The Periphery of Halakha – Lecture 4

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So now, that was the issue of the two levels. After that I moved on and started discussing territory considerations, and that too is a whole area where you can see some kind of extra-halakhic dimension intervening in the shaping of Jewish law and in the formulation of Jewish law. So I began with considerations of honoring one’s father and mother, and I’ll summarize and continue from that point. I brought two responsa, one by Rabbi Ovadia and one by Rabbi Yaakov Ariel; both actually appear as articles in Techumin. Rabbi Ovadia discusses the question of whether, if parents tell their child to go study in a yeshiva high school, a place where they also do matriculation exams and study secular subjects, while the child wants to go to a small yeshiva, a yeshiva where only sacred studies are learned—the question is whether he is obligated to obey them or not. And Rabbi Ariel discusses the question of what happens if parents tell their son not to volunteer for officer training. He wants to volunteer for officer training, and the parents say, listen, three years is enough, we don’t want you to sign on for career service any longer—they want him not to sign on for career service. Now the question is whether he has to obey them.

Now both Rabbi Ovadia and Rabbi Ariel discuss the question there through the prism of the rule: “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths.” Meaning, they discuss the question of what halakhic or Torah-value force—however you want to call it—there is to studying in a small yeshiva as opposed to a yeshiva high school, or to going into officer training as opposed to serving as a regular soldier for three years. So they talk about beautifying a commandment or not beautifying a commandment, and the question is whether “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths”—the Sages learn from there that if my parents tell me not to fulfill a commandment or to commit a transgression, then I do not have to obey them. And then they say: now the question is, if the parents tell me not to beautify a commandment, here too do I not have to obey them, or here do I in fact have to obey them?

So let’s say that was basically the framework, the discussion framework within which these responsa proceed. Meaning, the discussion is about the question how strong the Torah or halakhic obligation standing here in the balance against the obligation to honor parents has to be, and the question is again one of definition: up to what level is the parents’ command overridden, and from what level can they still command me? And I said that I don’t accept the basic conception—I mean, I don’t accept this form of discussion—because I think this is not at all the plane on which this question should be discussed.

My claim was that I actually want to say: let’s say I decided that for me it’s very important to be an officer in the army. It’s self-actualization, it builds me as a personality in some way, whatever—a person decided that for him this is a very significant element in the way he chooses to live, regardless of the question what spiritual-Torah-moral value there is in this thing. No connection whatsoever. I’m talking about how important it is to you in terms of how you want to live. A completely, you could say, even self-interested question, not necessarily a value question. And my claim was that if it is important enough to you, then your parents cannot interfere in your life and they cannot tell you how to live—not because this consideration has important value significance. It may have value significance, but that’s not the point. The point is that parents cannot go beyond the boundaries of the territory regarding which they have anything to say. Within my personal territory they cannot dictate anything to me.

I remembered that there is a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim) in tractate Yevamot on page 6, a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim) about the parameters of honoring parents. Does the obligation to honor parents exist only when the parents need something from me for their own benefit—to feed them, for their health, to care for them—or can they also command me in all kinds of things because it seems to them that it’s good for me, or for whatever other reasons, and they command me in various things and I am supposed to obey? So that is a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim).

Now if parents can command me only for their own personal benefit, then these questions come up less, because where they want to dictate to me how to live, this is actually their concern for me, not their will in terms of their own interest—and that I am not obligated to obey. Although one should note that, for example, regarding officer training, the parents can also claim that they want me at home because they need me to help them. Not in the sense that I should go to university and develop my career as fast as possible and not do another year of career service, but in the sense that they need me to help them. And then the question arises even according to the medieval authorities (Rishonim) who say that the obligation to honor parents exists only when it is a matter of concern for them, of their interest, and not when they come to dictate to me.

But my claim was that the consideration I raised, although it looks somewhat similar to that position of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), which says that the parents cannot dictate things to me unless it is for their interest—I claim it’s not the same thing. I want to argue that even according to the view that parents can dictate things to me regardless of their interest, even there there is a limitation. And the limitation is up to the point where they touch the deepest part of the soul, meaning they touch things that are important to me and are principles according to which I want to live. In such a situation I claim that according to all the medieval authorities (Rishonim), even those who say that the obligation to honor parents exists even when it is not a matter of their interest but when they want to command me in things—even according to those positions I claim there is no obligation to honor parents where we are dealing with a principle that is important to me, that this is how I want to live my life. My parents cannot dictate that to me. Therefore it is not the same thing as that dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim), even though there is some overlap.

And my claim basically was that both in Rabbi Ariel’s question and in Rabbi Ovadia’s question, I think the discussion has nothing to do with whether this is beautifying a commandment, whether when parents tell me not to beautify a commandment I do or do not have to obey them. Rather, if these things are meaningful in terms of the way I have chosen to live, my parents cannot dictate to me what to do. Regardless of whether this is beautifying a commandment or not beautifying a commandment or nothing of the sort—I simply want to live this way because I feel like it. There is no beautifying a commandment here, and it is not a contribution to the public; it is a contribution to me, it builds my personality to be an officer. I contribute nothing to the public in any way, for the sake of discussion. Okay? Still, if for me it is important, if it is important to my way of life, my parents cannot dictate to me in this area what to do, because I determine my life; this is my territory.

Or in other words, what I really want to argue is that there are certain boundaries only within which one can discuss honoring parents. Only within them can one discuss honoring parents. Outside them, the parents’ command has no force—no force at all. Not that there is some other value that overrides it. One has to understand: according to Rabbi Ariel and Rabbi Ovadia, the discussion is always a discussion of override. Meaning, why am I not obeying my parents? Because there is another principle, more important, that overcomes the obligation to obey my parents. That is what I called an override from outside. That is, there is some external principle that overrides the obligation to honor parents.

I’m talking about an override from within. What does that mean? I want to argue that the force of the obligation to obey parents does not encounter some opposing value that overcomes it; rather, it itself stops at the boundary of the parents’ territory. Beyond that it simply has no force—not because some other value stands against it. There is no other value. What stands against it is a right, not a value. I have the right to conduct my life as I understand it. That is not a value; there is nothing moral in whether I become an officer or not, whether I go to this yeshiva or that one—let’s say it has no moral dimension at all. But still, it matters to me. And the moment it matters to me, that is my right—not because it is a higher value than honoring parents. It is not a value at all; it is a right. But my right establishes a kind of wall that the force of the obligation to obey parents cannot penetrate. Okay? That is what I called territory considerations. Meaning, the delimitation of the obligation to obey parents is a delimitation from within the obligation itself. There is no other value involved here that overcomes the value of the obligation to obey; rather, the obligation to obey parents limits itself or stops at the boundary of the parents’ territory, at the border of my territory. From there onward it is no longer in force. Not because there is something that overrides it. That is what I want to argue. Therefore it is a different kind of override.

Now, that is exactly why I relate to this as another item in the question of the peripheral categories that we are dealing with in this series. Why? Because if we are speaking of principles of override like a positive commandment overrides a prohibition, or things like that, then it is one value against another value, and there are rules as to which value overcomes which value. Those rules all belong to Jewish law; Jewish law itself established both sides in principle and determines which one overcomes which. And that is all a regular halakhic matter. What I am talking about here is that somehow, into the halakhic consideration slips some type of consideration that, first, has no source anywhere. It is a logical intuition. It has no source. Nobody brings a source for this. And second—and it’s not really a second point, it’s the continuation of the same thing—it does not come from Jewish law. It comes from some sort of external reasoning, some kind of common sense, I don’t know, whatever you want to call it: that it is impossible for parents to have any right beyond a certain boundary.

What do you mean, “impossible”? Do you have a verse for that? There is an obligation to obey parents; there is a verse. Do you have some verse that says from here onward there is no obligation? No, I don’t have a verse. But it is obvious to me that the obligation stops here, without there being a verse that stops it. Why? Because there is some common sense, some kind of basic human thinking, which says that one person cannot dictate another person’s life.

Something like the principle—and maybe we’ll get to this later on—that a person cannot prohibit something that is not his. Yes, when someone takes, say, someone who has his own grain and I plant a vineyard next to his grain field, and now he brings his grain close into my vineyard and thereby prohibits my vines through forbidden mixed planting in a vineyard—then my vines do not become prohibited. Why don’t they become prohibited? Because another person cannot prohibit my vines. A person cannot prohibit something that is not his. Why? Where does that come from? So some bring some verse, but one can show—it doesn’t matter now—that this goes far beyond what is written in the verse, if there even is a verse. It is some principle of reasoning, in a certain sense I would even say extra-halakhic, that enters Jewish law of course in the end, and is ruled by all the halakhic decisors, but it is a principle whose basis is logical reasoning.

The reasoning says that it is impossible that a person should do all kinds of manipulations here and the consequences should be on me. The consequences regarding me are in my domain. I can ruin and I can fix my area. You cannot fix my area; you cannot ruin my area. That is outside the territory under your wings, yes—outside the territory in which you have any say, in which your actions have any possibility of influencing. In my area you cannot influence. Meaning, what, everyone can do whatever he wants, ruin all my things? By the way, even in the laws of damages this is invisible damage, and he would even be exempt at the Torah level. Meaning, in the laws of damages he would even be exempt, because this is invisible damage; it is halakhic damage. So Jewish law places a limit and says: there is no such thing. When you go outside your territory, when you enter my territory, somehow Jewish law freezes. Meaning, it is no longer operative, even though there is no external thing that overrides this law, that says to it: you do not exist because there is an opposing value that overcomes you, or because there is a verse that says this. No. There is neither this nor that. This is some reasoning that the Sages decided on their own, and that is enough to determine a boundary. Up to here is your territory. From here onward your fellow determines. There are more examples of this in the context of honoring parents, but maybe I’ll start with the most classic source for this, and that is the Maharik. I mentioned him, and now I brought him, photographed him, so we can look.

The Maharik discusses the question of whether parents tell me not to marry a certain woman. I want to marry a certain woman and the parents say no, we don’t want it. I assume the meaning is that the parents express opposition not because there is some issue there from their standpoint, but for my benefit. They think she is not suitable for me or not good for me or something like that, it doesn’t matter. The Maharik does not get into that. So the Maharik says as follows: “As to that which you asked whether the father has the power to object to his son marrying a woman whom the son desires— in my humble opinion it appears that if she is a woman suitable for him, the father has no power to object to the son.” Meaning, if she is a woman suitable for him and he determines that—of course, the son himself. Meaning, if he thinks this is the woman he wants to marry, the father cannot object to the son.

First, several explanations. First explanation: “For even regarding monetary matters, the rabbis agreed with Rabbi Yirmiyah according to the one who says it comes from the father’s money, and so ruled all the halakhic decisors whom I have seen.” He says: after all, there is a dispute—and maybe we’ll touch on this later—there is a dispute regarding honoring parents: is it done from the parents’ money or from my money? Do I only need to invest my efforts and energy and time, but the money, the expenses, come from the parents? Or do I also need to spend my own money to honor parents? In Jewish law it is ruled that one honors them from the parents’ resources and not from one’s own.

Yes, the famous story about the student who came to Rabbi Chaim—yes, a yeshiva student—and asked him whether he has to travel to visit his parents. After all, the train ticket from the yeshiva home costs a lot of money, and the ruling regarding honoring parents is that it comes from their resources and not from the son’s. So Rabbi Chaim said to him: you’re absolutely right, go on foot. Meaning, he is basically telling him: you are paying the train expense for yourself, not for your parents. If you want, don’t spend the money—walk. You are obligated to honor them with your person. If you want to travel by train so it will be more convenient for you, then you are spending money for yourself, not for them. That’s a bit of pilpul on this issue, but it’s an amusing anecdote.

In any event, the Maharik is basically arguing that if regarding money I am obligated to honor parents, and Jewish law rules that this is from the parents’ resources and not from the son’s, that I am obligated to honor the parents from their means and not from mine, then all the more so regarding things that concern the woman I want to marry. That is much more significant than losing a hundred shekels of my own money. It is personal suffering, as he says: “All the more so here, where it is a matter involving bodily distress”—and “bodily” here means the distress of the person, not necessarily physical pain—“to leave the woman whom he desires and be forced to take another woman who will not be as pleasing in his eyes.”

So here is the first reason. The first reason says: it is no worse than honoring parents from my own money. If I am not obligated to honor them from my own money, why should I be obligated to honor them with my life, by giving up the woman I want to live with? What is the meaning of this principle here? I think what he means to say is that the Talmudic rule that says one does not have to honor parents from one’s own means but only from theirs, basically says what I said earlier—these territory considerations—that there are things connected to my life and my rights, and my parents cannot demand from me that I give them that or give it up for them, because it belongs to my area; it is beyond their territory.

And notice: he does not speak at all about the question of commandment. There is a commandment to marry a woman, so one need not obey the parents because this is a commandment. In a moment he will raise that too. But in this reason he gives here, it seems to me to be a pure argument of territory. This Maharik is a wonderful example of the point. By the way, the Rema rules this as Jewish law in the laws of honoring father and mother in Yoreh De’ah; the Rema brings this Maharik as Jewish law.

And then the second reason, he says: “Moreover, it seems close to me to be like a command to violate words of Torah, for our rabbis of blessed memory said: it is forbidden for a man to betroth a woman before he sees her”—except that now it was permitted lest someone else precede him, as Tosafot and the halakhic decisors wrote—“thus they were careful that he should take a woman whom he desires and who finds favor in his eyes. And in several places the Sages were concerned to make the woman beloved to her husband.” And Rabbeinu Asher—the Rosh—already replied that if the father commands his son not to speak with a certain person and not to forgive him for what he did to him until a fixed time—yes, the father tells the son: don’t forgive that fellow you fought with, who hurt you or something like that, until two years pass. Okay, am I still allowed to forgive him and reconcile with him? So he says that if the son wants to make peace, one need not be concerned with his father’s command, because it is forbidden to hate any Jew, and so on, as stated in the Tur, Yoreh De’ah.

So again, this is some dimension of commandment. It is forbidden to hate any Jew. Here, apparently, this is even straightforward because it is really “you shall not hate your brother in your heart,” and therefore I don’t really understand why—so why does he connect the Rosh to here? What is missing? There is an explicit Talmudic text that says that if my father tells me to commit a transgression, then I am forbidden to obey him. And I know this is a transgression, that it is forbidden to hate any Jew, so what is the problem? So why is this connected at all to the discussion, and why bring this strange example from the Rosh when there are explicit Talmudic texts establishing this as a general principle?

So I don’t know, but maybe there are two ways to understand it. One possibility is that it is not clear that it really is forbidden to hate a Jew. Maimonides, for example, says “you shall not hate your brother in your heart” means that it is forbidden to keep the hatred in your heart, not that it is forbidden to hate. If you hate him, tell him. So that is interesting, but that is Maimonides’ conception in the Mishneh Torah. So maybe he sees that here too it is not quite a prohibition, but something like a prohibition, as in betrothal, and therefore he brought that example. Another possibility is that perhaps he really means to say that if I want to be his friend, then once again we have returned to territory considerations. My father cannot tell me whom to be friends with and whom not to be friends with. And if I want to reconcile with him and have friendly relations with him, my father cannot tell me: don’t be on friendly terms with him. I decide how to live my life.

That does not quite emerge from his wording, because he does speak in the language of something akin to prohibition and so on. But—and here I am adding another point—it could be that even the principle “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths,” its very basis is territory considerations. Because on the level of values I am supposed to fulfill Jewish law. Now my father comes and tells me: violate a prohibition or do not fulfill a commandment. Why is it forbidden for me—why do I not have to obey him? I do not have to obey him because I choose to keep the commandments, and when I decide on a certain way of life, my father cannot dictate to me not to do that. Not because of the value in it, but because it is my right. So even the principle that appears in the Talmud itself, that “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths” means one does not obey parents who tell him to violate Jewish law—even that too may really be a private case of this broader, more fundamental principle that says: it is my right to determine my way of life as I understand it.

The difference—so you’ll ask, then why do we need this exposition of “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths”? The reason is that in the case of “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths,” I am forbidden to obey my father. If you remember, I noted in the previous class that both in Rabbi Ovadia and in Rabbi Ariel, both of them speak in very strange language. They say that the child is not obligated to obey the parents. But one has to understand: “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths” means it is forbidden to obey the parents, not that I am merely not obligated. When my father tells me to desecrate the Sabbath or commit some prohibition or not fulfill some commandment, I am forbidden to obey him, not that it is my right or that I am allowed not to obey him.

But Rabbi Ovadia and Rabbi Ariel say there that the child is allowed not to obey the parents, and both of them use the language of permission—not that it is forbidden for him to obey his father, but that he is allowed not to obey his father. But if this belongs to the section of “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths,” then the answer should have been that he is forbidden to obey him. How do you get to the point that it is only his right not to obey him? There are those who want to say: well, maybe if it is beautifying a commandment, beautifying a commandment is not an obligation. But that is what I noted last time—that beautifying a commandment is in fact an obligation, so I don’t think that is the explanation.

So what is it? In truth, I think that even they, intuitively, meant this. They meant to say: since I chose such a way of life, it is my right not to obey my father. I can obey him if I want; there is no prohibition against obeying him, because there is no opposing value here that overrides the value of honoring parents. There is a right here. It is my right not to obey my parents. If I do want to obey him, fine, that is perfectly all right; of course I may. But I am also allowed not to obey him. Therefore I suspect that if Rabbi Ovadia and Rabbi Ariel—I were to present to them what I am saying here, I think they would understand that this is in fact what they too meant, and not their own discussion. Many times a person has some intuitions and he tries to fit them into a halakhic pattern and he can’t find one, so he says: this is “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths,” and then he looks for the commandment aspect of the matter—but actually his intuition was a more fundamental intuition. At least that’s what I think.

Anyway, so perhaps here too what he brings in the name of the Rosh—that if my father tells me not to be someone’s friend or to cut off relations with someone, he cannot do that; it is my right to choose my friends, not because of the commandment involved, that it is forbidden to hate one’s fellow, but because it is my right to determine whom I love and whom I hate, or with whom I am friends, and a father cannot tell me what to do in this matter.

And further: “The dispute about from the father’s means or from the son’s means is only regarding something that pertains to the father himself—supporting the father, which is a bodily need of the father and his existence. But in a matter that does not pertain to his person, as here, it is obvious that the father has no power to object to the son, neither because of honor nor because of reverence.” What is he saying? He is saying—and now he is basically alluding to that dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim) I mentioned in Yevamot—he says that only a thing that pertains to the father’s person, the father’s support, the father’s health, things the father needs—or the mother, of course; I’m saying father, but it applies to the mother as well—things the parents need, there they can dictate to the child, and there there is room to discuss whether the child has to do it at his own expense as well, or only from the parents’ account. And Jewish law rules that even that is from the parents’ money, and there is an opinion in the Talmud that it is also from the child’s money.

But where the command is not at all for the parents’ interest but is rather intervention in the child’s life—there, according to all opinions, even according to the one who says one honors them from one’s own means, here one does not honor them from one’s own means. He does not have to obey them at all. He doesn’t want to? He does not need to give the money. And why? What is he saying here? Here he is really saying territory considerations. Here he is really saying: why, what is the difference? Where did we find a difference? According to the position of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) that there is honoring parents both here and there, then if it is from the son’s means, then it should be from the son’s means in both places—whether it is for the parents’ interest or whether it is a command that pertains to my life, what difference does it make? If there is an obligation to honor parents in both places, and the obligation to honor parents is from my money, then in both places one should have to honor them from my money. Where does this distinction come from, that the one who says the obligation to honor them is from my money means that only where the interest is theirs, but not where they are trying to command me how to live my own life? Where does that come from? It comes exactly from this point—from that very conception that says: you cannot dictate to me how to live. You cannot enter my world of rights.

Where it concerns my life, you still want me to spend my own money in order to live the way you dictate to me? And this is according to the view that gives force to the parents’ command to tell me things that do not pertain to their interest. This is all true, as I said in the previous class: yes, if my parents tell me to run every morning, I don’t know, half an hour for my health, then according to that view of the medieval authorities (Rishonim), I need to do it—that there is force even when it is not for their interest, but because they think this is what is good for me, I have to obey them. Fine. But even according to that view, if they tell me things that are essential in life—not to run half an hour every morning—then I do not have to obey them. And that is basically the claim, and this is exactly what the Maharik adds in this passage. This is exactly what he wants to say: that even according to the view that the parents’ command has force even in matters that do not pertain to their interest, even that has a territorial limit. They cannot demand that I spend my own money on this matter, and they cannot dictate substantive parameters of my way of life, unless they are asking me for trivial things. If they ask me to live differently from what I decided, that they cannot do according to all opinions—even according to the view that they are allowed to dictate things to me and not only to look after their own interests.

That is what he added here. That is what he said here: that honor pertains only to things like “feeding him, giving him drink, dressing him, putting shoes on him,” and so on; reverence means “not sitting in his place and not contradicting him,” and so on, and things of that kind that pertain to the father. “But in a matter that does not pertain to the father’s person, it is obvious that the father has no power to object to his son.” Again: the father has no power to object to his son. And even according to the one who says he does have power, certainly not to require spending money on it, and certainly not where it is substantial, like not marrying the woman I want to marry.

I think that in this Maharik—and many commentators afterward in the Shulchan Arukh—they went through this Maharik and did not notice the far-reaching principle that appears in it. He is not talking only about “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths.” He does also bring that, but throughout the responsum you can see there is something else here, something much more basic. Parents cannot dictate to me the form of life I choose. That is what the Maharik says. Besides that, when it concerns a commandment that is an additional reason, then certainly they cannot dictate to me. He brings two reasons. And the final passage here, which is also marked on the page, comes to emphasize exactly this point: there is something here beyond the question of commandment, and they cannot object to the son because it does not concern them; it concerns my territory, my life. They cannot object. And he speaks here about the view that they have the right to command me in matters that are not in their interest. True, but not in substantial things that concern me in a substantial way.

Of course this raises the question: where is the boundary? Meaning, what counts as substantial? How important does it have to be in order to be considered substantial and to override honoring parents? There is no answer to that, of course, and there should not be an answer to that. It is common sense. Meaning, only the person himself knows what really matters to him and how much it matters to him. You can’t lay down hard and fast rules here. What am I supposed to write in the Shulchan Arukh—that if someone wants to enlist in the army as an officer, that is important enough and it overrides honoring parents? For some people that is not such a meaningful matter. Then they are in fact supposed to obey their parents. For some people it is very meaningful, and then they do not need to obey their parents.

Beyond that, there is the other side of the equation: how important is it to the parents? Maybe even if it is important to me, if I see that this is really a matter of life and soul for my parents, maybe there is room nevertheless to obey them. Therefore here you cannot lay down hard and fast rules. This is a matter of judgment. What one can give are guiding lines. The guiding lines basically say: look, in principle there are boundaries to the parents’ territory and to your territory. Beyond that boundary, it is your right not to obey them. And even though there is no source for this whatsoever and it is learned from no source, still it is completely clear that parents cannot dictate to me what to do. Why? Because this is something outside Jewish law; it is a peripheral category, as I called it. It is some extra-halakhic principle that intervenes within Jewish law and says: up to here.

In that sense it is very similar—and that’s how I opened this series—to what I discussed regarding morality in the previous series. I also treated morality as a peripheral category. It is something extra-halakhic, but it can of course be involved in determining what is permitted and forbidden and what I am supposed to do even in the halakhic field. Because where I have a conflict of Jewish law versus morality, it could be that I think morality overcomes Jewish law in this case, and then I will not fulfill the law. Meaning, this affects practical decisions in halakhic domains that are determined by principles coming from outside Jewish law. Okay? Therefore in that sense this is a consideration, what I call here a peripheral consideration.

As I said earlier, it could be that behind the exposition “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths,” behind that exposition too, what really stands there is not the value that the parents want to prevent me from fulfilling, but my right. I choose to serve the Holy One, blessed be He. My parents cannot tell me not to serve Him. That is the way of life I chose for myself, even if it were not important and not some very great value. But I said: still, we need the exposition “Each of you shall fear his mother and his father, and you shall keep My Sabbaths” in order to say that unlike cases of territory considerations, here I am forbidden to obey my parents, not merely not obligated. In territory considerations I am not obligated to obey them, but if I decide that I do want to, then that’s perfectly fine. In a situation where they tell me to violate a commandment, there I am forbidden to obey them. For that one needs a source. And here one already needs an opposing value that overcomes the value of honoring parents.

Still, in the context of honoring parents—and also in this context of honoring parents from one’s own money—after all, in Jewish law we rule that one needs to honor parents only from their money. Apparently that is a strange rule. After all, throughout Jewish law there is an obligation to spend money on fulfilling a commandment—up to one fifth of one’s assets in order to fulfill a positive commandment. So why should honoring parents be less than other positive commandments? I think that here, already here, one sees territory considerations even before the Maharik. Why? Because they are basically telling me: look, I am talking now about a case where the parents are not lacking money. They are not in an economic problem. The parents are perfectly fine. And I have to honor them, and to do that I need to spend money. No, you are not obligated. Let it be done from their money. Why? Because if the parents have money, then why should I spend my money? It is my right to use my money. I have an obligation to honor them, but not at the expense of my rights. And my money is my right, and I am not obligated to spend it as long as my parents have money.

By the way, in the Shulchan Arukh there really is a fairly complicated discussion in section 240. There is a fairly complicated discussion there about exactly how I am to honor my parents from my money and from their money, whether I have to go begging from door to door, whether I have to honor them with my body and not go to work, and then in the end I will have to go begging for myself. There are distinctions among all these things, and in the end, the bottom line, it seems to me, is that what emerges there from all the details is that this really is a matter of territory. It is not a matter of override. If I want to give from my money, of course I am welcome to do so. There is no prohibition against giving from my money. I am simply not obligated. Why am I not obligated? Because the considerations of what to do with my money are my considerations. My parents cannot dictate to me what to do with my money as long as they have money. All the places in the Shulchan Arukh there where it says that I may or must spend money on the parent—and many complicated discussions of later authorities (Acharonim) are resolved here when one understands this—are really from the laws of charity, not from the laws of honoring parents. In a place where my parents lack money, then in the laws of charity, “the poor of your city take precedence.” And I am obligated to give charity to every person who lacks money, and of course my parents take precedence over everyone else. “The poor of your city take precedence.” But all that is not from the laws of honoring parents; it is from the laws of charity.

Under the laws of charity one has to spend money on them like on any other poor person, of course; that is clear. Therefore when my parents lack money, then I do have to spend my money. The whole discussion in honoring parents is when the laws of charity are not involved. My parents have money, there is no problem, they do not need my money—but now I want to honor them. Do I have to spend my money in order to honor them? Apparently for every commandment I have to spend my assets. No—what do you mean? I do not have to spend my assets where there is no logic whatsoever that if it can be done from their own assets, I should do it at the expense of my own money. Why? There is no logic in that. They have money, everything is fine.

So therefore already this very rule, of honoring parents from theirs and not from mine, seems to me to indicate some kind of territory considerations. By the way, if indeed the Shulchan Arukh writes that if in fact he does not have to honor—the Shulchan Arukh itself writes in subsection 5, in section 240 subsection 5, that he does not have to go begging in order to give his parents money if they lack money. But he does have to honor them even if it takes all his time and he cannot manage to work, and then he himself needs to go begging in order to support himself. Because here he is begging for himself. He honors them with his person, not with his money. To honor from his money he does not have to. But to honor with his person—even if in the end he himself will need to go begging—that he does have to do. And this too has different parameters and there are disputes about it, and I’m not going into all the details now. I’m just trying to illustrate this principle.

Maybe an example—no, the third example is actually what the Maharik himself brought, and it appears in subsection 16 in the Shulchan Arukh, what the Rosh wrote: that if the father commanded his son not to speak with so-and-so or not to forgive him for a fixed period, and he wants to reconcile, then he can reconcile and need not obey his parents. And again, the Shakh and the Taz there look for the commandment dimension of the matter—what commandment is there to reconcile with another person, and therefore I do not need to obey my parents. And I am arguing that this is not connected to the commandment dimension. Meaning, maybe there is also a commandment in it, but one need not get to that. Since if I want to be someone’s friend, my father cannot tell me not to be his friend.

And if that is so, then I return essentially to the two responsa of Rabbi Ovadia and Rabbi Ariel, and my claim that what is correct is to handle these questions with territory considerations and not with override considerations—override in the sense that there is some other principle that overrides honoring parents, but rather that honoring parents itself stops because of territory considerations.

I want to bring a few more examples of this matter of territory considerations in order to sharpen this aspect. Yes, one example I think I already brought several times in classes at some point is the joke by a friend of mine from Bnei Brak, some joker from Bnei Brak. We were sitting at a table and he saw some fellow there holding a book he had been looking for for a long time. So he says: look, I have two options—either take the book from you and violate “you shall not steal,” or leave you the book and violate “you shall not covet.” Since in any case I violate one of the transgressions, then it’s better that the book should be with me; either way I’m violating one of them. Now, that’s not correct even in the parameters of “you shall not covet,” and he knew that too, but let’s assume for the moment that he is right about the parameters of “you shall not covet.” Is such a consideration a relevant consideration? Apparently it is very logical: either way I violate one of them, so at least let the book be with me; either way I violate one of them. What is the problem with that? The feeling, of course, is that there is something warped here. How do we formulate that intuition in halakhic language? How do we translate it and explain to the person that you cannot make such calculations? Apparently here and here too he violates something, so why shouldn’t the book remain with him, whatever the case may be?

And the answer, I think, is again: territory considerations. You are completely right halakhically, but the book is his, not yours. And calculations that are completely right halakhically you can make in a domain that concerns you, not in domains that are mine. In my domains, even if you are halakhically right, I have no halakhic argument with you. It’s not that there is some value principle you didn’t take into account that overrides your consideration. No, not at all. It’s a question of right. I want to hold the book. Based on your halakhic considerations you decided that you can take the book from me because in any event it doesn’t matter. You decided. Spit all the saliva you want and keep deciding until tomorrow. Regarding my book, the one who decides is me, not you. Again, not because your halakhic consideration is incorrect—your halakhic consideration is correct—but you are applying it outside the boundaries of your relevant territory. You are applying it in my territory. In my territory you cannot apply calculations—even correct calculations.

This is the difference. In ordinary halakhic override, we speak of override because your calculation is not correct; there is another principle that overcomes it. Here I am saying: the calculation is correct, but even correct calculations you are not the authorized person to implement, because you are authorized to implement calculations, even correct ones, only in your territory, not in mine. In my territory I make the decisions, not you.

There is another similar example. Suppose there is a situation in which a person threatens me with a gun that I should give him a shekel, and if not he will kill me. Now the question is whether I may kill him. He threatens my life; he is a pursuer. May I kill him? Apparently not, because after all I can give him a shekel and then he won’t kill me and everything will be fine. It is forbidden to kill a person in order to save a shekel, right? So what, then is it forbidden to kill him? But obviously it is permitted. Why is it permitted? Because I am not obligated to give him a shekel. True, not obligated—but it should still be forbidden to kill him. In order to avoid killing him, it would be better to give him a shekel, no? No. In that I am not obligated to give him a shekel, he is threatening me and trying to exploit the halakhic rules that tell me: don’t kill if you can solve the problem with a shekel. He is basically trying to dictate to me what halakhic calculation I should make, namely that it is preferable to give the shekel and not kill rather than kill. And in such a situation, Jewish law freezes itself. Jewish law says: if you try to use Jewish law in order to dictate to me things regarding my rights in my territory, Jewish law freezes itself; it tells me: you can kill him under the law of a pursuer.

What is my proof? Apart from the fact that it is simple reasoning—I would say it even without proof—but there is a very nice proof. The Talmud in Sanhedrin says regarding Zimri and Pinchas that if Pinchas turned around toward Zimri and Zimri killed Pinchas, he would not be executed for it. After all, when Pinchas came to stab Zimri, there with Cozbi bat Tzur, Zimri could have turned around and killed Pinchas under the law of a pursuer. He would have been exempt. So the Kli Chemdah asks—he brings it in the name of the rebbe of Gur, if I am not mistaken—at the end of the portion of Balak he asks this question: after all, he could simply stop sinning, and then obviously Pinchas would not kill him, and there would be no need to kill Pinchas in order to save himself. And the rule in the law of a pursuer is that if one can save him by injuring one of his limbs, there is no permission to kill the pursuer. Meaning, if I can, say, injure his leg and thereby save myself, then I do not have permission to shoot him and kill him. If I can save myself without killing the pursuer, there is no permission to kill the pursuer. And here, I can save myself without killing the pursuer—how? Simply stop sinning. If I stop sinning, Pinchas will not kill me and everything will be fine. So the Kli Chemdah says there—again, this is in the name of the rebbe of Gur—and this is the plain sense of the Talmud.

The Kli Chemdah says: again, there are positions among the medieval authorities (Rishonim) according to which the pursued person himself is not subject to that limitation that if he can be saved by injuring one of the pursuer’s limbs, then he may not kill the pursuer. He is not required to make such fine calculations because he is under pressure; he is being pursued. But according to some of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) it is not so; this is a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim). According to some of them, even the pursued person, if he can save himself without killing the pursuer, may not kill the pursuer. So according to those authorities at least, we need to understand here: why was Zimri allowed to kill Pinchas under the law of a pursuer? He could have stopped sinning and then been saved even without killing Pinchas. He could save himself by another means.

So the answer is: true, I can stop sinning and then he won’t kill me. But I don’t feel like stopping sinning; I want to sin. That is my business with the Holy One, blessed be He, and He will settle accounts with me about whether I sinned or did not sin. That is not your grandmother’s business. If you demand that I stop sinning—I do not want to stop sinning. You threaten that you will kill me if I do not stop sinning; I will kill you, because when you threaten me, you are a pursuer. And that is permitted; Jewish law recognizes it. There is a law of a pursuer here; I am allowed to kill him for the sake of the right to sin. I have the right to sin. Obviously afterward I’ll get what’s coming to me and the Holy One, blessed be He, will settle accounts with me for having sinned. But you, Pinchas, cannot demand from me that I stop sinning. So, and all the more so when a person threatens me and says: give me a shekel or else I’ll kill you, then clearly I am allowed to shoot him because he has the law of a pursuer. After all, holding on to the shekel is certainly my right; there is no transgression in that. Even something that is a transgression, and I am forbidden to do it, but I have the right to do it and you have no right to demand that I not do it—that is my accounting with the Holy One, blessed be He. In such a situation I am allowed to kill you. So in a case where I simply do not want to give you a shekel—not wanting to give you a shekel is completely my right; that shekel is mine. So in such a case it is clear that I am allowed to kill you. Don’t threaten me and don’t take the risk, and then you won’t die.

In a similar context, I once wrote an article about killing a burglar, something like the Shai Dromi law. The story was that several Bedouins entered Shai Dromi’s farm at night and he shot them and killed them. They came to steal; apparently they did not threaten his life, at least that was the assumption there, and in order to prevent them from stealing he killed them. And then they sentenced him to prison, and afterward they passed—the whole thing caused a huge uproar, public argument—but according to the law he really had violated the law, meaning they sentenced him and sent him to prison. The claim was: you should have called the police; you cannot kill people in order to save property. And afterward the Shai Dromi law was passed, which mitigated this a bit—not entirely, but it was more moderate.

And when I heard that story, my intuition was unequivocal: kill them. No problem at all, it is permitted to kill them. Why? Exactly because of the consideration I just mentioned: if you enter my house and want to steal from me, and you rely on the fact that I won’t kill you because after all money does not justify killing a person, then you are basically trying to manipulate me with the halakhic rules to which I am subject and profit from that money in a cynical way. In such a situation Jewish law freezes itself—that was my claim—and therefore I am allowed to kill you. Exactly like with the shekel or with Pinchas and Zimri.

So they said to me there—I sent this article to Techumin—so they said to me: but what do you mean? In the law of “if the burglar is found in the tunnel and is struck and dies, there is no bloodguilt for him,” the Torah already speaks of this, and the Talmud in Sanhedrin says that if I shoot a burglar then I am exempt. It’s just that when the Talmud discusses this, it says: why indeed is that so? Because of the concern that if I start fighting with him he’ll kill me, and since he threatens to kill me, there is a law of a pursuer here and therefore I kill him. How can you derive from here permission to kill a burglar where there is no concern that he will kill me? Let us say for the sake of discussion that there was no concern that he would kill him even if he confronted them; of course they would manage to take his property, but there was no concern for his life. The question is whether in such a situation he may shoot them in order to prevent the theft. I argued yes. The whole Techumin editorial staff revolted there and said: absolutely not, that cannot be correct, it contradicts the Talmud.

It was interesting—in a moment I’ll tell you what my arguments were—but just as an anecdote, they wanted to turn to their board, to their council, to decide, because I did not agree with their arguments, I responded and so on, and they wanted to turn—it was Rabbi Shaar Yashuv, Rabbi Ariel, and Rabbi Lichtenstein. In the meantime only Rabbi Ariel, may he live and be well; the other two are already of blessed memory. So that was their board, and they wanted to ask the board what they thought. Then it turned out that the board had forgotten that it was a board at all—they had been appointed thirty years earlier to be the council of Techumin, and none of them remembered he was on the Techumin council. In the end they decided to publish the article with the editorial notes and my responses below. That is what they ultimately did.

And what is the point? I said to them like this: I claim that the permission to kill the burglar is based not on the mortal danger to me but rather it is permission for the sake of defending property. What is the proof? Think of a case where I am in the room, asleep in the house, and at night a burglar enters my home. They tell me: look, you are allowed to kill him because if you struggle against him—what do you mean? Stay quietly in the room; try not to snore so he won’t see you’re there, and let him steal all the money, and then go to the police afterward. What permission do you have at all to go out and struggle with him, where then perhaps he will pull a gun and threaten you, and therefore you may kill him? If you have such a concern, stay in the locked room, let him take what he takes, and afterward go to the police. Why does the Torah and also the Talmud permit me to go and struggle with him, even though clearly there is—well, not clearly, but there is concern that he will pull a gun and then basically they are telling me: look, don’t even start struggling with him, just shoot him immediately. They are not telling me: struggle, and only if he pulls a gun, shoot him. They are saying: no, because if you struggle he may pull a gun, you may just shoot him immediately, even without struggling. But the justification is of course the concern lest he pull a gun, so there is indeed some justification of saving life.

So I say: yes, but either way, if the justification is saving life, I have a simpler solution: stay in the room and don’t struggle. What justifies taking a life in order to save property? After all, the only reason you go out is to save property. He won’t kill you if you keep sleeping in the room. Therefore it is obvious from the matter itself that the permission here is not permission because of danger to life; it is permission in order to protect property. Rather, there is an assessment that if you protect your property you may get into mortal danger, and therefore they permit you to kill him. But in the end, the foundation is protection of property. Because if protecting property did not justify killing him, then stay asleep in the room, don’t protect the property, no one will die, and everything will be fine—except that you lost property. Why do the Torah and Jewish law permit you nevertheless to defend yourself? Because ultimately you are allowed to kill him in order to protect the property.

My claim was that this whole rationale—that there is concern that he will kill you—I explained it in several ways, but my claim basically was—one of my claims was—that the point is that where you can fight with him without his pulling a gun and overcome him, then indeed it is forbidden for you to kill him. Why? Because you can save your property without killing him; it is like “you can save him by one of his limbs.” But what is the claim? The claim is that if you defend yourself against him and try to protect the property, he will pull a gun and then you will lose the property—not just your money, he will simply overpower you. In that situation, don’t let him get to that point at all; just shoot him immediately. So the issue is not mortal danger. The issue is that thanks to the gun he will pull, you will not succeed in preventing the theft. That is the point. Therefore you are allowed to shoot him—not because of mortal danger. And indeed, if you can overpower him and there is no danger to your life, then certainly it is forbidden to kill him; then try to overpower him by force without killing him. Therefore the drawing of the gun there is not really an issue of mortal danger. And I have a proof of that too.

The Talmud there in Sanhedrin, in the chapter of the stubborn and rebellious son, asks there: what is the law on the Sabbath? A burglar comes into my house on the Sabbath—am I also allowed on the Sabbath to kill him? There is a prohibition of taking life on the Sabbath. Am I allowed to kill him? Now, in the law of a pursuer there is no verse, and it is all straightforward and obvious that it is permitted to kill the pursuer and one must kill the pursuer even on the Sabbath. So why do I need a special verse to teach me that in the case of a burglar in the tunnel, I may kill him even on the Sabbath? Law of a pursuer, no? He is simply threatening my life. This is permission; this is a clause under the law of a pursuer, no? Because there would have been a possibility, without the verse, that on the Sabbath I would be forbidden to kill him. So what—on the Sabbath I should die? Of course not. On the Sabbath I should stay in the room and not go out. Why? Because on the Sabbath what happens is that the cost, if I go out and confront him, is not his life. His life is no problem—he entered a trap and should bear the consequences; he lost his life because he put himself into this equation. But on the Sabbath the problem is not his life; the problem is my Sabbath prohibition, which is very severe. Taking life on the Sabbath—liable to stoning. Who says I am allowed to do that for property? After all, I have to lose all my money in order not to violate a prohibition, certainly a Sabbath prohibition. There the initial thought would have been: stay in the room, don’t confront him, he won’t pull the gun, he won’t endanger you, you won’t need to kill him, give him the money. Let him take the money and go, and then you won’t have to desecrate the Sabbath.

For that you need a verse, because without the verse I really would have said no. I would have said: let him take it. In the law of a pursuer it is permitted to kill the pursuer on the Sabbath; one must kill the pursuer on the Sabbath. But simply don’t enter a situation where there will be a law of a pursuer here—stay in the room and don’t go out to him—and then there is no problem. The verse comes and says that on the Sabbath, even though the prohibition is a Sabbath prohibition, not merely injury to his life—the issue is your prohibition. Why not sacrifice my money so that I do not violate a prohibition? To save his life, I do not need to sacrifice any of my money—that we saw with Pinchas and with the shekel. But in order not to violate my own Sabbath prohibition, I need to spend all my assets. So he’ll steal my money—so what? The main thing is that I not violate the Sabbath. The Talmud says: in a place where there is an agent trying to exploit Jewish law cynically and to cause it that, because of halakhic constraints, he will succeed in taking my money, Jewish law freezes itself and even Sabbath desecration is overridden—you may kill him. The problem is not only that we disregard his life; even the Sabbath is frozen. The Sabbath too is frozen.

And that is really the point: again, an extremely strong territory consideration. It is a territory consideration that basically says that in an area where someone tries to dictate things to me and tries to use Jewish law in order to force me to give up my rights, Jewish law freezes itself—including the laws of the Sabbath, including the prohibition of murder, including everything. Jewish law freezes itself: do what you want in order to save yourself. Nobody can dictate to you what to do with your money. Even though, again, if I need to spend money in order to avoid Sabbath desecration, I have to spend all my assets. Here there is no one else cynically doing this to me; that is simply how it comes out. Then I need to spend all my assets in order not to commit the transgression. But if someone puts me into that situation and tries to manipulate me and use halakhic constraints to cause me to lose my rights, Jewish law says: I freeze myself.

What is the source for that? There is that verse about the Sabbath, but you understand that this is an exposition the Talmud made; one could have derived a hundred other things from the verse. It is obvious that there was reasoning here. The reasoning is territory reasoning. There is a territory reasoning that says that what concerns me, no one else is allowed to dictate; no one else can dictate to me what to do with my money. And if he tries to do that by means of Jewish law, let him bear the consequences. Jewish law freezes itself; there are no halakhic constraints on it anymore. Therefore my claim is—yes, it is like the American approach—if someone enters my house and wants to steal money from me, I shoot him in the head. That’s it, no cleverness. Again, if necessary—if I can prevent the theft without that and without danger to my life, then of course that is what should be done. But if there is even the slightest concern, there is no problem. He enters, and all the known dilemmas—you know, the poisoned sandwich, all kinds of urban legends like that about a person who put shards of glass in the window so that if a burglar came in there he would get hurt.

So there is some urban legend that in the United States there was such a burglar and he sued the homeowner and won damages because they had put glass on the window. I have no idea whether that’s true or not; if it’s true, it’s crazy. But there is another story, also an urban legend, but some time ago it was circulating as if it really happened—I don’t know exactly if it happened or not—about some punching-bag kind of kid whose sandwich was always taken by the kids in class. So one time he brought a poisoned sandwich to class. And someone took his sandwich and died because he ate the poisoned sandwich. The question is whether one may do such a thing. Okay? I tend to think it is permitted. If you have no other way to save the sandwich, then it is permitted. Although here there is room for a bit of hesitation, because when you put the poisoned sandwich there, you are not saving that sandwich, you are simply killing him. Here there is room to discuss. Maybe you are saving tomorrow’s sandwiches, but not this sandwich. This sandwich is simply a trap; it isn’t—so maybe there is room to hesitate. But the principle is that if someone inserts himself into a situation and relies on the fact that I will not violate Jewish law and in that way he will succeed in forcing me to give up my rights, then Jewish law says: I freeze myself. For this there is proof from the Magen Avraham, there on a comment by the merchant on the book where I wrote this there in Jewish law, but I don’t want to go into more of those details.

Actually I need to finish, so I’ll just say in one sentence what I’m going to do next time. I want to expand this matter of territory considerations and explain that way Rashi’s well-known position in the chapter HaKones, where Rashi said that a person may not save himself with another person’s money. Meaning, I may not steal or damage another person’s money even if I—at the cost of my life. Everyone is astonished by this Rashi: how can that be? After all, “be killed rather than transgress”—sorry, only applies to three severe transgressions: idolatry, forbidden sexual relations, and bloodshed. Where did we ever find that the prohibition of theft overrides saving life? Meaning, I am in a life-threatening situation, and in order to save myself I need to take your money—yes? So Rashi tells us: I may not take your money; I have to die. Meaning, in order not to violate the prohibition of theft I have to die. Since when is theft one of the severe transgressions for which one must give up one’s life rather than transgress? That is the claim, that is the question on Rashi, and I want to explain that too in terms of territory and also to expand it a bit.

All right, we’ll stop here. Does anyone want to ask or comment? Okay, so we’ll stop here. Good night, see you.