning in advance that indeed this law made sense, or at least that once there is the trigger, this is what seems most reasonable to me to include. There are several levels at which one can do this. But I’m saying: it’s not just a forced reading, meaning that we simply do whatever we want. In the end there is also supposed to be logic in it after I do it. So yes, I come with an agenda to find a source for the law of agency, but once I find this source, it really is a source. Let’s now look at the source of the matter in the Torah. Yes, we are talking now about fifteen-fifteen. In parashat Bo, which is the first source for the festival of Passover, we read: “This month shall be for you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year for you. Speak to the whole congregation of Israel, saying: On the tenth of this month they shall take for themselves, each man, a lamb according to his fathers’ houses.” Clearly, the expression “this month shall be for you,” etc., does not come only to indicate the date of Passover. It is stated in the style of an independent commandment from which many laws are learned—“this month shall be for you,” beginning of months, sanctification of the month, and all sorts of things like that. And later: “It shall be for you under watch until the fourteenth day of this month, and the entire assembly of the congregation of Israel shall slaughter it at twilight,” etc., “and they shall eat the flesh on this night,” etc., fifteen, etc. Fifteen, the date on which the festival begins, is not mentioned here. What is mentioned is that the fourteenth is the time for slaughtering the Passover offering, and that on the night afterward they eat it. That is what is written. It does not say fifteen. It says that on the fourteenth they slaughter the Passover offering, and it is eaten on the night after the slaughter, meaning that this is really the night of the fifteenth. All right? And the Torah continues: “I will pass through the land of Egypt on this night and strike every firstborn,” etc., “and the blood shall be for you a sign on the houses, and I will pass over you,” etc., “and this day shall be for you a memorial and you shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord throughout your generations,” etc., “for seven days you shall eat matzot, and on the first day there shall be a holy convocation, and on the seventh day a holy convocation,” etc., “on the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month in the evening, you shall eat matzot.” Again, not fifteen—on the fourteenth day in the evening. Right? “Until the twenty-first day of the month in the evening.” End quote from the passage. So it turns out that in the whole passage fifteen is not mentioned at all, even though it is talking about the fifteenth. But it says it as “on the fourteenth in the evening,” or “they shall slaughter the Passover offering, and at night they shall eat it.” Meaning, there are always indirect references leading us to the fifteenth, but the word fifteen is not written. It does not appear in the whole passage. Rather, the time when the festival begins is described as the night after the fourteenth, which is the time of the Passover offering, and clearly that is enough to establish the time of the festival. And now in parashat Emor we find: “In the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month at twilight, is the Passover to the Lord; and on the fifteenth day of this month is the Festival of Matzot to the Lord; for seven days you shall eat matzot.” Why not write as they did in parashat… in the book of Exodus: “In the first month, on the fourteenth day of the month at twilight, is the Passover to the Lord; and in the evening, the Festival of Matzot to the Lord; for seven days you shall eat matzot”? No, here it says, “and on the fifteenth day is a festival to the Lord; for seven days you shall eat matzot.”
[Speaker D] And isn’t it a commandment all seven days? What?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, seven… it’s a prohibition inferred from a positive command. “For seven days you shall eat matzot”—if you want to eat, not bread. Only matzot you shall eat, meaning, not bread. It’s a prohibition inferred from a positive command, not a positive command. What stands out here is that the mention of “and on the fifteenth” is superfluous, because it could simply have said “and in the evening” or “and at night the Festival of Matzot to the Lord,” as is said in parashat Bo. A very nice interpretation. Meaning, it really is true that there is an alternative. Not only is there an alternative; in parashat Bo they actually use it consistently, only that, and they do not mention the fifteenth. So if so, the fifteen really is available. There is some usage here that says something here is calling out for interpretation; it needs to be expounded. And later in that same passage: “On the fifteenth day of this seventh month is the Festival of Sukkot.” In the same passage, after they used “fifteenth” for Passover, where it was superfluous. What does that mean? The sages say: they come and read the passage and say, fine, apparently the fifteen-fifteen—why is it mentioned for Passover? In order to compare it to Sukkot. In Sukkot there was no option not to write fifteen. Right? Because there is no “on the eve of Sukkot,” it’s not like slaughtering the Passover offering on the fourteenth, where you can say “on the fourteenth slaughter, and in the evening eat matzot.” All right? In Sukkot there is no such option; there it certainly had to say fifteen. So it is available on one side only, not on both sides. But since for Passover they mention the fifteenth, whereas in parashat Bo it was not mentioned at all, and this is done in the same passage, parashat Emor, where later the fifteenth of Sukkot appears, the sages understand that apparently these two fifteens came in order for us to compare Passover to Sukkot. Beautiful, in my opinion, this interpretation.
[Speaker B] So why do you say that the derashah is on a different plane from the plain sense? This seems very much like depth of plain sense, or very closely connected to the plain sense.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, absolutely not, absolutely not. If they were doing—
[Speaker H] Fifteen… it’s obligatory both on Sukkot and on Passover—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly, exactly. The law you derive from it is derash. You’re not—if this were clarification of meaning, you’d be right. I would say: what is the meaning of the word fifteen, and I learn that from the word fifteen in Sukkot. But here it’s gezerah shavah, not clarification of meaning. I’m saying that since here it says fifteen and there it says fifteen, then since here it is obligatory on the first night, there too it is obligatory on the first night.
[Speaker B] The very fact that the Written Torah itself directs you to this derashah means there is a direct relation between the Torah that—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Directs you to a derashah. To that—that’s something else. You decided that this is that. The source… exactly.
[Speaker B] But here there is derash, which is another mode of reading, but it isn’t detached from the intent of the verse.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, obviously not. I’m saying, like every general-particular-general, the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself phrased it in a way that tells me: expound here. Obviously. But in the end, I decide what to expound here, what to include. Therefore Maimonides, for example, calls it rabbinic, even though there is a trigger in the text. But I decide what to expound; I could have expounded something else. All right, and maybe in another generation they really should expound something else. It could be that it changes from generation to generation; it depends. Therefore it still remains, according to Maimonides say, rabbinic; it is not plain sense. If it were clarification of meaning, you would be completely right—it would be Torah law. I said earlier that a derashah of clarification of meaning, in the simple sense, is plain-sense interpretation; it is not midrash.
[Speaker B] You’re using very restrictive, very mechanical language here—that the Torah tells me I need to expound something, but what to expound, that the sages will tell me. You could use slightly rounder language and say that the Torah wants you to realize something, to express some connection between Sukkot and Passover. Okay, and that’s all it demands. And you have to implement it somehow, and this is one way.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I have no problem accepting that formulation too. In some places it may be like this, in some places like that; it’s not necessary either way. It could be that sometimes it’s like this and sometimes like that. Yes, I accept the formulation, no problem. Let’s pay attention to the content of this gezerah shavah. On Passover it says, “For seven days you shall eat matzot.” What does it mean to eat matzot for seven days? To eat all the time for seven days? Of course not. To eat twice or three times, twice a day? That also is not written here.
[Speaker B] In Sukkot there is such a requirement—what? In Sukkot there is such a requirement to eat twice a day according to Rabbi Eliezer.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, but as Jewish law we do not rule that way.
[Speaker B] True, but it’s not far-fetched.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, fine. As Jewish law we do not rule that way. So we said, in the end, it is not written here. Necessarily, the Torah’s intention is that when you eat bread, it must be matzah. The meaning of “for seven days you shall eat matzot”—that’s what you asked earlier—it sounds like a positive commandment: “for seven days you shall eat matzot.” All right? Maybe that’s indeed how Rabbi Eliezer understood it. But—but—but the halakhic reading is: for seven days, only matzot you shall eat. “You shall eat”—if you eat, then… exactly. A prohibition inferred from a positive command always turns the positive command into a prohibition inferred from a positive command by adding the word “only,” always. For example, “To a foreigner you may lend at interest.” Right? So Maimonides says this is a positive commandment to lend to a non-Jew at interest, but the simple reading is not that. The simple reading is that it is a prohibition inferred from a positive command: there is no commandment to lend to a foreigner at interest, but rather, if you are lending at interest, only to a foreigner may you lend. Not to a Jew. Meaning, if you lend at interest to a Jew, then you both violate the prohibition of interest and also nullify the positive command of “to a foreigner you may lend at interest.” But if you lend at interest to a foreigner, you are not fulfilling a positive commandment. All right? I’m saying, were it not for Maimonides. All right? So a prohibition inferred from a positive command is always a positive command before which we add, not in the text itself but in interpretation, the word “only.” “For seven days, only matzot you shall eat.” As though—it means, and not something else. Meaning, it comes to create a prohibition inferred from a positive command. This is like a doctor saying to someone accustomed to white bread: you must eat only black bread. Again, he already added the “only” here, of course, right? The point is, he should have said: you must eat black bread. The intention is that when you eat bread, don’t eat white, only black. But if you want, don’t eat bread at all; but if you do eat, don’t eat white—eat only black. All right? We are the ones adding the “only.” The doctor should have said: you must eat black bread, not only black bread. We understand from this that it means only. But if you prefer not to eat bread at all, that is up to you. How do we know that a person has begun the diet the doctor prescribed? When he eats black bread for the first time instead of white. Right? Because otherwise you can’t know that he has started. How do we know he is obeying the doctor? The first time he eats bread—if he eats black bread, that is an indication that he is obeying the doctor. Therefore the Torah commands us to eat matzot for seven days in place of bread, but if we want to eat only potatoes, that is up to us. All this applies during the seven days, but on the first night eating matzah is obligatory, so that we know the commandment has come into effect. “In the evening you shall eat matzot.” Meaning, it is exactly like the first time you eat: that is obligatory. Why? Because you need to show that here you are beginning to fulfill this commandment. From here on, you may eat or you may not eat. The first time is the first night of Passover, or on Sukkot the same thing. You—you must eat, because there you need to show that you are fulfilling the commandment. If you don’t eat the whole festival, there’s no problem. You didn’t violate anything and didn’t neglect any positive command; everything is fine. But where is the indication that you are obeying the Holy One, blessed be He? So he says this is a kind of rationale of the verse. Meaning, on the first night, when the festival begins—festival—give us some indication that you are obeying the doctor, meaning that you are obeying Him. So you need to eat. All right?
[Speaker H] During the seven days you also fulfill a commandment. What? During the next seven days, do you fulfill a commandment?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, no. You are only avoiding a prohibition. Yes. By the way, that’s an interesting point, because there is a dispute—
[Speaker B] The Vilna Gaon says there is reason to recite a blessing over eating matzah all seven days.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, right, that’s the Vilna Gaon, fine, but not everyone follows the Vilna Gaon on this. There is a dispute over, for example, on the first night of Sukkot—it’s relevant to Passover too, by the way, but on the first night of Sukkot it’s clearer, because there it’s explicit in the legal decisors—there is a dispute over what the commandment is. Is the commandment to eat an olive’s bulk of bread, such that on Sukkot if you eat an olive’s bulk of bread it must be in the sukkah? Or no—the commandment is to eat an olive’s bulk of bread in the sukkah. Only bread-eating in the sukkah counts; other eating need not be in the sukkah. So now if you are commanded to eat in the sukkah on the first night, is that because you are commanded to eat bread on the first night, except that bread is eaten in the sukkah? All right? A practical difference: if it’s raining. All right? If it is raining on the first night, you are exempt from the sukkah; there is no sukkah, all right?
[Speaker H] The question is whether you need to eat bread in the house?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You need to eat the bread, because the commandment is to eat bread. And if it’s raining, you are exempt from the sukkah, so eat bread in the house.
[Speaker H] If the commandment—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] to eat bread in the sukkah, then that doesn’t help. The Mishnah Berurah in fact writes that if it’s raining on the first night, one should eat bread in the sukkah despite the rain—even though when it’s raining it isn’t a sukkah at all. A strange ruling, but that is basically what it means. He apparently understands that the commandment is to eat in the sukkah; it’s just that eating in the sukkah applies only to bread, not to other things.
[Speaker H] What does bread-eating have to do with the sukkah? What? If the commandment is to eat bread, then what?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because that is a fixed meal, significant eating.
[Speaker H] No, but why specifically in the sukkah?
[Speaker B] I can understand that there is a commandment—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] to eat on the festival. I didn’t understand. No, no, the opposite. Regarding the sukkah, I understand that it’s “you shall dwell,” but if you can’t eat in the sukkah, it could be that you simply should not eat bread. No, that’s the question. It could be that on Sukkot there is a rule, on every festival, on the first night, to eat an olive’s bulk of bread, to establish a meal with an olive’s bulk of bread. There is such an idea in honor of the festival, not connected specifically to Sukkot. In honor of the festival? Yes, and on Passover too it’s like that. I said that on Passover too there is room to discuss, regarding the olive’s bulk of matzah, whether it is an obligation to eat an olive’s bulk of matzah, or an obligation to eat an olive’s bulk of bread, except that on Passover you can’t eat other bread, only matzah, so you eat matzah. On Passover it is more plausible that it’s the first option; it is harder to assume the second. But on Sukkot it is a dispute. All right? Now I don’t know—this just came to mind now—because I’m not sure which of the two interpretations fits what he is writing here. What does he write here? He writes that basically on the first night it is the beginning of the festival. That’s where you need to show that you are obeying the doctor’s instruction, the Holy One, blessed be He. Therefore you need to eat, because if you don’t eat, then you are still obeying, but it’s not evident.
[Speaker C] Okay, so with his diet, when he starts eating black bread we’ll know he obeyed.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. And if he doesn’t eat black bread at all?
[Speaker C] No, but here if he eats bread on the eighth day? No, but then it’s no longer Sukkot, Sukkot is over.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously. Therefore it has to be on the first night.
[Speaker C] Yes, no, so that’s different from the doctor’s instruction, or from what he means.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? He says the first night is the beginning of the festival. At the beginning of the festival you are commanded to show that you are obeying this commandment. Also on Sukkot? Huh? On Sukkot too, the same thing? Yes, obviously.
[Speaker C] No, so I’m saying, in his example he says that when you begin eating black bread, we’ll know that you obeyed the doctor.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That is the first night.
[Speaker C] But not the first night.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, obviously—but the commandment is not about the first night. No, if you eat a month from now—
[Speaker D] No, the principle is—the Torah commands you about a day and an hour. What do you want?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, the principle is: whenever you begin to eat, that will be the indication. The Torah wants you to make that indication on the first night because that is the beginning of the festival. It wants you already at the beginning of the festival to show that you are obeying the will of God. Now in any case, with a prohibition inferred from a positive command, it is hard to show that you are obeying, because maybe you simply aren’t doing it. All right? So the Torah requires you to do an act already at the beginning of the festival that shows already at the outset that throughout the festival, even if you eat nothing, you are someone who obeys the commandments of the Holy One, blessed be He. It colors your non-eating throughout the festival differently. Even if you eat nothing the whole festival, if on the first night you already showed that you are in fact obeying that instruction, then the whole festival is basically colored by that. Therefore that is the rationale of the verse for why we are commanded on the first night. What I was only saying is that I don’t know which of the two formulations his explanation fits. I think you can say it according to both. I just thought of this now, so I’m thinking aloud, because if indeed, according to what he says, the purpose of the commandment is to show what? That I am not eating outside the sukkah. Not that I eat in the sukkah, right? Rather, to show that I am not eating outside the sukkah, because there is no commandment to eat in the sukkah, only a prohibition to eat outside the sukkah, right? After all, it is forbidden to eat—black bread, not that one is obligated to eat black bread. No, no, before the first night. Generally speaking, the commandment of the seven days is not to eat outside the sukkah, not a commandment to eat in the sukkah. Now when they tell me, on the first night show that you are obeying the commandment, what does that mean? Does it mean: on the first night eat bread, and then naturally you will have to eat it in the sukkah and thereby show that you are not violating? Or no: on the first night eat in the sukkah in order to show that you are obeying? I think actually the first formulation seems to fit his idea better.
[Speaker B] Why did we say specifically matzah and not bread, and in this case it just happens to be matzah?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, so I said Passover is more clear-cut. Let’s talk about sukkah. Let’s talk—well, I’m also saying that on Passover you can say this too, but therefore I present the dilemma regarding Sukkot because there it’s easier for me to present both sides. Understand? So I’m not completely sure which of the two formulations fits his idea.
[Speaker H] The uniqueness of Sukkot is eating in the sukkah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, it’s not eating outside the sukkah.
[Speaker H] No, seven days—you’re talking about the first night.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m asking: why the commandment on the first night?
[Speaker H] So I’m saying, if I go with the interpretation that you eat bread, and naturally you must do so in the sukkah, then it’s simply because you’re also obligated to eat on every festival.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, but how will you show that you are obeying the Holy One, blessed be He? The moment you eat bread, that is your opportunity to show that you are doing it in the sukkah and not outside the sukkah. The focus is really that you are commanded to eat bread. The purpose of that eating is that bread is the indication—we will see where you eat it. If you eat it in the sukkah, that is a sign that you are obeying the Holy One, blessed be He, because you did not eat outside the sukkah, not because you ate inside the sukkah.
[Speaker H] That’s exactly like matzah: you are commanded to eat bread, and you’ll show it through—
[Speaker B] the fact that you eat matzah, not bread—you eat matzah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, same thing. I’m saying it can also be formulated on Passover, but on Sukkot I think it’s easier to present the two alternatives.
[Speaker B] In any case, if it’s raining, there is no commandment to eat bread in the house; there won’t be such a commandment, because in that case you are not performing the indication. So either you must eat an olive’s bulk in the sukkah even when it’s raining, or you are exempt from eating altogether.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] On that I agree. And I agree about the practical difference in the rain. Meaning, in any case according to his view there is no logic at all in eating—
[Speaker B] bread in the house—
[Speaker I] According to what the Mishnah Berurah says, even if it’s raining, okay—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, okay, so he says not like that, okay? According to his approach, according to his explanation—I don’t know what he actually did in practice—but according to his explanation, that’s what comes out. Yes, that I agree with, right. On the first night, eating matzah is obligatory, so that the commandment has entered into force: “In the evening you shall eat matzot.” Similarly, the Torah said, “You shall dwell in booths for seven days.” A person is allowed not to eat, but when he does eat a fixed meal, the eating has to be in the sukkah. Therefore, it makes sense to derive from the verbal analogy of “fifteen” and “fifteen,” which, as stated, is available at least from one side. From which side? From Passover, right? The fifteenth of Sukkot is not available; there’s no other way to write it there. But in Passover there was another possibility, so it is available from one side—that on the first night, the night of the fifteenth, there is an obligation to eat so that one knows the commandment has begun to apply. In my view that’s a beautiful explanation. The question is, if I continue what we discussed earlier, whether one can derive a halakhic conclusion from this—that when it rains, then the Mishnah Berurah, say, is not right, if I’m persuaded by his explanation.
[Speaker E] What do you mean, the Mishnah Berurah—he is right about everything.
[Speaker B] It’s a possibility.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What he says is also a possibility. But if I’m persuaded that this really is the explanation, then right—the Mishnah Berurah is not right, and I won’t do what he says. What’s the problem?
[Speaker B] If I’m persuaded that even in an optional case there’s a commandment, and specifically to eat matzah—anything could be.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So now decide what seems more logical to you. In the end, you have to decide. Anything could be. So if you want always to be stringent for every possibility, fine. But if you want to decide what seems reasonable to you, then if you’re persuaded by this explanation, what—
[Speaker H] What does the Mishnah Berurah say?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That when it rains, you still eat in the sukkah on the first night.
[Speaker H] And according to this interpretation, he would say yes.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So here I’m saying—
[Speaker E] The Mishnah Berurah is right. What? Why? Because just as on Passover he wanted to show that the commandment had entered into force, so on Sukkot he wanted to show that the commandment had entered into force; therefore even when it rains, you sit in the sukkah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Ah, the other way around—you’re right, correct.
[Speaker E] No, but then what the Rabbi is saying is difficult.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, I don’t agree. I think he is right—not what you said before. He is right. You’re correct that there’s no point in eating the olive-sized amount of bread in the house; those who say that—for his approach, there is certainly no point in that, that’s clear. Now, as for eating in the sukkah when it’s raining—that’s difficult in any case, regardless of these explanations, simply because that’s not a sukkah when it’s raining. So that’s true, but in any—
[Speaker H] Case.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In any case, aside from his idea—this Mishnah Berurah is difficult on its own. What sense does it make to eat in the sukkah when it’s not a sukkah? After all, it’s raining, so there is no commandment of sukkah. So that’s just difficult. If someone says such a thing, then in fact it fits specifically with what he is saying, because you have to show—after all, the issue is not eating in the sukkah. There is no inherent issue of eating in the sukkah; the issue is not eating outside the sukkah. So what do you have to do? A symbolic act. On the contrary, it actually fits. You have to show a symbolic act that demonstrates that here too you are obeying. So you eat in the sukkah even though it’s raining.
[Speaker B] But what are you showing by that? You didn’t eat in the sukkah, because it isn’t a sukkah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously, but since it’s only symbolic, there’s no problem. After all, you’re not obligated to eat in the sukkah either. It’s all just a symbolic matter of showing. Once it’s a symbolic matter of showing, then show it even when it’s raining.
[Speaker B] People eat like Samaritans inside the… if so, then fine, but you’re doing it in the sukkah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There are a few categories here.
[Speaker C] First of all, there is a commandment to eat bread on the first day, on the first festival day of Sukkot. Now where do you eat the bread?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, so I’m saying: if that’s the definition, then they tell you, fine, then eat at home if it’s raining.
[Speaker C] But the commandment is not to eat at home.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no. According to your formulation, there’s no problem. The commandment is to eat an olive-sized amount. Except that on Sukkot, you eat in the sukkah.
[Speaker C] Yes, no—the commandment is to eat an olive-sized amount of bread in the sukkah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Ah, so the commandment is about the sukkah? Yes. Fine, then there is certainly no point in eating at home.
[Speaker C] Now, you are obligated to eat bread at night.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? In the sukkah.
[Speaker C] No, okay. No, I’m saying you are obligated to eat bread at night. In the sukkah. Wait, wait—I’m saying you are obligated to eat bread at night, and you can’t eat it at home. Even if it’s raining, you can’t eat it at home. You’re creating formulations—you’re creating two opposite formulations.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What is the purpose? What is the commandment? Is the commandment to eat bread, except that on Sukkot when you eat bread you have to do it in the sukkah? Or not? Is the commandment to eat bread in the sukkah? That is the commandment. Yes. What does “yes” mean? Yes to the first or yes to the second?
[Speaker C] Yes, yes to that—to eat bread in the sukkah. So? In the sukkah. Now, but you are also forbidden to eat outside the sukkah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, what do you mean, forbidden to eat outside the sukkah? I’m asking about the commandment, not the prohibition. Is the commandment to eat bread in the sukkah? Yes. So now what is the claim? It’s raining.
[Speaker C] It’s raining, so certainly—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then there’s no point in eating bread at home.
[Speaker C] Of course there is a point. You have a prohibition against eating outside the sukkah.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, there’s no prohibition, because when it rains there’s no prohibition. What, when it rains do you have to fast? When it rains you can eat outside the sukkah. Eat in the sukkah? No, of course not. When it rains, throughout the other seven days you eat at home, no problem. Once the dish would be spoiled, you can leave the sukkah and eat at home. You don’t have to fast on Sukkot.
[Speaker D] It’s forbidden to fast on Sukkot, not just that you don’t have to. Because of “and you shall rejoice,” and when it rains he is distressed. “And you shall rejoice” is a commandment—“and you shall rejoice on your festival”—and in the rain he is distressed.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no—being distressed is not because of “and you shall rejoice on your festival.” Why? Being distressed is not from the law of rejoicing; it is from the law of “you shall dwell as you ordinarily live.”
[Speaker B] It’s not related. It’s specific to sukkah. It’s specific to sukkah; it has nothing to do with “and you shall rejoice on your festival.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You have to live in the sukkah. Now, you live in the sukkah in a place where it is normal and reasonable to live. But if it’s a place unfit for living, there is no point in living there. That’s not called that you live there. So you are not fulfilling “you shall dwell as you ordinarily live.” Okay? That’s the case of one who is distressed. Fine, I’m saying, on this matter it’s an interesting question beyond the issue of how one disagrees with the Mishnah Berurah, or whether one disagrees with him. I don’t think it’s all that problematic; if I were persuaded, I would have no problem going against him. But this is the question of interpreting the reason for the verse. And all explanations of this type—that’s what I wanted to note here—all explanations of this type always raise the question: how far can you go with interpreting the reason for the verse? Do you now, for every commandment in the Torah, look for its reason and then decide accordingly how to act, and define its boundaries? Because on the face of it, this is a tannaitic dispute between Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Shimon, and in Jewish law we rule like Rabbi Yehuda, that we do not interpret the reason for the verse. Meaning that we do not do purposive interpretation, as it’s called today in the legal world; rather, interpretation is verbal interpretation, let’s call it. Meaning, no—you do not look for what it is trying to achieve, what the idea behind it is, and then decide based on that. That’s good for interpreting Scripture, but in the halakhic world you do not interpret the reason for the verse; you do not conduct yourself based on deriving reasons. So now here, again, even if I were persuaded that he is right, I’m not sure I could use that to decide what the Jewish law is, because we do not interpret the reason for the verse—not because I’m afraid to disagree with someone, but because the question is whether such a rationale can really be enough to determine the law. On the other hand, how else are we supposed to decide? After all, we already discussed that it’s fairly naive to think that we really do not take the reason for the verse into account.
[Speaker E] But you always take it into account; you just don’t say so.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. The what and not the why, with Brisk—we already talked about that. Brisk asks only the what and not the why. There is no what without a why; there is no such thing. And anyone who asks what, that is fed by your understanding of the why. Otherwise, how will you determine what the what is? How will you determine it? After all, there are several possibilities, and you try to think what the logic is behind it. Fine, but that is always the big question in the background. So the question is always where this matter stops—that we do not interpret the reason for the verse, yes. Fine, let’s stop here.