Halacha and Ethics – Lesson 10
This transcription was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.
🔗 Link to the original lecture
🔗 Link to the transcript on Sofer.AI
Table of Contents
- Introduction and the framework of Jewish law and morality
- Inequality and discrimination in Jewish law
- Moral considerations within halakhic decision-making through the model of “pressing circumstances”
- Critique of tactical “forbidden” rulings and the implications of the internet age
- The status of the convert in Jewish law and the social argument
- Examples of applying moral decision-making within doubt: Kaddish and women reading from the Torah
- Meiri, violating the Sabbath to save a non-Jew, and the controversy over moral halakhic rulings
- The fundamental conflict between Jewish law and morality as part of the multi-dimensional will of God
- Circles of closeness, human rights, and civil rights as an explanation for inequality
- The murder of a non-Jew, “Do not murder,” and the two levels of moral prohibition versus religious value
- Conversion, admission to the club, and the difference between a threshold for entry and a threshold for expulsion
- “Violate one Sabbath for him,” the Chafetz Chaim, and the apparent asymmetry in saving a non-Jew
- Maimonides in Bava Kamma, moral reciprocity, and reading Meiri
- Conclusion of the series and plans for what comes next
Summary
General Overview
The speaker draws a sharp distinction between Jewish law and morality, according to which Jewish law is directed toward religious values and is not obligated to be moral, while the Holy One, blessed be He, also expects universal moral behavior. He grapples with feelings of moral discomfort arising from systematic inequality in Jewish law, and proposes a practical mechanism that allows one, within a halakhic doubt, to choose a legitimate interpretive option on the basis of pressing circumstances or moral distress. At the same time, he argues that the fundamental conflict between Jewish law and morality is not resolved, but is not necessarily problematic, because morality is only one part of the will of God. He develops a distinction between a universal, egalitarian “moral level” and an additional “religious level” in which differences may appear, and illustrates this through the laws of doubt, the rulings of the Rema, the status of the convert, and examples concerning attitudes toward non-Jews, including Meiri and Maimonides.
Introduction and the framework of Jewish law and morality
The speaker returns to the picture in which Jewish law and morality are separate and independent categories, and therefore Jewish law is under no obligation to be moral. He states that morality is universal and that it too is part of what the Holy One, blessed be He, expects of a person, even if it is not necessarily part of Jewish law. He raises the difficulty that sometimes moral considerations do in fact enter into halakhic interpretation and decision-making, and seeks to explain how that is possible even within the model that distinguishes between the two systems.
Inequality and discrimination in Jewish law
The speaker formulates a feeling of moral discomfort in the face of discrimination between man and woman and between non-Jew and Jew, and argues that it is hard to escape the conclusion that Jewish law is not troubled by equality as a basic modern concept. He rejects “embarrassing excuses” that try to present discrimination as an advantage for women or as protection of them, and presents the problem as a question about the character of Jewish law and the systematic nature of the inequality, not just about isolated laws. He asks how this can be reconciled with basic moral conceptions today.
Moral considerations within halakhic decision-making through the model of “pressing circumstances”
The speaker presents the Talmudic expression, “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied upon in pressing circumstances,” and asks how pressing circumstances can allow leniency against a halakhic rule such as Torah-level doubt requiring stringency. He cites the Rema in the introduction to Torat Chatat in the name of Mahari Mintz, according to whom pressing circumstances only allow one to refrain from stringency where something is fundamentally permitted by law, but do not permit something forbidden by law. He argues that the Rema himself is not always consistent, and suggests that the Rema sometimes writes “forbidden” even when he means that one should preferably be stringent, similar to the Kitzur Shulchan Arukh, which is aimed at laypeople and does not spell out degrees of legal force.
The speaker proposes a principled mechanism: when there is doubt between two halakhic options, both options are “permitted by law” in the sense that they are existing interpretive possibilities, and the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency applies only when there is no criterion for deciding. He defines pressing circumstances as a criterion for deciding that removes the situation from the category of doubt, and therefore it is not “permission to violate a prohibition” but rather a decision within doubt before the rule of stringency is activated. He carries this same structure over into the moral realm and argues that moral distress can function like pressing circumstances, so that when there are two equally valid halakhic interpretations and one is more moral, one may choose it without claiming that morality determines the correct Jewish law, but because it is “no less acceptable” halakhically, and therefore choosing it resolves the doubt.
Critique of tactical “forbidden” rulings and the implications of the internet age
The speaker objects to a policy in which halakhic decisors declare something “forbidden” in order to prevent leniency when the issue is really a custom or a pious embellishment, and he defines this as a lie that the Holy One, blessed be He, does not like. He states that in the age of the internet and databases such concealment is ineffective, because people discover the gap between the declaration and the sources and lose trust in halakhic decisors, and then even real prohibitions become difficult to enforce. He describes a situation in communities where equality in the synagogue is important, where authoritative rulings are no longer persuasive after people have previously experienced “forbidden” declarations that turned out to be merely custom or a dispute.
The status of the convert in Jewish law and the social argument
The speaker presents the status of the convert as an “embarrassing” issue against the backdrop of selective presentation of sources emphasizing love of the convert, alongside laws that limit him, such as the prohibition against a female convert marrying a kohen and the prohibition on “appointing a convert to any position of authority in Israel.” He recounts that he wrote an article arguing that the prohibition against giving a convert authority stems from an inferior social status in the past, so that the public would not listen to him and would remind him of his past, and he brings evidence for this from Maimonides, the Talmud, and other sources. He says that Techumin refused to publish the article not because of halakhic disagreement but out of concern over exposing “the miserable status of the convert in Jewish law,” and he argues that such concealment will only lead to publication of the questions without the answers, so it is better to put things on the table from the outset.
Examples of applying moral decision-making within doubt: Kaddish and women reading from the Torah
The speaker gives the example of an orphaned daughter saying Kaddish and argues that in his view there is no real halakhic problem here, but even if there were, distress could justify choosing the lenient option when there is interpretive room. He moves on to the more charged example of women being called up to the Torah, and notes that according to the Talmudic law women may be counted among the seven aliyot, but there is a limitation because of “the dignity of the congregation.” He suggests a simple interpretation according to which “the dignity of the congregation” originally stemmed from the fact that women were regarded as unlearned, and therefore a woman’s aliyah implied that there were no men who knew how to read, and he argues that today that underlying assumption has changed, so there is no affront to the dignity of the congregation. He presents this as a case where different interpretations exist, and therefore one may choose the moral interpretation when it is halakhically acceptable, rather than present the stringent view as “the only Jewish law” simply because it became historically entrenched.
Meiri, violating the Sabbath to save a non-Jew, and the controversy over moral halakhic rulings
The speaker presents Meiri as a position that cancels discriminatory laws toward contemporary non-Jews because they are “bound by the norms of the nations,” including an obligation to violate the Sabbath to save a non-Jew’s life in the eighth chapter of Yoma “as a matter of law,” not merely because of appearances or for the sake of peace. He says that he wrote an article about this that caused an uproar and even led to “the heretic controversy on Facebook,” and he argues that even if Meiri had not said this, he himself would have said it, because Meiri introduced it without clear precedent. He illustrates how within a sharp interpretive doubt such as violating the Sabbath, one may choose the moral option if it is halakhically possible, while emphasizing that morality does not prove that this option is more correct halakhically, but allows one to choose one of two equally valid possibilities.
The fundamental conflict between Jewish law and morality as part of the multi-dimensional will of God
The speaker states that the mechanism of maneuvering within doubt does not solve the fundamental problem, because it assumes that Jewish law itself can remain indifferent to morality and create situations in which no moral interpretive option exists. He returns to the argument that the conflict does not indicate divine indifference to morality, but rather the existence of additional religious values that can clash with morality. He presents a theoretical possibility in which “religiously, it is forbidden” to violate the Sabbath, while morally one is “obligated” to save life, and the person remains in a genuine conflict without a clear-cut solution within the framework of Jewish law.
Circles of closeness, human rights, and civil rights as an explanation for inequality
The speaker describes the natural preference of family, community, and state for their own members, and argues that this does not contradict basic morality because there is a hierarchy of obligations. He uses the distinction between civil rights and human rights to explain why it is permissible to prefer citizens in the provision of services, but forbidden to violate the fundamental rights of foreigners. He illustrates this through the medical profession: a doctor is not supposed to prefer his own son over another patient when triage rules apply, because this concerns a universal obligation of human rights, not a family obligation.
The murder of a non-Jew, “Do not murder,” and the two levels of moral prohibition versus religious value
The speaker addresses the claim that Jewish law discriminates because the murder of a non-Jew is not classified as “Do not murder” and does not incur death in the same way as the murder of a Jew. He argues that morally there is no difference between the prohibition against killing a non-Jew and the prohibition against killing a Jew, and that the moral prohibition is written in “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed,” which is universal. He explains that “Do not murder” adds an additional religious level with regard to a Jew, and therefore the religious stringency does not indicate that a non-Jewish life is worth less, but that a Jewish life receives an added religious or familial value. He compares this to modern reality in which civilized states punish murderers with imprisonment rather than the death penalty, and argues that the death penalty belongs to the religious level and not to moral obligation, so there is no reduction of the non-Jew’s rights here, but rather an added sanction within the community.
Conversion, admission to the club, and the difference between a threshold for entry and a threshold for expulsion
The speaker presents the criticism that a convert is required to accept commandments comprehensively while many Jews do not keep commandments and remain Jewish, and he argues that this is similar to any state that does not revoke a criminal’s citizenship but does set strict conditions for granting citizenship to someone seeking to join. He compares it to a family that does not “throw out” a child who fails, but may refuse to adopt a child with serious problems, and explains that the criteria for joining a group differ from the criteria for being removed from it. He presents this as a case that looks like discrimination but stems from a sensible distinction between existing membership and new entry.
“Violate one Sabbath for him,” the Chafetz Chaim, and the apparent asymmetry in saving a non-Jew
The speaker cites the Mishnah Berurah, which attributes to the non-Jews an understanding that Jews do not violate the Sabbath to save a non-Jew through Torah-level prohibitions, and comments that this assessment of reality may have suited a religious environment in the past but does not fit today’s secular world. He presents an angle that reduces the force of the discrimination claim by noting that violating the Sabbath to save a Jew is also sometimes explained through “Violate one Sabbath for him so that he may keep many Sabbaths,” meaning a religious justification rather than the value of life as such. He mentions the Or HaChaim, who writes that one may not violate the Sabbath for someone who does not keep the Sabbath, and the rejection of this by most halakhic decisors on the grounds that one must place before him the possibility of keeping the Sabbath, and he is responsible for his own choice after being saved.
Maimonides in Bava Kamma, moral reciprocity, and reading Meiri
The speaker quotes Maimonides’ commentary on the Mishnah regarding the law of a Jew and a non-Jew in Bava Kamma, where one chooses the legal system that benefits the Jew and justifies this by describing one “whose human qualities have not been perfected.” He suggests that Meiri is not necessarily disagreeing with Maimonides, but extending a logic in which the treatment of non-Jews depends on their moral standing and their norms of reciprocity, so that when they are “bound by the norms of the nations,” one should treat them as equals on the relevant plane. He argues that the modern feeling of anachronism stems from the fact that today one recognizes cultured non-Jews, and therefore moral inequality toward them is unacceptable, while religious differences can remain on the second level without harming basic moral equality.
Conclusion of the series and plans for what comes next
The speaker concludes by saying that the series is about to end, but he is considering one more session on the Euthyphro dilemma. He notes that by Elul a new topic will begin, and that consultations are underway regarding the format of the meetings and technical aspects of Zoom and payment. He ends by inviting questions and with a note of thanks from a participant.
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, let’s begin. I’m trying now with the microphone that’s inside my computer, so tell me if it’s worse than previous times, and then I’ll connect the regular microphone. I’m just trying something out for later on. For now does it sound okay?
[Speaker B] We hear you, it’s okay. Yeah, okay.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Good, so basically I’ve more or less presented the picture as I at least understand it, the picture of Jewish law and morality, and today I want to approach a few specific points that arise from it. It has, I think, various implications, but those implications too can, it seems to me, be seen at least as further evidence or further points of strength in favor of the picture I described. So maybe I’ll start with questions that often bother people in the context of morality and Jewish law, for example questions of discrimination. There is discrimination between man and woman, there is discrimination between non-Jew and Jew, Jewish law doesn’t look egalitarian in all sorts of ways like these. And for the moment I’m sparing you all the embarrassing excuses that are said in these contexts, about how we actually place women above men, of course, and it’s only out of concern for them that we keep them at home and don’t let them do anything. So I hope you’ll spare me that business and I’ll spare you those embarrassing excuses too. In short, there is an uncomfortable feeling here of problematic immorality in Jewish law. So I’m saying the two prominent examples are the relation between man and woman and the difference between non-Jew and Jew. And then the question comes up: how do we deal with this issue of an approach—one could even say it’s not a question about one specific law, it’s about the character of Jewish law—and quite a few laws, it seems to me, fit into this non-egalitarian picture. Therefore one could even infer from here some conclusion that Jewish law is not very troubled by questions of equality, regardless of this or that specific question for which maybe one can look for all kinds of excuses. But it seems to me that more generally, because of the many places where this appears and the systematic way it appears, it’s hard to escape the feeling that equality isn’t really important to Jewish law. And the question is how that presents it, how to reconcile this with our basic moral conceptions at least—I don’t know what things were like in the past, but it seems to me that today this criterion of equality is a pretty basic one. So I want to say two… Okay. Actually I should have remarked… let me stop for a moment. I want to go back for a second. There’s one more remark connected to what I’ve said until now, and only after that will I move on to this point about equality and the other points. It’s just one more point I need to complete in relation to what came before. Basically the picture I described made a sharp distinction between Jewish law and morality—that is, it treated them as two separate, independent categories, foreign to one another, and therefore there is no obligation for Jewish law to be moral on the one hand. On the other hand, the Holy One, blessed be He, obviously expects moral behavior from us too, and not only halakhic commitment. I spoke about morality being universal; I won’t go over that again, I’ve already repeated it. So apparently there is no place for moral considerations in the halakhic context, and in my opinion that is because moral considerations are basically foreign to Jewish law. So clearly when I see a moral argument helping me in halakhic interpretation, that’s actually a difficulty for what I’m saying. Because apparently it shouldn’t be that way. A moral argument shouldn’t be playing on the halakhic field at all, because Jewish law does not aim, as I argued at least, at moral goals; it aims at goals… at religious goals. So why should moral criteria take part in interpretation or halakhic decisions? They can take part in extra-halakhic decisions, outside-halakhic decisions, right? Meaning, when I have a dilemma between Jewish law and morality, I said that Jewish law won’t always prevail; sometimes morality will prevail. And here of course there is room for moral considerations, and I said that this too is the will of God, meaning it is part of Torah even if it is not part of Jewish law. But I think there are quite a few places where you see moral considerations taking part in halakhic interpretation. And the question is how to understand that. So here one could elaborate a lot, but I just want to focus on one point. First of all, I don’t have to agree with every such thing. Even if someone made such a consideration, fine, he did. I don’t agree with what he did, so I’m not especially troubled by it, unless it’s an authoritative source. If you find something like that in the Talmud or the Mishnah or some authoritative source, then I’ll have to look for an explanation. But if medieval authorities (Rishonim) or later authorities (Acharonim) did it, fine, apparently they understood the relation between Jewish law and morality differently, but I don’t feel bound to adopt everything they did. But I still want to make a remark that shows that moral considerations really can take part in halakhic decision-making, even within the framework of the picture I described. I’ll preface it with another point, and from that I’ll return to this point.
When I see, for example, in the Talmud, in a few places, the phrase: “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied upon in pressing circumstances”—Shimon bar Yochai, right? In at least two or three places in the Talmud there’s a statement like that; there are also statements about other sages, but regarding Rabbi Shimon it recurs several times. What does that actually mean? So the Rema, in the introduction to Torat Chatat, writes that everywhere he himself ruled or said that one may be lenient in pressing circumstances, that is only because halakhically, even without pressing circumstances, it is permitted. In places where halakhically the matter is forbidden, pressing circumstances are not a reason to permit it. That is what the Rema claims in the introduction to—this is really Mahari Mintz; he quotes Mahari Mintz from a responsum, and that is what he himself writes in Torat Chatat. And that is very interesting, because the Rema has various fairly well-known leniencies. Although overall he is often stringent, he does have a number of very famous leniencies, and there have been many objections to them. And this introduction sheds a very interesting light on those leniencies. If I examine all of them in light of his introduction, then basically it should come out that all these leniencies the Rema supports are really rulings that are permitted as a matter of law regardless of pressing circumstances. It’s just that ordinarily one should be stringent, and in pressing circumstances one may refrain from stringency. But in principle it is permitted even without pressing circumstances, because otherwise pressing circumstances are not a reason to permit. So that’s the Rema. But there are many halakhic decisors—generally it does not seem this way from the decisors. It seems that sometimes in pressing circumstances one may choose a marginal opinion, a minority view, rely on various lenient supporting factors that ordinarily we do not rely on. So it seems to me that the Rema’s approach will not explain all the appearances of these leniencies in pressing circumstances. And the question is how to understand this matter that one may be lenient in pressing circumstances.
By the way, I started with Rabbi Shimon, “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied upon in pressing circumstances.” According to the Rema, it ought to come out—and that itself is a question, because the Rema does not exactly meet this criterion in every place—but basically I would expect that in all places where the Talmud says, “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied upon in pressing circumstances,” the Rema would rule that way in practice. Even without pressing circumstances, because that is actually supposed to be the Jewish law even without pressing circumstances. And he would add that one should preferably be stringent, and in pressing circumstances one may refrain from stringency; but in principle, when he states the actual law, I would have expected him to rule accordingly even not in pressing circumstances, to establish it as Jewish law. When the Talmud says, “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied upon in pressing circumstances,” the meaning is that this is basically the correct halakhic action regardless of pressing circumstances; it’s just that one should preferably be stringent, and in pressing circumstances that is unnecessary. But that doesn’t appear in the Rema. In those places—in one place maybe yes, but in the other places not. And that is an interesting question why; it’s not so clear how to explain it.
I tend to think, although it’s a bit slanderous toward the Rema, that the Rema here followed the path of the Kitzur Shulchan Arukh. As is known, the Kitzur Shulchan Arukh is a book for laypeople. It’s not forbidden for someone who knows how to learn to touch it. Why? Because there, in his rulings, he does not distinguish between a prohibition and a good custom, between a Torah prohibition and a rabbinic prohibition. He states what to do and what not to do without making any distinction as to the force of the matter. Torah-level, rabbinic, good custom, preferable—not everything is the same. What you don’t do, you don’t do; what you do, you do. He isn’t addressing a scholarly reader or learner, so he doesn’t need to tell him: listen, this is halakhically permitted but one should preferably be stringent; this is forbidden but one may be lenient in such-and-such a place; this is just a custom but it isn’t really halakhically forbidden, or something like that. The Kitzur Shulchan Arukh doesn’t get into those matters. If I may malign the Rema a bit, it seems to me that the required explanation for these omissions by the Rema is perhaps this: when the Rema writes about something that it is forbidden, he does not necessarily mean that it is forbidden as a matter of law. Sometimes he means to say that one should preferably be stringent. He doesn’t go into those resolutions, to tell me that technically it is permitted but one should preferably be stringent—so he says “forbidden.” He shortens the process and prevents various problems of people not wanting to be stringent. It’s an approach that, I think, is common among contemporary halakhic decisors, but I wouldn’t have believed the Rema would do such a thing. But somehow it seems to me from these sources that this is probably nevertheless his approach, because otherwise there is some internal contradiction in his system. Because when he rules in a place like this, where the Talmud says, “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied upon in pressing circumstances,” and he rules against it, that means one may be lenient in pressing circumstances even in a place where it is halakhically forbidden—but that is against what he himself says, that one is not lenient in pressing circumstances where something is halakhically forbidden. So if I don’t want to remain with a contradiction in his words, it seems to me that the natural way out is that the Rema too is not meticulous in his book about indicating whether something is a custom where one should preferably be stringent or whether it is a prohibition as a matter of law—or at least he is not always meticulous about that. And in a place where it is very appropriate to be stringent, at least in a place where it is very appropriate to be stringent, he doesn’t want to put us to the test. He doesn’t say “permitted but one should preferably be stringent”; he says “forbidden.”
I’ve already more than once spoken against this policy among contemporary halakhic decisors, yes, when all kinds of delicate questions come up—usually regarding the status of women, egalitarian prayer, new synagogue customs, or things like that—where the decisors tend to say “forbidden.” But in fact, in most cases it is not forbidden. In most cases it is just some custom—not just some custom, but one custom or another—but the decisors don’t want people to say, okay, it’s only a custom so we permit ourselves to violate it. So the easiest way to prevent that is to say “forbidden.” The problem is that beyond the fact that it’s a lie, and I don’t like lies—and the Holy One, blessed be He, also doesn’t like lies, so I’m in good company—but beyond the fact that it’s a lie, it also probably doesn’t work so well today. It leads people to lose trust in halakhic decisors, because nowadays the material is generally accessible to everyone. There are those who do write the truth, and on the internet you can find everything. So people suddenly discover that the rabbi lied to them. And then they lose trust, and even where he says “forbidden” and it really is forbidden, it’s no longer certain they’ll listen to him, since they’ve lost trust in him. And overall, I think that in those communities where equality in the synagogue is very important, it’s a common sight that you can bring them the greatest halakhic decisors and they couldn’t care less. And I have to say that they are justified. In light of their experience, they are justified, because many times they’ve already swallowed this line that they were told was “forbidden,” and in the end they discover it’s not forbidden at all—only maybe this decisor thinks it is preferable to do things that way, or something like that—but not forbidden, or at least not according to all opinions. And therefore they lose trust. So in general I don’t like this policy. I don’t like it in principle regardless of our era, because it’s a lie and I don’t like lies. Say the truth, and afterward we’ll have to deal with the problems that result. But beyond the fact that it’s a lie today—and this is true specifically of our era; it wasn’t like this in the past, and therefore there is a difference—what happens today is that there’s the internet and there are databases, and overall the information is accessible to anyone who knows how to read, more or less, at varying levels of accessibility. And then it becomes very difficult to speak in an esoteric language the way they did in the past, because people will discover very quickly that you’re lying. Therefore it’s not worthwhile tactically either, beyond the fact that in my opinion it isn’t proper as a matter of law and even without the internet—it’s not tactically worthwhile either, because you lose trust and then the gain is outweighed by the loss. So I don’t like this policy. I think it’s tactically wrong and also substantively wrong. It is forbidden to do such a thing in my opinion—or morally forbidden, I don’t know if it’s halakhically forbidden, because the Sages also did this. There is “this is the law but one does not instruct so,” yes? There are various things in the Talmud that… but those are really exceptional cases. I don’t think it was a fixed policy in the Talmud, even if they did it here and there. In any case, for our times it seems to me not to be an option at all.
And the fact that people still go on with this—I think I once told you about the article on the status of the convert in Jewish law. That too, incidentally, relates to the discriminations we’ll soon discuss. The status of the convert in Jewish law is a fairly embarrassing issue, because all the time they quote to us how much Jewish law brings converts close and forbids reminding them of their past and obligates us to behave toward them with love and to treat them nicely, and there is a special commandment to love the convert in addition to loving every Jew. The Torah is especially strict about the honor of the convert and not harming him. Wonderful, and all true—just a bit selective. Because on the other hand, first of all, a convert—a female convert is forbidden to marry a kohen. And that is in some sense an inferior status, not fit for a kohen. Second, one may not appoint a convert to any position of authority in Israel—not only king, certainly not king, but even the water distributor, the synagogue treasurer—according to Jewish law you may not put a convert there. No authority whatsoever, no role involving power over other people may be given to a convert. It’s a pretty embarrassing business overall. And I assume that at least some of you perhaps haven’t heard of this, and not for nothing—people don’t like exposing it. But I wrote an article showing that in my view this is only a matter of social status. Meaning, the prohibition on giving authority to a convert stems from the fact that his social standing was simply inferior. That’s how people related to him, unfortunately, and because of that he would not be able to fulfill his role; people simply wouldn’t listen to him. He has no authority over the public. They would remind him of his past, then they would belittle him and not listen to him, and therefore they say: don’t appoint him to authority over the public. And I have evidence for this; I’m not saying it apologetically. I have evidence for it from Maimonides and from the Talmud and from other places, evidence in the way of Jewish law, very good evidence in my opinion. I sent this article to Techumin; they returned it to me and didn’t want to publish it. Why not? Not because they disagreed, but because it isn’t worth revealing to the public the miserable status of the convert in Jewish law. I said to them, wait a second, but in this article the problem and the solution come together—I explain that actually his status is perfectly fine. On the contrary, in our times, say, when the convert receives proper treatment like anyone else, then I argue that all the laws that discriminate against him are void. That is the necessary conclusion. So on the contrary, it actually shows a positive picture, so even on the tactical level it’s worth publishing. They said yes, but some people will read the questions and never get to the answers; they’ll read the difficulty and immediately it will get into the newspaper, I don’t know why, and they won’t quote all the explanations or excuses you provide. So I said to them, maybe you’re right, but the alternative you’re proposing is that it won’t be published, and then someone else will come and publish the questions without answers. In the end it all comes out anyway, everything comes out in the end. And then what? They’ll listen to a secret lecture by chance and upload it afterward to YouTube. Fine, or whatever. So what will happen then? Then of course everyone will come out with my excuses and explain to us that we’re really fine—but then of course no one will accept it. Why? Because everyone will be sure those are apologetic excuses. But if you say it in advance, not as a response to criticism, you show in advance with evidence that this is the halakhic approach, then you’re heading off the blow before it comes. So in my opinion this is just an illustration of this approach that still thinks you can preserve esotericism even today. For a limited time maybe you can, but at some stage it always comes out, and therefore I think one should not keep such things close to the chest at all. It’s better to put them on the table and try to deal with them as much as possible.
Okay, so I return to our matter. In any case, that’s the Rema, fine? But the other approaches are more—they differ from that of the Rema, and it really seems that people allow themselves to be lenient in pressing circumstances, to follow a position that was not ruled as Jewish law or a minority position or to rely on some side considerations in cases of doubt and rule that way. If, for example, I’m in doubt—say I have doubt between two opinions in Jewish law. They tell me that in pressing circumstances I may rely on the lenient approach. What does that mean? But when I have doubt, the Jewish law is that a Torah-level doubt, let’s say it’s in a Torah matter, requires stringency. So if so, from the standpoint of Jewish law I have to be stringent. So how can it be that in pressing circumstances I’m allowed to violate Jewish law? The law of Torah-level doubt requiring stringency is also Jewish law, and therefore you are basically telling me: in pressing circumstances desecrate the Sabbath—say if the issue concerns violating the Sabbath—but if it’s pressing circumstances, then violate the Sabbath or eat non-kosher food. But if by law this is considered non-kosher or considered a Sabbath violation, how can it be that in pressing circumstances I’m allowed to be lenient? What, am I allowed to eat pork in pressing circumstances? We’re not talking about danger to life, just plain pressing circumstances, like when chickens are expensive—is it permitted for me to eat pork? No one would say such a thing. So why in a case of doubt? If it’s doubtful pork, am I allowed? Doubtful pork is also forbidden by the Torah—or under the laws of doubt. According to some medieval authorities (Rishonim) it’s from the Torah; according to Maimonides it’s rabbinic, it doesn’t matter—but it is halakhically forbidden. So how can it be that in a case of doubt they allow me to be lenient in pressing circumstances? In a case of doubt there is also law, and the law says to be stringent. So in pressing circumstances one may be lenient against the law, do something halakhically forbidden? These things are difficult even for the Rema. I don’t think he denied that great medieval authorities (Rishonim) say one may be lenient in doubtful cases in pressing circumstances. How can that be?
I want to argue the following. In a place where I have doubt between two options, two opinions or two halakhic possibilities, that means that in principle I can do either one of them as a matter of law. Now, what do the laws of doubt tell me? The laws of doubt tell me that in a place where I have no criterion for deciding between the two possibilities, if this concerns a Torah prohibition I have to be stringent, I have to choose the stringent option. But if I have some halakhic consideration or other consideration that decides between the options, then the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency does not arise at all, because I am not in doubt. The rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency addresses a person standing at the crossroads of Buridan’s donkey. Buridan’s donkey stands between two equal troughs and cannot decide which way to turn. So they tell him: if you have no other criterion at all for deciding, then go with stringency. Fine? But in a place where I do have a criterion for deciding, then I’m already—it isn’t considered a state of doubt at all, because doubt is only when I don’t know how to decide. If I know how to decide it, then it isn’t doubt. And in any case the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency no longer applies to me.
Now, my claim is that leniency in doubt in pressing circumstances works through this mechanism. What are they really telling me? They’re telling me what I described earlier. I said that in doubts there are also the laws of doubt, which are also part of Jewish law. In a Torah-level doubt one must be stringent. So how can it be that in pressing circumstances they allow me to violate Jewish law? My answer is that this is simply not the correct understanding of the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency. Torah-level doubt requiring stringency is always the last rule in the chain, after all else has been exhausted. I have no way at all to decide the doubt, so they say: fine, then you go with stringency. You have no permission to be lenient. But if I have some criterion for deciding the doubt, then this isn’t considered a state of doubt at all, and in any case the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency does not apply to me. My claim is that pressing circumstances are a criterion. Meaning, if I have two possible ways to act—say the chicken is doubtful non-kosher. Like in all the stories, a poor man or a poor woman comes to me with the chicken to ask whether it is non-kosher or not, and I know there is an opinion that it is non-kosher and an opinion that it isn’t, that it is kosher. What am I supposed to do? Seemingly, Torah-level doubt requires stringency. No—but there is an opinion that is lenient, there is an opinion that one may be lenient, there is an opinion that it is not non-kosher. So since this is pressing circumstances, because this is a poor woman, I say to her: you may eat it, it is kosher. Why? Because pressing circumstances were a criterion that decided in favor of the lenient opinion. In any case, if I have a criterion that decides, then I’m no longer standing at that Buridan crossroads, I’m not in doubt. If I’m not in doubt, then the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency does not apply to me. Meaning, my claim is that the order in which the rules are activated is not first Torah-level doubt requires stringency and then pressing circumstances; rather first pressing circumstances. If I succeed in deciding with that criterion, then I am no longer in doubt, and in any case I don’t use the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency. In other words, my claim is that pressing circumstances are a criterion for deciding halakhic doubt. Okay? And therefore the rule that Torah-level doubt requires stringency does not apply to me, and therefore perhaps this even fits with the Rema. The Rema says I do not decide leniently in a place where something is halakhically forbidden. My claim is: deciding leniently in doubt in pressing circumstances is not called being lenient regarding a halakhic prohibition. The halakhic prohibition exists only after I have no decision and I remain in doubt, at which point they tell me that Torah-level doubt requires stringency. When I never got to that stage because I decided using some prior rule, such as the rule that in pressing circumstances one may be lenient, then there is no law here requiring stringency, so I was not lenient regarding something halakhically forbidden.
[Speaker B] That’s my argument.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now I want to argue something similar with respect to morality. It’s a bit more far-reaching, although I’m not sure, because why not also see moral distress as a pressing circumstance? Suppose I’m now in a situation where I have two halakhic options or two interpretive options. I ask myself which one to choose, in a Torah-level law. Okay? Now one of them comes out conflicting with morality and the other does not. The second is a moral act. More moral. Okay? Now, on the one hand, if it’s a doubt, I have a doubt between two halakhic possibilities or two interpretations, a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently; I have to be stringent! Morality is a criterion that doesn’t play on the halakhic field. Right? That’s what I’ve been arguing. And since that’s so, then halakhically I should have gone stringently here because it’s a doubt. True, I would be in a moral dilemma, and maybe I’d end up facing a dilemma between the halakhic ruling and the moral directive. And we’d have to know what to do with that, and I said it’s not clear which one would decide it, but that is seemingly the required order. Halakhically we don’t take moral rules into account, a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently, and now I encounter, opposite that ruling, a moral problem, so I’m in the whole dilemma of Jewish law and morality, everything we’ve been discussing until now. That’s what should have been.
I want to suggest another proposal. I want to suggest that moral distress is also distress. And just as one can be lenient in a pressing circumstance, I don’t see why one can’t be halakhically lenient in a morally pressing circumstance. For example, if I have an egalitarian interpretation and a non-egalitarian interpretation of Jewish law, or an egalitarian position and a non-egalitarian position among the halakhic decisors or the medieval authorities (Rishonim) or in the Talmud or wherever you want. I want to choose the egalitarian view, because acting unequally is distressing. A pressing circumstance. A moral pressing circumstance. Not only for those who suffer from it— for them it’s a pressing circumstance, and that’s also true. For me it’s a pressing circumstance. I’m not willing, or it’s hard for me, to issue a non-egalitarian halakhic ruling. Okay? Now, if I have two interpretive possibilities, then I don’t go with the rules of doubt and say a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently; rather, I decide in favor of the moral option. Once I’ve done that, I’m no longer at the doubtful crossroads, because I’ve resolved the doubt. So the rule of a Torah-level doubt being decided stringently no longer applies to me.
In other words, my claim is that morality can play on the halakhic field despite the sharp distinction I’ve drawn until now. In a place where— a bit like the Rema— in a place where the option I choose is an option that is evenly balanced in terms of halakhic interpretation. If I have two options that are halakhically equal, then in principle I should go stringently because of doubt. Here, if one of the options seems preferable to me morally, I’m allowed to choose it, because after all it is a legitimate interpretation of Jewish law. So from the standpoint of halakhic criteria, it’s not that I did something wrong. It is just as possible as the second option. All I’m saying is that the moral decision neutralizes the need to invoke the rule that a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently. Because once I’ve decided, I have a criterion to choose one of the two interpretations, and therefore I’m not in doubt; and if I’m not in doubt, there is no reason to decide stringently because of a Torah-level doubt. Here it seems to me that I can use moral rules within the halakhic field.
And now, this is not such a rare case. Because very often there are differing views among the medieval authorities (Rishonim), say, or among the great halakhic decisors, in both directions. And people always tend to go stringently because we— and rightly so— because a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently. Even in rabbinic matters people often go stringently, but let’s say in Torah-level matters. Okay? Rightly so. And then somehow people get used to the idea that the world in practice goes stringently here, that that is the Jewish law, that we are not in doubt at all. How can you be lenient because it’s not egalitarian or because it’s not moral? My answer is: that is not the Jewish law. Look in the early sources and you’ll see that there is a doubt here and two views. You weren’t troubled by anything; you had two views, a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently, and you got used to following the stricter view, and now it is already perceived as if that is the law. But that isn’t true. From the standpoint of the sources there are two views, and both are halakhically equal.
Now I claim that if, at least for me, in my time— it doesn’t matter— in my eyes, option A seems far more moral than option B, then for me that decides the basic doubt. I don’t need the rule that a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently, and therefore I can act that way. And many, many of the things we are very used to saying are the Jewish law— when you look at the sources, there are dissenting views about them. We are used to it because of the rule that a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently, or because somehow people are accustomed to be stringent because “blessing comes upon the stringent.” And that gets internalized as though this is already the law. Just as I showed you with the Rema: the Rema does not indicate that this is really only proper as a stringency; he writes “it is forbidden,” period. And then people immediately understand that this is the law and that’s how we act, and for hundreds of years it has become entrenched that way, and people are convinced that anyone who wants to challenge it is going against Jewish law. How can you go against Jewish law and be lenient even if there is a moral problem?
So my answer is: no, that is not correct, that is not the law. Go back to the early sources— not to what this decisor or that decisor says, what I’ve called in other contexts first-order halakhic ruling. Go back to the early sources and see that there are two possibilities. Two interpretive possibilities, two possibilities for ruling. Why did they rule that way? I don’t know. I think one can rule otherwise on moral grounds; and once that happens the doubt is resolved, so I don’t need to go stringently. And in many of the… think how many laws there are with no dispute. There are almost no such laws. And therefore this is a criterion that plays, and can play, in very many places in Jewish law. Even though it sounds esoteric— only where I’m in doubt and one option is more moral than the other, then one can go in the moral direction— this is connected to a huge number of places. A huge number of places. Just think, for example, go back to synagogue customs. Yes, if— I don’t know…
[Speaker D] Can you give an example? Yes, please.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] This example doesn’t even need all that. Women saying Kaddish for a deceased parent. Yes. Women saying Kaddish. Fine, okay, these people have the custom… we haven’t heard of women saying it, the custom is that women don’t say it, and therefore what? There is no possibility of leniency. Okay? But here it’s even distress, not only equality. There’s a woman who wants to say Kaddish, and there are no sons. Or even if there are sons and she wants to say Kaddish as well. So she is in distress. Am I allowed to be lenient in such a case? According to my own view, there’s no need at all, because this is nonsense, there is no reason to be stringent at all, there is no halakhic problem here whatsoever. But let’s say there were some sort of problem. So what? Women being called up to the Torah— let’s take something more charged. Okay? Women being called up to the Torah. According to the law of the Talmud, women may be called up to the Torah as part of the seven. Women count toward the seven. It’s just that the Talmud says there is a problem of public dignity.
Fine, so here there are disputes about what “public dignity” means. There is a long article by the Frimer brothers on this matter, and I don’t agree with all of their methodology, although it’s an intelligent article, but I don’t agree with their basic assumptions. But there are different views about what public dignity means. The straightforward understanding in my opinion— and not a few halakhic decisors, and the Frimer brothers, work hard to say that this almost doesn’t exist— not true, I disagree with them. The straightforward understanding is that it’s not dignified to the congregation because in the past it was assumed that women were ignorant. So if a woman has to be called up to the Torah, that means there are no men who know how to read. And that is not dignified to the congregation. Now, today that isn’t the case. Women know how to read just like men. Therefore I think that today it does not violate public dignity in many respects, not only in that respect. I don’t see what violates public dignity if a woman is called up to the Torah. This is the straightforward understanding— leave me alone with all the sources from the medieval authorities and everything. Just on its face, it’s obvious. What injury to public dignity is there? There isn’t; I don’t see any injury to public dignity. Okay?
So now what? You’ll tell me, “Fine, but there are opinions that injury to public dignity is the very fact that a woman goes up.” I don’t know why they have all kinds of ideas and gimmicks; the Frimer brothers bring dozens and dozens of sources there. Okay? Now I’m in doubt. How should this matter of public dignity be interpreted? Can I be lenient here? So nowhere in the world is it customary for a woman to be called up to the Torah as part of the seven. I think even in the most egalitarian prayer groups, I don’t know them well enough, but it seems to me that even there they don’t do it. I think— Shira Hadasha and places like that do it? It seems to me not. They don’t call women up as part of the seven.
[Speaker C] What do you mean, as part of the seven?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Among the seven main aliyot. Not adding her as maftir, the last one, or things like that— among the seven required aliyot.
[Speaker C] No, in Shira Hadasha certainly yes. They call up a woman?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. For the third, fourth, and so on? Yes, yes, of course. Okay. In any case, in most places, including liberal ones, they don’t do this. Okay? So the question is why. Now, one can argue about it— doubt— and I don’t even know what Torah-level issue this is. Is public dignity Torah-level? I don’t know what Torah-level law there is here.
[Speaker D] A woman’s singing voice and all that, come on…
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Let’s say even if it were Torah-level. So what? I have two ways to interpret public dignity. And more than that, I also tend toward the view that this is the correct interpretation. But let’s put that aside. That’s only one possible interpretation. There are another hundred interpretations. So I’m in doubt. Do I need to be stringent? No. Because if I’m in doubt, then this approach too is certainly a legitimate interpretation, if not more than that. There are also other interpretations, but since those other interpretations lead to a result that is morally unacceptable to me, I choose this interpretation. For example— another example. Okay? And so on. So one has to… and this really requires us to go back to first-order halakhic ruling. Meaning: to go back to the early sources and not take for granted that whatever all the halakhic decisors say today is the law. Not because I disrespect them, but because very often what they say is the result of a long history of taking the stringent path between two possibilities that are both legitimate. And that’s fine. Going stringently is perfectly fine; blessing comes upon the stringent. But where there is a moral cost, then one has to reexamine it.
And then one has to return to the early sources and see whether there is interpretive legitimacy for this option, whether it is acceptable interpretively, and I have no doubt— and I have no doubt that it is. And if that is so, then I don’t see any reason why one couldn’t choose it on moral grounds. The same thing, for example, regarding discrimination against a gentile. Regarding discrimination against a gentile, I have two options. To interpret like Meiri— whom perhaps I’ll return to in a moment— who says that with regard to today’s gentiles this no longer applies, because today’s gentiles behave morally, “bounded by the norms of the nations,” in his language. And then there are the interpretations accepted by most of his halakhic decisors, according to which the laws concerning gentiles that discriminate against gentiles remain in force. Meiri abolished all the laws that discriminate against gentiles, including Torah-level laws, according to the law of the Talmud, including desecrating the Sabbath to save the life of a gentile, with no connection to appearances, peaceful relations, suspicion, or all the excuses people bring. One simply must desecrate the Sabbath to save a gentile’s life. He writes this explicitly in chapter eight of Yoma.
Now I have two interpretive possibilities. And I wrote about this too; I wrote an article on it, and it also caused a bit of an uproar. As a result, among other things, I merited the “heresy controversy” on Facebook. Because I argued there first of all like Meiri. Second, I said that even if Meiri hadn’t said it, I would have said it myself, because Meiri also said it without someone before him having said it, so why can’t I? And besides, the claim I’m making now is not only that Meiri is right. Let’s say you’re in an evenly balanced doubt, as I also wrote in the article. Let’s say I’m in an evenly balanced doubt. It could be that Meiri is right and it could be that he is not right. And this is Torah-level law— notice, desecrating the Sabbath. Desecrating the Sabbath, almost the most severe law there is. A capital offense by stoning. Okay? A public Sabbath desecrator is like an apostate regarding the whole Torah. Meiri says that one must desecrate the Sabbath to save a gentile’s life. And he says explicitly: not because of appearances and not because of all those gimmicks, but as a matter of fundamental law. This law, that one does not desecrate the Sabbath, is nullified.
Now let’s say I’m in doubt. Look, the other halakhic decisors say no. Fine, but Meiri says yes. Or I say yes— what is the difference between Meiri and me? So I say yes. Fine, now I have two interpretive possibilities. What do I do? On the face of it, a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently. So first of all, what does “a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently” even mean? That too can be discussed. Is “stringently” not to desecrate the Sabbath, or is “stringently” not to let a life be lost? Is preventing loss of life not a halakhic value? What does “stringently” mean? They’ll say: a doubt cannot override certainty; there is some presumption that this was the law, and whoever wants to change it bears the burden of proof. Fine, all those things can be debated; I won’t get into it here. Let’s say it is an evenly balanced doubt. And let’s say that deciding stringently in a Torah-level doubt means leaving the gentile to die and not desecrating the Sabbath. But I say: after all, there are two interpretive possibilities here. There is Meiri’s interpretation, which is entirely possible. So if that’s the case, then if this interpretation is possible, why shouldn’t I choose it because it seems more moral to me? And once I’ve chosen it, I’m no longer in doubt, and therefore I don’t need to go stringently.
If the moral criterion is a criterion that is legitimate to use in selecting an interpretive possibility, so long as it seems reasonable to me from an interpretive standpoint. I’ll say again: morality is not what underlies it— that’s an important point. According to my view, morality is not supposed to tell me that this is the correct interpretation, because in my view morality does not play a role on the halakhic field. But morality can serve as a criterion that tells me: you are allowed to choose option A and not option B, because A is just as acceptable as B. Not because it is more correct, but because it is no less correct. Both are interpretively acceptable independent of morality, and therefore I can choose either one. Morality tells me to choose interpretation A. Therefore I am no longer in doubt, and then I don’t need to go stringently.
So notice: when I choose option A, my claim is not that because of morality I discovered that this is the more halakhically correct interpretation. Because I maintain that morality is not a player on the halakhic field; I’m insisting on that view. And I claim that despite that view, I can still be lenient on moral grounds. That is the interesting point. And therefore my claim is— but this really is the price— the price is that Jewish law really remains pure Jewish law without moral considerations, and in principle it should have said: leave this gentile to die. Halakhically, I cannot claim that what the Holy One, blessed be He, expects from me halakhically is to save the gentile. I can say that He expects me morally to save the gentile, but not halakhically. Okay?
And therefore my claim is that the moral criterion— and this is the price I pay because of the whole picture I’ve described until now— means that my choice of the more moral interpretive or rulings-based option is not because… it is not because that is the more halakhically correct option, but because I am allowed to choose it since it is no less correct. And since that is so, why shouldn’t I choose it? After all, I also want to— I want to. Do I insist on being in a dilemma between Jewish law and morality? If I choose this option, then I’m not in a dilemma between the halakhic directive and the moral directive, and I’ve saved myself all the conflicts we’ve talked about until now. Do you have to be in a dilemma? So I choose that option. And all the more so if I treat morality as a criterion of pressing circumstance. In a place where I’m under pressure, and there is such a possible interpretation, I’m allowed to choose that interpretation. And a state of moral distress is definitely a pressing circumstance in my eyes.
So this is a very important point. It actually came up on the website a day or two ago, I think, this question. That choosing according to a moral criterion really does not mean that I choose the option— it does not show that option A is more halakhically correct. It isn’t; it remains equal to option B. But I am allowed to choose one of several equal options also on extra-halakhic grounds, such as pressing circumstances, such as moral considerations, so long as the option I chose is halakhically possible, halakhically acceptable. If it is not halakhically acceptable, then no. Then there is a dilemma between Jewish law and morality. And again, it may still be that Jewish law overrides morality, but then Jewish law will say that it is forbidden. Now I’ll have to deal with the conflict between Jewish law and morality. With the mechanisms I’ve described here, I want to argue that Jewish law itself also will not say that it is forbidden. There is a legitimate halakhic option that says it is permitted. That is my claim.
And therefore, many times— I don’t know whether all cases of leniency in pressing circumstances can be explained this way. It’s pretty clear that in the language of the halakhic decisors they don’t mean this; they think that pressing circumstances are a reason to be lenient. I actually claim not. In that sense I’m stricter than they are. In my view, pressing circumstances are not a halakhic criterion, just as morality is not a halakhic criterion. If I have an option, as the Rema says, if I have an option that is permitted, only ordinarily it would have been proper to be stringent, or because a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently, or simply out of piety— “blessing comes upon the stringent”— here, if I have a consideration like pressing circumstances or morality, I’m allowed to choose the other option. And that is my claim. Pressing circumstances cannot be a halakhic criterion in itself. It does not make it permitted; it makes it legitimate. Okay, that is basically my claim.
So that is the first remark, which took me more time than I thought, but I had already begun to move a bit into the following remarks. Because actually, in light of what I’m claiming here, the question of Jewish law and morality is not really solved by what I’m saying. I’m proposing a practical way out, how in many cases I will manage to maneuver so that even while acting according to Jewish law I won’t damage morality, but this does not solve the principled problem. Because on the principled level, that is exactly what I’m claiming: that Jewish law is indifferent to morality. What I am doing is not because morality shows me that this is the correct halakhic ruling. No— Jewish law is indifferent to morality. Rather, because it is halakhically legitimate, I am allowed, for a moral reason, to choose this option. But that is only because it is halakhically legitimate. So that means that from a halakhic standpoint there can definitely be situations where I won’t have such an option, where it will conflict with morality. Meaning, I won’t be able to— and then there really is no such thing. Morality doesn’t tell me that this is not a correct halakhic ruling. I do not accept Rabbi Kook or the opinions I mentioned in earlier lessons. No— if this is the Jewish law, this is the Jewish law, and no morality will change it.
How does one explain such a thing? How can it be that Jewish law clashes with morality in this way? Because what I said before was only an option for maneuvering practically so that I won’t come to confront the conflict. But I ask: the very existence of the conflict is problematic in my eyes, even if I manage to bypass it— and I don’t always manage to. But how can such a conflict exist? And to that I will answer what I answered in the previous lessons: that the conflict is actually not problematic, because Jewish law is only part of God’s will. The Holy One, blessed be He, wants me to act according to moral rules and also to obey Jewish law. And sometimes that will put me into a conflict of Jewish law versus morality. But Jewish law aims at religious values. And therefore it could theoretically be that halakhically one should leave the gentile to die in order not to desecrate the Sabbath, while morally one must desecrate the Sabbath in order to save the gentile. And now I am in a conflict. What do I do in such a situation? Suppose there is no interpretation like Meiri’s, I have no interpretive option. In such a situation I am in a moral conflict, but this is not a problematic thing, because it does not mean that God doesn’t care about morality. It means that He has other values that are important to Him besides morality, and when there is a collision, one value always comes at the expense of another.
And in fact the claim is— this is the claim I made in previous lessons, I’m just completing the picture so you can see how it all fits together— and in fact the claim is that situations of this type are not problematic situations, not problematic at the principled level, because what I am saying is that morality matters to me very much. Morally I would in fact be obligated to desecrate the Sabbath in order to save a gentile, but there is some religious value that tells me that it is forbidden to desecrate the Sabbath, and that value is even worth more than a gentile’s life from the standpoint of religious values, and therefore religiously I may not desecrate the Sabbath. Morally I must desecrate the Sabbath, and religiously I may not, so I am in conflict. I don’t know what I would do in that conflict, but I am in conflict. And the fact that I’m in conflict actually means that I have no moral problem with Jewish law, because Jewish law simply is not dealing with that. It’s not that morality is unimportant to it; it just isn’t dealing with that. It is dealing with a different dimension.
Now I’ll illustrate this a bit more sharply through several references not to Jewish law, but to things connected to the legal world, or our moral world today, let’s say. Every society, every state, every community prefers its own members over others. Right? That’s obvious. Family— it’s obvious that I take care of my family members before I take care of other people. I take care of citizens of my state or members of my people before I take care of members of other peoples or other states. Okay? There are circles of closeness, or circles of identity, or however you want to call it, and clearly there is some built-in discrimination in my relationship between the different circles. The closer someone is to me, the more he will get from me, and someone farther away will get less. And if I have money and I can use it to save lives, I’ll save the life of a family member and not the life of someone who is not family, if it’s a zero-sum case— meaning if I can save only one of them. Okay? Why? Where is equality? What about the moral value of equality?
Here it is clear to us that there is no problem. Why is there no problem? Because okay, I would like to save the other person too, but I don’t have enough money; my obligation to family members, to members of my people, or to greater closeness, to the closer circle, is greater. There are different levels of obligation, and therefore, what can you do, I am fully obligated to the person outside too, but I have prior obligations that override that obligation. What happens if I have to kill someone in order to save my family member? That is forbidden. Even to save myself, of course, it is forbidden, so certainly to save a family member. It is forbidden. Why is it forbidden? Here suddenly there are no circles of closeness, no hierarchy among circles of closeness?
So here we need some distinction— not exactly this, but similar to it— there is a difference between human rights and civil rights in moral and legal thought. What’s the difference? Civil rights belong only to citizens: to receive education, to receive education, to receive a minimum standard of living, I don’t know, all kinds of such things, to maintain security, all sorts of services that the state is obligated to provide to its citizens. Those are civil rights. What happens with someone who has no education but is not a citizen of the state? Am I obligated to provide him with education? The answer is no, because those are civil rights. But am I allowed to kill him? Obviously not. Why? Because that concerns human rights. And with human rights there is no difference between citizens of my state and citizens of another state. From the standpoint of human rights, there is some minimal threshold with respect to which I cannot prefer one person over another. I cannot violate the human rights of others in order to protect my own citizens, unless of course they threaten my citizens, but if they do not threaten them, I cannot violate their human rights in order to save the human rights of my own people, and certainly not their civil rights.
With civil rights I can give preferential treatment to my citizens; I can and should give preferential treatment to my citizens. With human rights all human beings are equal; one may not prefer one over another; the considerations have to be relevant. A doctor cannot save his own son before he saves someone else if, according to the priority rules of Magen David Adom or whatever system for saving lives, that other person meets the criteria and should be treated first. Why? Because your obligation to treat him is an obligation of human rights, not civil rights. These are not the obligations of a father to his son; these are the obligations of a doctor to a patient. And the obligations of a doctor to a patient are supposed to be uniform, whether it is your son or someone else. This is a very difficult demand to live up to, but that is what is supposed to be the case in such a situation.
What I basically want to argue is the following claim. Think, for example, about claims of discrimination regarding murder. People say to me: after all, if one murders a gentile, one does not violate “you shall not murder.” And one is not liable to death for someone who murders a gentile. One does violate a Torah prohibition of “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed,” but one does not violate “you shall not murder,” and there is no death penalty. And this arouses strong feelings; I’ve heard severe criticism of this more than once. In my opinion those criticisms are completely unjustified, and even apart from— there is some connection, but basically not a direct connection— to the distinction I made earlier between Jewish law and morality. Because my claim is the following:
Morally, the prohibition against killing a gentile and the prohibition against killing a Jew are exactly the same prohibition, with not the slightest difference between them. The only thing is that the moral prohibition is not written in “you shall not murder”; it is written in “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed,” and that really does apply also to a gentile. What is written in “you shall not murder”? In “you shall not murder” there is an additional layer. With respect to a Jew, besides the moral problem when you murder him, there is also a religious problem. Even with respect to a gentile, “Whoever sheds the blood of man” is also a halakhic matter, not only a moral one, but leave that aside for the moment. There is an added religious problem of “you shall not murder” when you kill a Jew. Does that mean there is discrimination, or that the value of a Jew’s life and a gentile’s life are different? My answer is unequivocally no. Because the value of life belongs solely to the moral plane, and on the moral plane there is no difference. On the moral plane there is no difference.
When I kill a Jew, they tell me that besides the moral problem there is also a religious problem. That exists when you kill a Jew; it does not exist when you kill a gentile. That has nothing to do with discrimination. It has nothing to do with discrimination. My moral attitude exists toward both of them. But with respect to him there is also a religious value. More than that: he is also a member of my people. So in that sense, since he is a member of my people, I’m allowed to relate to his life on a second level as something more important to me than the life of the other. Not on the first level. On the moral, basic, universal level, it is the same thing. And therefore, in the moral sense there is no difference between the life of a gentile and the life of a Jew. But there is a religious transgression in killing a Jew, and that does not exist regarding a gentile. I do not see that as discrimination.
On the contrary: when a gentile kills a Jew— when a gentile kills a Jew, will they execute him? In ordinary enlightened countries— not in crazy America. I’m talking about normal countries, England, Germany, France— no, they won’t execute him, right? They’ll put him in prison. Why? Whether he killed a gentile or whether he killed a Jew. We too will imprison someone who kills a gentile and someone who kills a Jew, just as the French do. We too. We impose the death penalty only for the religious transgression, not for the moral transgression. That punishment goes beyond the obligation; the moral obligation is to punish him with life imprisonment. And we will do that also for killing a gentile, because the moral transgression in killing a gentile is exactly the same as the moral transgression in killing a Jew. And therefore I do not see any discrimination in the Torah’s attitude— not necessarily the halakhic attitude— toward life, toward the life of a gentile versus the life of a Jew. It’s the same. What gentiles do to a murderer who kills a Jew or a gentile, Jews too will do to a murderer who killed a Jew or a gentile. The same thing. It’s just that Jews will say that if you killed a Jew, we’ll do to you more than the gentiles do to a murderer, because Jews matter to us, because they are our family, our people, because it has religious value— phrase it however you want. But that is giving more to the Jew, not giving less to the gentile. And that is not semantics.
Why is it not semantics? Because I have an objective measure. The moment I treat the killing of a gentile more lightly than gentiles treat the killing of a Jew, accuse me of discrimination. When gentiles catch a murderer of a Jew, do they kill him? No. They put him in prison. I too will imprison someone who killed a gentile. And it’s none of your grandmother’s business what I do inside the family. Inside the family I impose an additional sanction; I also execute the murderer, because within the family I want to impose stronger discipline. That’s all. It has nothing to do with—
[Speaker D] A child learns in school that on the Sabbath he does not desecrate the Sabbath in order to save a gentile. That gentile there will scream and cry, and he will not desecrate the Sabbath and will not save him.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That relates to the previous discussion, as I said. I said it relates to the previous discussion; I don’t think that is correct halakhically. I’m saying that regarding murder it is halakhically correct. Regarding murder it is halakhically correct, and I don’t have all the previous moves available. One who kills a gentile is not liable to death, and I also won’t try to make him liable to death, and I won’t look for gimmicks to bring him under a death sentence, because no, he really is not liable to death; he is liable to imprisonment. Exactly like a gentile who killed a gentile, or like a gentile who killed a Jew, or like every civilized country deals with its murderers. We too should deal the same way with our murderers. True, if someone killed a Jew, here we have some added value. We have another layer. It’s like my caring more for my family: you can’t come to me with a claim that I’m discriminating against you so long as I’m not violating your rights, or so long as I’m not treating you improperly, but rather treating my family members in a way that goes beyond what is required. That is my right.
So notice that here I do need this distinction I made between religious values and moral values, but in practice it could also be explained without that entire distinction. You don’t have to rely on it. Think of an argument you have with a gentile, or with a secular person, or with anyone, who comes with this criticism: “What, gentile life isn’t worth as much among you people?” By the way, sometimes the criticism is justified, because what happens is that even Jews themselves don’t understand this. The Jews and the rabbis don’t understand this, and they really do think that a gentile’s life is worth less. See Mishpat HaMelekh, Torat HaMelekh, Torat HaMelekh, and so on. That is a grave and complete mistake, it’s not… A gentile’s life is worth exactly the same as a Jew’s life. But if a gentile kills a Jew?
[Speaker E] What? A gentile who kills a Jew is liable to death.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Correct, anyone who kills a Jew is liable to death.
[Speaker E] Meaning there is a difference here: a Jew who kills a gentile is not liable to death, while a gentile who kills a Jew is liable… no, a gentile who kills a Jew and a Jew who kills a Jew are liable to death.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Also a Jew who performs the same act is liable to death. Because this is a privilege we grant ourselves: someone who murdered one of ours will get— incidentally, this is only regarding gentiles who are under our authority, of course, and all that; law for the messianic era, I don’t know when this ever happened or will happen. But in principle this is the additional thing we do to someone who killed a Jew because of the injury to our family. But the basic prohibition of murder, on the moral level, receives equal treatment for everyone, no matter whom you murdered.
[Speaker E] But a gentile who violated theft, for example— one of the seven Noahide commandments— he is also liable to death. Okay. So then a Jew who did that is not liable to death, so are we discriminating between a gentile and a Jew?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I didn’t say this resolves all the differences between a non-Jew and a Jew, absolutely not. What I’m saying is specifically about murder. I said there are places where Jewish law is not egalitarian. I’m only pointing out places where you can see that the contradictions between Jewish law and morality are either handled by the mechanism I described earlier in order to avoid the conflict, or there are certain cases where there really is no conflict—it’s a mistake to view it as a conflict. I’m not saying this is true everywhere. There are halakhic differences between a Jew and a non-Jew. I’m only claiming that halakhically yes, but morally no—that, I do claim. Morally there is no difference between a Jew and a non-Jew. Halakhically there is. Okay? So the claim is that in these places, it’s like—think of another case; I’ll give you another example. It’s not the same thing, but the logic is similar. A convert comes, and of course we require him to study, to be examined for rabbinic judging, to learn all the laws in detail, and of course to commit to observing all of them. Without that he won’t be Jewish. Now among us there lives, all in all, a very large majority of the public that observes none of that, is obligated to none of it, and is still perfectly Jewish. Why? So what do you want from this poor convert who wants to join us—why should he join according to standards that Jews themselves don’t uphold? How can you expect more from him than from the Jew? That too is a kind of discrimination, right? So here there is—I don’t know if it’s exactly the same thing—but it’s a similar logic. And the claim is, of course, the difference between joining the club and throwing out someone who already belongs to the club. In every country in the world, if a citizen steals, he doesn’t lose his citizenship, right? He goes to prison, but he doesn’t lose his citizenship. Even if he murdered, even if he committed a mass slaughter, he doesn’t lose his citizenship. He’ll go to prison for the rest of his life or they’ll punish him, whatever they do to him. But if someone wants to join a state as a citizen, and he has a criminal record in the country he comes from—he stole or murdered or something like that—they won’t accept him. They won’t give him citizenship. Why? In your country there are citizens who steal, so why won’t you accept me? The answer is that there is a difference between the criteria I require in order to admit someone into my club and the criteria someone who is already in the club has to meet for me to throw him out. Obviously he has to do much graver things, if anything, for me to throw him out. A family whose son is caught stealing is not going to… unless they are truly noble in an extraordinary way, but I can understand that they wouldn’t want a child who is a thief. They wouldn’t want to adopt him. What’s the difference? The difference is that this is already my child; much more has to happen before I throw him out, if at all. But if someone wants to become my child, then I’ll demand some minimum standards. I don’t want to bring into my club, my family, my group—whatever you want to call it—someone with problems. Therefore, when we talk about a convert, when the convert comes to convert, we expect maximal commitment from him. You have to accept upon yourself the yoke of the commandments. Even though Jews by birth don’t observe most commandments, because most Jews are not obligated to Jewish law. Okay? Why? Because they’re already in the club. In order to throw them out, they’d have to do something more extreme, if at all. So again, this is a point that looks like discrimination; this claim comes up quite a bit, and I think it’s incorrect. And it’s somewhat connected to what I said earlier—that my family gets preferential treatment. In my family I’m willing to accept them as family even if they stole, murdered, I don’t know what they did. But someone who wants to join my family—why should I bring him in if he’s a thief or a murderer? That sounds very logical to me. Every country in the world does this; it has nothing to do with Judaism. Somehow everyone understands this in every country in the world, but when it comes to conversion everyone shouts that we’re antisemitic and discriminatory and all kinds of things like that. And I don’t think there’s much to those claims. Again, I’m saying: I’m not claiming there are no distinctions between Jews and non-Jews and that Jewish law is egalitarian; I said at the beginning that it isn’t. I am saying that in quite a few places that is not true—the claims are incorrect—and it stems from the same distinction I mentioned earlier. But you can explain it even without that. Maybe I’ll give you another example. In one of the previous classes we saw this rule: “Desecrate one Sabbath for him so that he may keep many Sabbaths.” Then the critics come and say: we desecrate the Sabbath to save the life of a Jew, but we leave the non-Jew to die. Now, I mentioned—I think—the Mishnah Berurah, who writes that with rabbinic prohibitions it is permitted to desecrate the Sabbath to save a non-Jew, but not with Torah-level prohibitions. And the non-Jews will accept this; they’ll understand that these are Sabbath prohibitions, and therefore we don’t do it. When I saw this Mishnah Berurah, I pinched myself to see whether I was reading correctly or maybe this was some hallucination. He writes seriously that the non-Jews will understand this because it is Sabbath desecration; they understand that the Sabbath is severe for us, and they will understand that we would leave one of the non-Jews to die, while only for a Jew would we desecrate the Sabbath. Well, the non-Jews of today won’t understand that. The non-Jews around the Chafetz Chaim, apparently he thought they would understand it. And that’s interesting, by the way—that’s an interesting assessment of reality, and I’m not dismissing it. In a religious environment I think there is more understanding even of other religions. You can hate them, you can despise them, but you understand this matter of the severity of desecrating the Sabbath; you too have certain religious prohibitions that are very important. I’m not rejecting the Chafetz Chaim’s assessment of reality. Today it wouldn’t work, because today we live in a secular world—that’s basically the reason, it seems to me. But for our purposes, think about it now from another angle. If I go to a non-Jew and I tell him: listen, actually even for the life of a Jew I don’t desecrate the Sabbath. The only reason I’m allowed to desecrate the Sabbath to save a Jew’s life is because afterward he will keep many Sabbaths. Meaning, my permission—the Sabbath is so severe that it is not worth a life. I’m supposed to sacrifice that person’s life in order not to desecrate the Sabbath. Except that if I desecrate the Sabbath here and save him, he will keep many Sabbaths in the future. So in fact what justifies the Sabbath desecration is not the value of the Jew’s life but the Jew’s observance of the Sabbath. Well, you aren’t going to keep the Sabbath—the non-Jew—so therefore I don’t desecrate the Sabbath to save you. Again, I’m not claiming that the person himself, whom I don’t save, will accept this calmly, but I am claiming that this argument can be heard. Someone who takes this seriously, and I show him in the sources that I’m really not deceiving him—even desecrating the Sabbath to save a Jew is not automatic because of the value of the Jew’s life, but because that Jew will keep Sabbaths; in other words, what justifies the Sabbath desecration is a halakhic principle, not the value of life—and that doesn’t exist in the case of a non-Jew, so it may be that he’ll understand it. Now, I said—I’m saying this only as an example, because when we discussed it, I argued that this is not correct. One may desecrate the Sabbath to save a non-Jew, and also “Desecrate one Sabbath for him so that he may keep many Sabbaths” does not really mean that this is done not for the value of life but for Jewish law; it is done for the value of life. But for that we would have to go back through all the details of the passage we studied there, and I’m not going back to that. I’m bringing it here only as another example of something that looks like—this is not discrimination, but when you examine it, you see it isn’t discrimination. I relate the same way to the Jew as to the non-Jew. My Sabbath is what is important; it’s not that the value of your life is lower to me. Therefore, since the Sabbath is so important, I would also leave the Jew to die and not desecrate the Sabbath. But I would desecrate the Sabbath because I would gain Sabbaths from him—not because of the value of his life. And so, you don’t keep Sabbaths; you too agree, so I have no permission—what can I do? My hands are tied. I can’t desecrate the Sabbath just like that to save your life. A philosophical non-Jew can hear such an argument. If a non-Jew is not philosophical, I’m not sure he’d accept such a thing, but a philosophical non-Jew understands that there is a serious argument here. I think it is a serious argument. Here, if one understands the matter that way—and again, I don’t understand it that way, I’m only saying that assuming that is the meaning of these things—I think it is a serious argument. And it’s an argument that says there is no discrimination here. We do not desecrate the Sabbath even for the life of a Jew any more than for the life of a non-Jew. So all these arguments basically rest on…
[Speaker F] It’s forbidden to desecrate the Sabbath for a secular Jew.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, the Or HaChaim writes that as Jewish law. That for someone who does not keep the Sabbath, it is forbidden to desecrate the Sabbath for him. Most halakhic decisors do not say that. They do not say that, but they have explanations. Why? Because you have to present the secular person with the possibility of keeping the Sabbath, and he chooses not to do it—that’s his choice; you cannot make the decision in his place. You have to enable him, place before him, the possibility of keeping Sabbaths. And the fact that afterward he sins and does not keep Sabbaths—it may be that this Sabbath desecration that I invested in order to gain the Sabbaths he was supposed to keep will also be counted against him. Maybe. All right? And that’s what most halakhic decisors say; that’s how they reject the Or HaChaim’s claim. So for example, temporary life—there are those who want to argue maybe not to desecrate the Sabbath, because he won’t keep many Sabbaths. Just as there is apparently a Talmudic text that one desecrates the Sabbath even for temporary life. Fine, that’s another issue. In any case, all these examples basically say the following. I can now formulate this double-plane view—the religious and the moral—in terms of two stories. And basically my claim is the following: there is the basic floor, which is the universal moral floor, with respect to which all human beings are equal. Jews and religious people and non-religious people and non-Jews and whoever you want. Then there is the religious floor. The religious floor is an additional floor. It has nothing to do with the moral floor; the moral floor remains as it is. The religious floor is an added floor, and there certainly distinctions may exist, because it is not discrimination. The non-Jew too does not see harming me as a religious problem, only as a moral problem. So I too see harming him as a moral problem and not as a religious problem. My attitude toward him is completely reciprocal. Harming a Jew also contains a religious problem, in my view, all right? And that is an addition; it is not an infringement of his human rights. Maybe of his civil rights, because perhaps he isn’t a citizen in Israel, right? Not a citizen in the Torah’s sense, right? He is not part of us. So therefore I do not give him the additional privileges, but I do not infringe his basic rights. On the moral level he deserves the same rights as a Jew. This reciprocity comes up in an interesting context—in the context of the Meiri regarding non-Jews. Everyone asks how he departs from Maimonides. He says that the non-Jews of his time have the same status as Jews in every respect regarding how we relate to them—not that one may marry them, but regarding one’s relations to them: saving them… desecrating the Sabbath to save them, their lost property, loans to them, interest, all kinds of things like that—with respect to non-Jews as with respect to Jews. So everyone asks about him: the Meiri usually follows Maimonides. And if not, then he cites his words and disagrees with him. But here he does not write that; Maimonides does not write such a thing. On the contrary, Maimonides says that Christians are idol worshippers. But actually, look—I think the source of the Meiri is Maimonides. Not only is he not going against Maimonides. Look at Maimonides—you see? I shared the Responsa Project here. In the Mishnah, Bava Kamma appears—let’s look at the Mishnah for a moment. An ox of… I’m skipping the beginning, after all… the latter clause of the Mishnah. “If a Jew’s ox gored the ox of an idol worshipper, he is exempt; and if an idol worshipper’s ox gored the ox of a Jew, whether harmless or forewarned, he pays full damages.” Even a harmless ox, which normally pays half damages—if it’s a non-Jew goring us, he pays full damages. So in the Talmudic text there is a discussion about this, and the medieval authorities (Rishonim) address it. And the claim is basically that the law with non-Jews works as follows: where their legal system favors us, we judge him according to their legal system. Where our legal system favors us, we judge according to our legal system. That is the rule; the Shulchan Arukh rules that way as well. Look at Maimonides’ Commentary on the Mishnah. This Mishnah sounds terrible. Maimonides says as follows: “If a legal case occurs between a Jew and a non-Jew, then the mode of judgment between them is as I shall explain to you. If according to their laws we have an advantage, we judge them by their laws and say to them: ‘That is your law—what are you complaining about?’” And of course that is when the Jew gains by judging according to the non-Jew’s law. “And if it is better for us to judge by our own law, we judge them according to our law and say to them: ‘That is our law—what do you want? That is our legal system.’” In short, lie to their faces. Use whichever legal system leaves the Jew with the upper hand, whether theirs or ours, and say, “What do you want? That’s your system,” or “What do you want? That’s our system.” “And do not find this difficult,” says Maimonides, “and do not be astonished by it.” Maimonides is troubled by this matter. “Just as you are not astonished by the slaughter of animals, even though they have done no wrong, because one in whom the human qualities have not been completed is not truly a human being, and his purpose is only for the sake of man.” “And discussion of this matter requires a separate book.” So Maimonides says: don’t be surprised by this antisemitic—or anti-non-Semitic—Jewish law. Why? Because the non-Jews are basically a kind of animal. The human qualities have not been completed in them. And therefore our attitude toward them is such that we have no moral obligations toward them. Why? Because they themselves do not behave morally, neither toward us nor among themselves. And therefore we also do not have to behave morally toward them. Think of non-Jews who do not return lost property—who find lost objects and keep them for themselves. Now Jewish law comes and says: the lost property of a non-Jew is not returned; only that of a Jew. Is that discrimination? I claim not. If you don’t return our lost property, why should we return yours? We’re going by your standard. Toward our own people we maintain a higher standard—that is our right. But we are not treating you differently from how you treat us. There is a certain reciprocity even in morality. Someone who steals from everyone—do we need to be careful not to steal from him? I don’t accept that. Someone who lends at interest to everyone—do I have to refrain from lending to him at interest? Why? No, that’s not true. The fact that toward my own people, who themselves do not lend at interest, I also do not lend to them at interest—that is perfectly fine. Maimonides says: if you do not behave morally, then the human qualities have not been completed in you, and so we too do not need to behave morally toward you. Just as animals are not human beings, so they are not entitled to rights; one may slaughter them in order to eat. But from here understand what follows: if we reach the conclusion that the non-Jews do in fact possess completed human qualities, that they are bound by the civilized norms of the nations, that they behave properly like Jews—some more, some less, just as among Jews some more and some less—that is what the Meiri says. He is not going against Maimonides. His source is Maimonides. And this is a wonderful expression of this matter of reciprocity, because here I am claiming not only that halakhically I discriminate against non-Jews but not morally; rather, my claim is that even on the moral level, so long as there is no reciprocity, one need not behave toward them properly even on the moral level. Everything we look at today is a kind of anachronism, because today we know non-Jews who behave in a cultured, enlightened, decent way, like Jews. So indeed it seems unacceptable to us not to behave morally toward them. That is discrimination, and rightly so, because indeed in that situation on the moral level it should be symmetrical. If they behave morally, one must also behave morally toward them. On the religious level, that is the second circle—family members, the religious circle, everything I’ve talked about until now—there can be differences there. That does not indicate discrimination; those are distinctions. All right, I’ll stop here. There was still more to say about this issue, but I’ll stop here. Whoever wants to comment, then… it seems to me this is where we stop the series, or… I don’t know, maybe I’ll do one more session on the Euthyphro dilemma. I debated whether to do it here or not to do it here, I don’t know. We’ll see. We’ll think about it some more. In principle the series is over; maybe we’ll do one more session on the Euthyphro dilemma, and then that really means that in Elul I’ll start the next topic. We’ll see. I’m also waiting for another answer from Yitzhak about our Thursday format.
[Speaker B] We talked about a format of four or five meetings per topic.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? I can’t hear.
[Speaker B] We talked about a format of four or five meetings per topic.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, of course. But in terms of Zoom or not Zoom, and how and what, how to open it, and all those things.
[Speaker B] In practice our class is paid, and we ask people to participate, but we’ll notify them.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Once there are decisions, we’ll send out a message, okay? Yes. Anyway, this is the end of this series. Maybe I’ll do one more session on it; we’ll see. All right, are there questions or comments?
[Speaker B] Thank you very much, it was very interesting.