Innovation, Conservatism, and Tradition – Lesson 2

Table of Contents

• The philosophy of conservatism versus the psychology of conservatism
• The swimsuit example and two kinds of conservatism
• Suspicion of self-interest, Jonah and the gourd, and an analogy to criminal law
• Wittgenstein and rule-following as interpretation
• The hermeneutic circle and the difference between academic and traditional interpretation
• Defining “Reform” versus “heretic” in a model of partial commitment
• Shattering dichotomies: “the third way,” the Maharal, and the sorites paradox
• A cautious sociological mapping: Haredim, Modern Orthodox, Reform
• “There really are no plain conservatives”: conservative ethos versus actual change
• Conservatives, Religious Zionism, and the distinction between maps
• A closing note on “do not place a stumbling block before the blind”

Summary

General Overview

The text defines conservatism, innovation, and tradition through an analysis of arguments rather than through a psychological characterization of people, and suggests that many disputes are not between a “conservative” and an “innovator” but between different interpretations of the same rule. The central example of moving from swimsuits to a cold region illustrates the distinction between “plain” conservatism and “midrashic” conservatism, and the possibility that both sides can argue in the name of tradition. The text draws on Wittgenstein, the hermeneutic circle, and the sorites paradox to argue that every act of rule-following requires interpretation, and that many dichotomies are logical failures. Within this theoretical map, four types of argument are proposed: a heretic outside the game, a Reform Jew who is only partially committed, and two kinds of conservatism that are committed to the system but interpret it differently. It then argues that even “plain conservatism” is mostly an ethos rather than a reality, and that Conservative Judaism is not a separate category of argument but a variation of midrashic conservatism.

The philosophy of conservatism versus the psychology of conservatism

The text states that conservatism is not a psychological tendency but an ideological outlook, and therefore a person can be inwardly a “cheerful innovator” while holding a conservative position in his arguments. The text sets the goal as examining arguments rather than arguers, and prefers to characterize kinds of reasoning rather than traits of character. It defines the discussion as dealing with the philosophy of conservatism and with a logical mapping of positions, rather than with psychology or sociology as such.

The swimsuit example and two kinds of conservatism

The text presents a group walking in the desert in swimsuits who arrive in a cold region, and sets two responses against one another: continuing to wear swimsuits in the name of tradition, or switching to warm clothing. The text argues that changing to warm clothing can itself be a conservative argument if it interprets ancestral tradition as the principle of adapting clothing to the weather, rather than as a command to wear a “swimsuit” specifically. The text calls literal adherence “plain conservatism” and the preservation of the abstract principle “midrashic conservatism,” and adds that according to the midrashic conservative, it is precisely the plain conservative who is “violating the rules,” because he misses the principle that the tradition is really demanding.

Suspicion of self-interest, Jonah and the gourd, and an analogy to criminal law

The text notes a possible asymmetry: in the warm-clothing example, the midrashic conservative can sometimes look like someone choosing what is convenient for him and therefore may arouse suspicion that he is hiding behind tradition, whereas the plain conservative chooses what is inconvenient and is therefore less suspect. The text rejects the identification of midrashic conservatism with convenience, and argues that change “according to circumstances” can be either more stringent or more lenient, and therefore is not necessarily self-interested. The text cites Jonah’s a fortiori argument about the gourd and suggests that the cynical reading—“Jonah had pity on himself”—is “the suspicious mind of the interpreter,” and that even if something is convenient for a person, that is not proof that he is acting only out of self-interest. The text compares this to the criminal-law rule of motive, means, and opportunity as grounds for suspicion but not for conviction, and distinguishes between cautious prevention and punishment based merely on suspicion.

Wittgenstein and rule-following as interpretation

The text quotes the later Wittgenstein from Philosophical Investigations on the subject of following a rule, and argues that there is no rule-following without interpretation. The text uses the number sequence “3, 5, 7” and shows that continuing with “9” assumes the rule of odd numbers, while continuing with “11” assumes the rule of prime numbers—and in both cases this is interpretation. The text expands this point and says that any continuation is in principle possible, illustrating how one can construct a polynomial function that will fit any four desired terms, so that every rule allows a rationalization that supports whatever continuation is chosen. The text concludes that even “plain meaning” is interpretation, that the distinction between plain meaning and interpretation is not entirely objective, and jokes that plain meaning is “my interpretation” while interpretation is “your interpretation.” Even so, despite the philosophical point, it agrees that within a given cultural context there is an intuition about what counts as more plain and what counts as more interpretive.

The hermeneutic circle and the difference between academic and traditional interpretation

The text describes a hermeneutic circle in which the text is both the basis of interpretation and the source of feedback for validating it, and therefore there is no clear external criterion for deciding between interpretations. The text describes an academic method that tries to break out of the circle by using historical context, biography, manuscripts, and comparison of textual versions as independent sources. By contrast, the text describes the traditional learner as someone who interprets the text “from within” without relying on contextual tools of that sort.

Defining “Reform” versus “heretic” in a model of partial commitment

The text examines how to distinguish between a midrashic conservative, a plain conservative, a heretic, and a Reform Jew in the swimsuit example, and rejects the definition that a Reform Jew is someone who says “I’m cold, so I’m changing” without reference to tradition, because that would be a heretic who is not committed to the system of rules. The text also rejects the definition that a Reform Jew is someone who accepts only part of the rules, because that is a combination of conservatism with respect to one part and heresy with respect to another, rather than a clear “fourth model.” The text proposes a model in which a Reform Jew is someone who remains “inside the game” but whose commitment to tradition is not absolute; rather, it lies somewhere on a scale between 0 and 1, so that sometimes other considerations override tradition because tradition is not always the decisive value. The text distinguishes between an Orthodox person who may fail in practice when something is inconvenient for him, and an ideology that from the outset defines commitment as incomplete, and clarifies that the mapping is aimed at arguments rather than at sociological definitions of people.

Shattering dichotomies: “the third way,” the Maharal, and the sorites paradox

The text argues that conceptual tangles arise when a dichotomy appears to cover all possibilities, while in fact another option exists, and presents a “toolbox” for breaking dichotomies apart. The text attributes to the Maharal the principle that two opposing positions always have a common basis, and therefore attacking that shared basis can expose possibilities that are not on the same axis at all. The text demonstrates this with the dichotomy of “Religious Zionism or Haredism” and argues that both sides assume a kind of “religious imperialism,” according to which every value must either be part of religion or be heresy, whereas a third possibility recognizes domains that are not religiously decided. The text cites the story of the rabbi from Ponovezh who said that on Israel Independence Day he neither recites Hallel nor omits Tachanun, and explains this as a kind of Zionism that is not part of religiosity, presenting it as a possibility that is neither Religious Zionist nor anti-Zionist. The text invokes the sorites paradox to show that a dichotomous failure is solved when “either/or” is replaced with a continuous scale, and applies this to the claim that commitment to tradition is not necessarily 0 or 1, but can be 0.7, thereby creating a niche for “Reform” within the model.

A cautious sociological mapping: Haredim, Modern Orthodox, Reform

The text tries to map familiar groups onto the “map of arguments” and identifies plain conservatism with the Haredi ethos, and midrashic conservatism with the Modern Orthodox person who interprets continuity with tradition as adaptation to circumstances. The text defines Reform Jews as people for whom tradition matters, but not at any price, and illustrates the distinction with a question about failing to perform ritual handwashing without any conflict of values, as evidence of incomplete commitment. The text warns that the sociological mapping is not airtight, and that people can hold arguments that do not match their group affiliation, and therefore one should judge the reasoning rather than “the color of the gartel.”

“There really are no plain conservatives”: conservative ethos versus actual change

The text argues, בעקבות Wittgenstein, that there is no real plain conservatism, because even someone who claims he is merely “continuing” necessarily interprets and changes. The text argues that Haredism “sells” an ethos of no change and of identity with what was given at Sinai, but in practice changes all the time and differs from previous generations; sober-minded people know this even if they continue living within the consciousness of that ethos. The text gives examples such as the statement that Abaye and Rava studied in Yiddish, and the claim that every future innovation was already said to Moses at Sinai, presenting them as components of a plain-conservative consciousness that is not historical. The text argues that both in the Hardal yeshiva world and in Brisk there appears a pattern in which an innovative outlook presents itself as the continuation of “tradition” and attacks others in the name of that same tradition, and quotes Jacob Katz that Orthodoxy is a modern, ideological invention created in response to Reform ideology.

Conservatives, Religious Zionism, and the distinction between maps

The text argues that on the map of arguments there is no unique “Conservative” argument, because Conservative Judaism is usually a form of midrashic conservatism similar to Modern Orthodoxy, and the differences are mainly in degree and in the range of sources considered binding. The text gives the example of permitting travel to synagogue on the Sabbath as a value-based, meta-halakhic decision that could also appear among Orthodox halakhic decisors, and therefore does not by itself define a Reform argument. The text emphasizes that “Religious Zionism” is not a category on the map of halakhic arguments because it is a political and identity-based ideology, not a method of halakhic reasoning and interpretation. The text mentions Moshe Zemer’s book A Reasonable Halakha as a repository of arguments, some of which can be placed within an Orthodox halakhic discussion, and concludes with a call to examine the argument itself rather than the identity of the speaker.

A closing note on “do not place a stumbling block before the blind”

The text responds to a question and argues that “do not place a stumbling block before the blind” applies even when the person knows the prohibition, giving as an example the nazirite, who knows that wine is forbidden to him, and yet the Talmud presents handing wine to him as a case of “do not place a stumbling block before the blind.” The text rejects the distinction that the prohibition depends on the “blindness” of ignorance, and ends the lecture with the blessing, Shabbat shalom.

Okay, last time we started the whole issue of conservatism, innovation, and tradition. And after the introduction, where I used one of the chapters from The Little Prince with the lamplighter, there I tried to illustrate through him all kinds of characteristics of conservatives or of conservatism, and I added a few reservations. Yes, I said that I’m talking about—not the conservative temperament or conservative psychology, but conservative philosophy. Meaning: what are the conservative arguments, not what are the conservative personality traits. As far as I’m concerned, a conservative person is not a description of a psychological inclination, but a worldview—that is, an ideology or outlook or something like that. A person might be inwardly a cheerful innovator, but ideologically support conservatism. And someone who is naturally inclined toward conservatism—that belongs to psychology, not philosophy; it doesn’t interest me. We need to examine the arguments, not the arguers. So I said that basically I’m dealing with—dealing, meaning after I said I’m dealing with philosophy and not psychology, I also say that I’m dealing with arguments and not with arguers. I said that instead of characterizing a person, I characterize arguments. Yossi, mute yourself, mute. Okay.

Anyway, after that introduction I began with the example of the swimsuits: yes, people are walking around in swimsuits, their forefathers walked in swimsuits in the desert, and at some point they reach a cold region. Some continue walking around in swimsuits because the tradition of their forefathers is in their hands; they are certainly conservatives. And those who want to switch to warmer clothing are, supposedly, not conservatives but innovators, reformers, or whatever. But on a second look I argued that it depends on what argument the two sides are making. If the argument they make is that in fact their forefathers wore swimsuits because they operated in a hot area, and since now we are entering a cold area, we should wear clothing—warm clothing, clothing suited to the weather—then that argument can definitely be interpreted, and rightly I think, as a conservative argument. We are actually preserving the tradition of our forefathers, except that the tradition we are preserving does not say “one must wear swimsuits,” but rather “one must wear clothing suited to the weather,” and that tradition we preserve scrupulously, even zealously perhaps.

And more than that, I also say—or said—that if I really am a conservative, what I called a midrashic conservative as opposed to a simplistic conservative, then the simplistic conservative is actually not conservative at all; he’s a transgressor, because he violates the rules. Since the rule says you should wear clothing suited to the weather, not specifically a swimsuit. So the fact that he continues walking around in a swimsuit is actually a violation, yes? He deviates from the tradition. Therefore that intuitive feeling—that the innovator may pay a price but the conservative is playing it safe, or that the simplistic conservative is playing it safe while the midrashic conservative may pay a price—has no basis. Meaning, according to the midrashic conservative, the simplistic conservative pays a price, and vice versa; it’s completely symmetrical. The whole question is: what is the principle we are preserving? Is it a principle that copies what our forefathers did then, yes—that’s what I called simplistic conservatism: I go by the plain meaning; they wore swimsuits, so I also wear swimsuits. Or is the principle I preserve not the simplistic one, but something I’ve given a midrashic interpretation to? I say: they didn’t just wear swimsuits; they wore clothing suited to the weather. Ah, if so, according to my interpretation, then the principle to preserve is not the principle of wearing swimsuits, but the principle of wearing clothing suited to the weather. Naturally, the conclusions about living in a cold region change. That was basically the claim. And therefore these are two conservative types: one a simplistic conservative and one a midrashic conservative.

I noted a bit that still there is some kind of asymmetry. The midrashic conservative—at least in the example I gave here—in many cases chooses a path that is more comfortable. Simply out of self-interest, it’s more comfortable for him. So when he claims that this too is what tradition demands of us, it may arouse suspicion that he is really cloaking himself in the mantle of tradition, but in fact doing what he feels like. In contrast, the simplistic conservative is acting in a way that is not comfortable for him. Meaning, in his case there isn’t that suspicion that maybe he’s just using traditional or conservative language in order to do what he wants, because he’s not doing what he wants. And I said that’s not true, or not always true, because equally there can be a dispute that goes in the uncomfortable direction. Meaning, the midrashic conservative may demand a correction in behavior in a way that is not comfortable for him, but he thinks that this is what fits the present circumstances.

In the swimsuit example that gets confusing, because there the discussion is about comfort. Why do I say that in a cold area you should wear warm clothes? Because my assumption is that what our forefathers commanded us was to dress in the way most suited to the weather, the most comfortable. Therefore there, my interpretation of the tradition also aligns with my personal comfort. But that is of course a parable. In the thing being illustrated, when we speak about changing Jewish law, it is not necessarily so. When I want, I don’t know, to change Jewish law according to circumstances today, there are cases where that will be a stricter change, and cases where it will be a more lenient change. These changes will not always be changes that are more comfortable for me in terms of self-interest. So this identification that people always make between midrashic conservatism and striving for comfort is incorrect; it is not necessarily correct. There are situations where it doesn’t fit at all; there are situations where it fits, but it still isn’t true. I really do it because that’s what I think, not because it’s convenient for me. That’s just the suspicious mindset of the interpreter; that’s his problem. But the fact that it’s convenient for me—too good to be kosher, as I said—even if it’s convenient for me, that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

Yes, it reminds me of Jonah’s a fortiori argument with the gourd. At the end of the Book of Jonah, the Holy One, blessed be He, puts Jonah through a workshop. He makes the gourd grow for him, and then sends a worm and a scorching east wind, and the gourd dries up and dies. Then the Holy One, blessed be He, asks Jonah: “Are you that greatly grieved?” And he says: “I am greatly grieved, even unto death.” Then the Holy One, blessed be He, says to him: “You cared about the gourd, for which you did not labor and which you did not grow, and shall I not care about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are thousands of people and many animals,” and so on. This a fortiori argument is extremely puzzling. What kind of a fortiori argument is that? Jonah did not care about the gourd; Jonah cared about himself. Meaning, he made use of the gourd because it gave him shade, it helped him. So the fact that he was upset when the gourd died was not because he had become emotionally attached to the gourd, but because he needed it. It hurt him in terms of self-interest. So what kind of a fortiori argument is that? The Holy One, blessed be He, doesn’t need Nineveh. So what is this: you cared about the gourd, so should I not care about Nineveh? I didn’t care about the gourd; and what does that have to do with whether You care about Nineveh or not?

So yes, that’s the difficulty. It’s an obvious difficulty. One of the answers—I always give two answers in two directions—but one of the answers is that this interpretation of Jonah is the suspicious mindset of the interpreter. It’s true that the gourd was convenient for Jonah. Does that necessarily mean Jonah didn’t care about the gourd? Why? It’s true, it was also convenient for him that there be a gourd, but beyond that, it also could genuinely be that he cared about the gourd. Who said not? What do you mean, a gourd—it’s a plant, it’s not an entity. Yes. We’re talking here about a parable. The parable says: I care about the gourd. It’s like Moses’ gratitude in that he did not strike the Nile or the dust; yes, there too, what does gratitude to water or dust mean? Clearly this is some kind of educational metaphor. So I’m using a metaphor here on the educational plane.

So the claim is that the fact that Jonah had an interest in the continued existence of the gourd does not necessarily mean that Jonah acted on the basis of self-interest. That’s our political commentators. The moment you point to an interest that some politician has, that immediately means his action is illegitimate. Who says so? It may be that he really thinks that this is the proper way to act; true, it also fits his interests. That people won’t chase after you. So the fact that you have an interest doesn’t mean you aren’t acting uprightly. It may arouse suspicion—okay, suspicion I understand—but you cannot pass judgment just because you found an interest there. The fact that there is an interest—yes, like even in criminal law, you know, they always… yes right, it reminds me of the Avnei Nezer. In criminal law they always say that with a defendant you look for the opportunity—how does it go? The motive, the motivation, the opportunity, and the capability, yes? The means, whether he had the option to do it. Whether he had the opportunity to do it, whether he could have done it, and whether he had the motivation to do it. But understand: if I find someone who had motivation, had opportunity, and had the capability, you still cannot convict him. Meaning, without one of those three, it doesn’t even begin. But when all three exist, that still doesn’t mean you can convict him. What, the fact that I had opportunity, capability, and motivation means I did it? Suppose someone was murdered. I had motivation to murder him, I had opportunity to murder him, and I had the ability to murder him—I own a gun. Does that mean I murdered him? A judge who convicts a person on the basis of that trio should himself be put in jail. Clearly those are preliminary conditions; they are conditions that arouse suspicion. That’s fine. Suspicion, yes—now investigate. But you cannot convict on the basis of those three conditions.

So here too I say the same thing: the fact that someone has an interest doesn’t mean he acted on the basis of that interest. It means there is room for suspicion. So in our case too, going back to the swimsuits, the fact that a certain group behaves in a way that is convenient for it can certainly arouse suspicion. It could be that they are lying—they don’t really think this is how one should act, but it’s convenient for them, so they do it. And everything else is just a kind of cover for what is really a search for comfort. Following what’s convenient, as they say.

Excuse me a second—regarding what you just said, that if the three conditions exist you still can’t accuse: when you go into a firing range, according to Israeli law, if someone feels threatened, you don’t have to do anything—he feels threatened, and you’re already found guilty and they take your gun away. No, no, I didn’t understand. When you have the capability, the motivation, and the opportunity, and someone else on the other side feels threatened, without you having done anything—he feels threatened. Okay. Then they already take away your weapon. Fine, so what does that mean? That you didn’t do anything. You’re now saying you can’t convict. No, wait, but that’s not punishment. Taking away a weapon is prevention. No, but it definitely is punishment. To whom—for every… what? Of course not. It’s prevention. Today the directives at firing ranges say you’re not allowed to walk around with the weapon visible because people may feel threatened—you haven’t done anything. The moment you have, as you just said, all three… But it’s not punishment, it’s prevention; again I repeat. You can’t punish on that basis. What, if someone feels threatened they’ll put me in jail? No, but they’ll take your gun. They’ll take my gun because it’s prevention. I said: suspicion, there is room for suspicion, like the Talmudic phrase “one should be concerned for suspicion of slander.” Of course there is room for suspicion, but to convict on that basis? Of course not. When there is room for suspicion I can understand if they say, okay, just to be sure, on the safe side, take his gun away, I don’t know exactly what. Fine, I don’t know that rule, but fine. Certainly you cannot convict on the basis of that.

Anyway, I drifted a bit, let’s get back to our matter. The claim that someone has an interest still does not mean he acted on the basis of that interest. Therefore the fact that… so therefore even in cases where the change I advocate is also a change more convenient for me, that does not necessarily mean I’m doing it because of convenience, that I’m not an honest person, that I’m not presenting the arguments honestly. No—it may be convenient for me, and I still truly think that this is correct. And besides, there are situations where the change is not really convenient for me, but that’s what I think should be done today.

Can I ask a question for a moment? A question about last week—we spoke about a woman being disqualified from testimony. You said that you would change that, right? I said that there is room for an argument in favor of changing it. But why do you assume that the Sages thought she was unreliable? Maybe for other reasons they wanted to protect her. Maybe. I’ll get to that later in today’s lecture. That “maybe” may be very important; I’ll get to it later. You’ll have to bring evidence for that, for your suspicion, for how they thought. And that is the big question: who has to bring the proof here? I’ll get to that in a moment.

So that is the claim. The claim, in short, if I summarize, is that so far we have two types of conservatives: a simplistic conservative and a midrashic conservative. I might even say more than that. In Wittgenstein’s book—later Wittgenstein, yes, Philosophical Investigations—there is a section there dealing with following a rule. And his argument basically says that… yes, this is in contrast to early Wittgenstein. Early Wittgenstein says—I think that’s the early one—I see the rule and simply follow it without making any further interpretation. That is called fidelity to the rule. In the argument about following a rule he basically denies this. He says: there is no such thing. There is no way to act according to a rule without giving it an interpretation.

Yes, the nice example he gives—let’s do a demonstration here. One second. Okay, wait, I’m sharing the screen here. There is a sequence of numbers, yes, a psychometric test. A sequence of numbers: 3, 5, 7—what is the next number? 9. What do I hear? 9. 9, does everyone agree? 11. Oh—either you know it or it’s… wait, why do I have this echo here? Do you hear me twice? Yes. No. There’s some kind of echo here, I don’t know. Wait, is there still an echo now? Yes, still. Fine, I don’t know. Okay, I’ll try to continue like this. Anyway, the obvious next number, what people usually think of, is 9. 3, 5, 7, 9. What Eliyahu says is that it could also be 11. The first assumption was that we’re dealing here with odd numbers. The second assumption is that we’re dealing with prime numbers. Prime numbers are 3, 5, 7, 11. Right? This is impossible, it sounds doubled the whole time. I can’t hear. Problem. The computer broke twice. Yes, it’s hard like this. I don’t know what to do with this echo. You know what, I’ll reopen the meeting. Fine. So I’m closing and reopening. Okay, so I’m back.

The sequence 3, 5, 7—we saw two possibilities for continuing it: either 9, if the assumption is that these are odd numbers, or 11, if the assumption is that these are prime numbers. Okay? Which one is more correct? Let’s ask: who is the simplistic conservative and who is the midrashic conservative here? The one who continues with 9, or the one who continues with 11? What is the plain continuation and what is the continuation that requires interpretation? 9 is plain. No—why? There’s that tendency, but honestly I don’t see a real basis. No, both are interpretive, but the question is what interpretation you assign to it. Here there is no continuation such that either of them is a plain continuation; it always involves some kind of interpretation. Again there’s an echo here—you know what, maybe it really is the mute. I’ll mute everyone. Okay, yes, now there really isn’t an echo.

So the claim—Wittgenstein’s claim, basically—is that there is no way to continue a rule in some simple way without interpretation. Every rule according to which you act, every rule you try to follow, always involves some kind of interpretation. Yes, if you want, we can abuse this even more. Where is this thing? What is this here? Do you see the…? No. Huh? No, we don’t see it. Fine, then I won’t do that share because it simply loses the previous recording and takes over the screen. Wait, mute. Whoever is speaking, I suggest—wait—I suggest that whoever is speaking should press the space bar. Okay? I muted everyone. Whoever is speaking should press the space bar; when you release it, the speaking stops. Again, again. Someone opened here. Okay. Golan, Golan, you’re not muted. No, no, it’s not me, it’s Israel Smusen I think that I… Yes, fine, now everything is okay. So use the space bar, okay? Because the space bar returns it to mute after you speak.

Anyway, so Wittgenstein’s claim is larger. Basically, if I write for you the sequence 3, 5, 7, the next number can be whatever you want. Not only 9 or 11—it could also be minus one-third, or a complex number if you want. Anything you like. And it’s very easy to show that there is an interpretation that allows any continuation you want. Okay? What is this, postmodernism? Everything is possible? It’s not postmodernism; it’s a fact of life. How minus one-third? Postmodernism is a mistake; here it’s a fact of life, no one can argue with it. The claim is, in the end, try to think: suppose I want 3, 5, 7, and I want the next number to be 10, just for example. It could also be whatever you want, as we said—say 10. How do I build the rationale, the interpretation, that gives me the continuation I want? Very simple. I build a function of n. Say a + bn + cn squared + dn cubed, with four coefficients: a, b, c, and d. Okay? I want when n = 1 it gives 3, when n = 2 it gives 5, when n = 3 it gives 7, and when n = 4—because n is the place in the sequence; the first place in the sequence gives 3, the second gives 5, then 7 and 10. No problem finding four coefficients a, b, c, and d so that this is what comes out. That’s four equations with four unknowns. You can solve it without much trouble, and we can arrange a rationale for any continuation you want. Whoever wants to put minus one-third there can do so; whoever wants can put 10 there; whoever wants can put minus 117.4 there, or i+1, yes, complex numbers—whatever you want. You can propose an interpretation for any continuation. And this basically means there is no rule in the world that you can follow without interpretation. Following a rule always involves interpretation.

If we go back to the swimsuits, the one who keeps walking around in a swimsuit even in a cold area is also in fact making an interpretation. His interpretation is the interpretation that perhaps we would call the trivial one: that the instruction is to wear a swimsuit in every situation. But that too is an interpretation. It’s not that he doesn’t need interpretation and the other one is the one making interpretations. He too is making an interpretation. Even the interpretation of simplistic conservatism is a type of interpretation. So formally at least, there really is no actual difference between midrashic conservatism and simplistic conservatism. The difference between them is a function, I would say, of culture or context or whatever. There are certain contexts where somehow we all tend to understand that this is the plain meaning and that the other interpretation is a midrashic one. Fine, in our culture this seems to be the simpler interpretation, but that is not objective at all. At the objective level, each of these options is an interpretation, and the interpretations can be whatever you want.

The hermeneutic circle—in hermeneutics the problem always is that when you offer an interpretation of a book, or a literary work, an artistic work, any work—what you have in front of you is the book itself. Once you take the facts in the book itself and offer them an interpretation, how do you know the interpretation is correct? You need some kind of feedback that is not related to the book in order to check whether the interpretation you proposed is correct or not. But you don’t have it. The data you have are only the book. So you are trapped in a kind of hermeneutic circle; you can’t get out of it, because the basis that you are interpreting is also the only thing that can give feedback to your interpretation. Therefore, for example, academics try to circumvent the interpretive circle and claim that when I interpret a Talmudic passage or interpret Maimonides, I need to see the context; I need to know Maimonides the person, the context in which he operated, what influenced him, other manuscripts, because then I have independent sources that give me feedback on the interpretation I am proposing for the text. In contrast, the traditional learner interprets the text from within itself. He does not need context, does not need comparing textual versions, the biography of Maimonides—these are not tools used by the traditional interpreter. Okay?

So again, that is the problem. The problem is that even the interpretation that seems to us plain is in fact a type of interpretation; it too is an interpretation. Therefore, the distinction between plain meaning and interpretation in this context is very unclear. Yes? Like the old joke that the plain meaning is my interpretation, and interpretation is your interpretation. Meaning: what is the difference between plain meaning and interpretation? Plain meaning is what I say, and interpretation is what you say. Because what I say is the simple thing, yes, the most correct one. And of course the other person says the same thing too: that the plain meaning is what he says, and interpretation is what I say. Meaning, it is hard to decide objectively what is a simplistic interpretation and what is a midrashic interpretation.

But if I ignore this general philosophical issue, and I am willing to enter into a context, then I am willing to accept that in a given context, continuing to walk around in swimsuits is the simplistic interpretation, and wearing clothes suited to the weather is a midrashic interpretation. Okay? I think intuitively we can agree on that, even though philosophically one can attack this distinction. But intuitively we can agree. I think that is the first connotation that comes to us when we see these two interpretations. Therefore this difference is—if one looks at it philosophically—even much less dichotomous, much less sharp, than I presented earlier. Okay? In any case, I still assume that the difference does exist.

Now, I actually want to sharpen this a bit more. You know what—before I sharpen it more, I want to continue looking for the definition of the innovator. Yes, I return to the swimsuit example, and I want to ask: how do I identify the innovator? My first proposal was: those who want to switch to warm clothes are the innovators; those who remain in swimsuits are the conservatives. But I rejected that. I said they are both conservatives. The whole question is what they are preserving. So who would be the reformer in this situation? From what model, or what claim that someone raises, is entitled to be called a reformist claim? The first two claims are both conservative: simplistic conservatism and midrashic conservatism. What is a reformist claim?

So perhaps this is the place to say: I want to wear warm clothes because I’m cold. Not because that’s what our forefathers said, and no, I’m not interested, I’m not going to rationalize. I’m cold, that’s all—leave me alone, for heaven’s sake, as they say. That’s it; I’m not giving you rationalizations. There may be many who would treat such a thing as a reformist claim, but actually that’s not correct. That’s a heretic, not a reformer. Meaning, that’s someone who is not committed to the tradition of his forefathers; he doesn’t have to look for explanations whether it fits the tradition or how it fits, because he is not loyal to the tradition. Someone who is not loyal to the tradition is not a reformer; he is a heretic. He simply does not acknowledge it; he is not committed to the overall system. The first two models are people who are committed to the overall system; only one interprets it simplistically, and one interprets it midrashically, but both are committed to it. The third model I proposed here is not a model of a reformer; it is the model of a heretic. Someone not committed to the overall system. He is outside the game.

The reformer, at least the initial feeling is, is that the reformer is inside the game. He is inside the game. It’s just that he has some different claim from the first two models. Is there such a thing? It seems either you wear warm clothes because you are cold and then you are a heretic, or you wear warm clothes because the rule you are preserving is that one should wear clothing suited to the weather and then you are a midrashic conservative, or you continue walking around in a swimsuit and then you are a simplistic conservative. Is there another option? What else could there be to define the niche of a reformer? That’s a question that bothered me quite a bit when I started dealing with this logic of conservatism and innovation. How do you define the reformer at the theoretical level? Meaning: what is the theoretical definition of a reformist claim? Where is he located between the heretic and the two types of conservatives? If none of the three models so far is reformist, then what is reformist? What else could there be? Don’t these three models cover all the possibilities? What else could there be?

So I thought maybe a reformer is someone who accepts some of the rules but not all of them. The model I proposed is a model of a single rule: one should wear a swimsuit or clothing suited to the weather. If there is a system of 613 commandments or many rules, then the reformer chooses for himself some of the rules: some he keeps, some he doesn’t. Maybe that’s reformist? That too doesn’t seem right, because that basically means he is simply a heretic with respect to some rules, and a conservative with respect to other rules—either a midrashic conservative or a simplistic conservative. That’s just a combination of conservatism and heresy; it’s not reform. The feeling is that reform is another model. Not a combination of the first two, but something fourth. Not a midrashic conservative, not a simplistic conservative, and not a heretic. So what then? What remains? Someone who keeps part of the system and not part of it—that is not the definition of a reformer. So what is?

What actually happened with the Reform movement—they took from the European environment, adapted themselves, as they dressed so we too will dress, but within Judaism, kind of making some mixed model. Tell me, tell me in our model. In what way is that not a midrashic conservative, not a simplistic conservative, and not a heretic? What kind of argument is that? Let’s speak in terms of the swimsuits. I don’t know, they simply saw another public in the same area and somehow took from it, I don’t know, it’s hard to define. Forget where they took it from; I’m asking what are they claiming? Why do I care where they took it from? What are they claiming now? They took it—okay, the non-Jews wear warm clothing, not swimsuits, in this area. So now they want to wear warm clothing. But the claim is not that the non-Jews dress that way. “The non-Jews dress that way” is a source of inspiration. But when they make an argument, they need to argue within the system. What are you arguing? Why should I switch from a swimsuit to warm clothes? Because the tradition doesn’t obligate me? Then you’re a heretic. Because you have a different interpretation? Then you’re a midrashic conservative. What other model could there be? That it’s despite the tradition. Do you hear? He can claim that it’s despite the tradition. Meaning because he’s cold, but despite the tradition. Not because he’s not committed to the tradition. He is committed; he simply rules against it? There is a difference between commitment and decision-making. Okay, I’m not sure I mean exactly the same thing. Maybe. Maybe it’s the same thing; I’ll try to define it in my own way. Tell me if we agree or not.

Maybe a methodological introduction. Whenever you get stuck in a tangle of this kind, it’s the heap paradox, basically. Right. I don’t know if it’s exactly the heap paradox, but there is what’s called the third way. When you find yourself in a conceptual framework in which you feel that there is an additional option that is not any of the options before you, but on the other hand in the picture you see before you it seems as though this covers all the possibilities—there is no other niche into which an additional outlook can be inserted—that is basically the kind of tangle I described here. And we’ve already run into many examples of this throughout the history of this course, because with me usually in almost every debate I enter, I get that feeling that both sides in the debate are wrong. Now the question is: but how? What is there besides these two sides? Either you agree or you don’t agree; either you’re Religious Zionist or you’re not Religious Zionist, Haredi—what else could there be? Either you are Zionist or you are not Zionist, and so on. But my feeling all the time, and in almost every debate, is that no: even though supposedly that covers all the possibilities, it doesn’t. There is another option. So I developed a whole set of tools for shattering dichotomies. Meaning, how to show that a picture presented to me as though it were complete is in fact not a complete picture.

The most basic thing in this matter, the most fundamental tool in it—I have a whole toolbox—but the most fundamental tool is actually based on a principle that the Maharal really likes. Usually when you see two opposing positions, they always have something in common. Otherwise they wouldn’t be opposites. A raven is the opposite of a dove because the raven is black and the dove is white, but a chair is not the opposite of a dove. Why? Because the raven and the dove are both birds, only one is a black bird and one is a white bird. A chair is not in the game. Meaning, when you see two opposing things, it is always an opposition on the basis of something shared. When two things are opposed, they belong to the same axis; it’s on the same scale. This one measures one and that one measures minus one, but they belong to the same scale. But something that is not on the scale is not opposed to either of them.

What does that mean? It means that when you see two positions clashing, or two positions opposite one another confronting each other, usually—perhaps always—there will be something shared by both. And then what? It means you can attack that shared thing. If you attack that shared thing, suddenly you discover that other options besides the two set before you begin to emerge. For example, Religious Zionism or Haredism. So what can there be? I’m a religious person; either I’m Zionist or I’m not Zionist—what else could there be? What other option is there? The answer is: there is another option. What do you mean? Because when you look at Religious Zionism, what is actually shared by Religious Zionism and Haredism is an imperialistic conception of religion, and therefore everything in the world is either part of religion or heresy. Meaning, if Zionism is part of my religious faith then I’m Religious Zionist. But if it is not part of my religious faith, then whoever is Zionist is a heretic, so I’m Haredi. But there is a third option: the option that does not see the religious conception in an imperialistic way, as though it is supposed to cover the entire sphere of reality. It may be that there are areas of reality that are indifferent to the religious issue. Secular domains, domains about which you can say what you want, even domains that have value—not only neutral domains that really aren’t important, but even value-laden domains. Sometimes they are a lacuna within religious thought; religious thought has nothing to say about them. Therefore you can be Zionist and religious, but your Zionism is not part of your religiosity.

Like the famous joke—not a joke—in Bnei Brak they always told this to me with great pride: how the Rabbi of Ponovezh, Rabbi Kahaneman, the Rabbi of Ponovezh, the man who founded Ponovezh, said Hallel on Independence Day? No, he did not say Hallel on Independence Day, but he also did not say Tachanun. So they said to him: what are you, Zionist or not Zionist? Meaning, if you’re Zionist, then you should both say Hallel and not say Tachanun; if you’re not Zionist, then both say Tachanun and don’t say Hallel. What does it mean not to say Tachanun but also not to say Hallel? So he said: I’m Zionist like Ben-Gurion. Ben-Gurion also didn’t say Hallel and didn’t say Tachanun on Independence Day. So that’s a joke that people in Bnei Brak really enjoy, but what they don’t understand is that it’s not a joke; it’s a completely true statement. What the Rabbi of Ponovezh meant to say was that he was Zionist like Ben-Gurion; he was a secular Zionist. His Zionism was secular. But he was Zionist. He was not anti-Zionist, and not Religious Zionist. He was Zionist and religious, but his Zionism was not religious. That’s why he put up a flag on Independence Day here on the roof of the yeshiva. Every time he… Ganchovsky the journalist once told me—I was with him on a Sabbath—that he once sat with the Rabbi of Ponovezh on the roof of the yeshiva in order to guard against the students stealing it; they played a game with the flag. Yes, they guarded the flag all day so the students wouldn’t steal the flag and take it down. He hung up a flag on Independence Day on the yeshiva. And Rabbi Shach continued this, by the way. This was the tradition in Ponovezh; I think today they’ve already stopped doing it. Rabbi Shach was still strong enough to maintain that tradition; after him there were no such strong figures, I think.

Anyway, what he basically meant was that the dichotomous picture presented to us—either Zionism is part of Judaism or it is against Judaism—is false. It can be outside Judaism, not part of Judaism, but not anti; rather a neutral domain. Be a Zionist, and together with that be religious, and everything is fine. This is a third option that opposes both sides, because both sides advocate religious imperialism. Meaning: there cannot be a domain to which religion is indifferent; either it supports it or opposes it. There cannot be a domain that is religiously neutral, where you can decide according to your best understanding. Okay? And I attack the agreed-upon dimension shared by the two opposing sides, and suddenly I discover that there is also a third option. The map is not covered by the two options usually presented to us. And that is a paradigm for many fields. This is what in political science is called the third way. Yes, the third way is when they always present you with two options: either you’re right-wing or left-wing. Once there was even a party here by that name. But basically it’s a concept in political science. The third way means they always present you with two options: either you’re right-wing or left-wing. Today people already know, yes, there’s also the center, but exactly how to define it isn’t clear. The claim is that in the dichotomy between right and left there is something shared that I reject, and then entirely different paths can open up, and so on.

Yes, and there is a whole toolbox of ways to shatter dichotomies. Now one of those tools is what someone here mentioned earlier: the heap paradox. The heap paradox is a logical tool for shattering dichotomies. What does that mean? According to this, a Zionist—say a British Zionist—is he reformist? I didn’t understand. Say a British Zionist, say Balfour—is he reformist in terms of this terminology? Why reformist? No, I haven’t yet come to the definition of reformist. I didn’t define it; that’s not reformist. I don’t define myself as reformist, but I do define myself as a secular Zionist. No, I’m not identifying that with reformism. I was just illustrating the logic through this; now I’m getting to reformism. That was only an example of the logic; now I’ll apply the logic to our case.

What happens in the heap paradox? The heap paradox is basically a whole series of paradoxes of this kind that say: one pebble is not a heap. If there is a pile of stones that is not a heap, and you add one stone to it, that should not change its status. But a million pebbles are a heap. Now these three claims sound reasonable, but together they form a paradox, right? Meaning, if one pebble is not a heap, and adding one stone doesn’t change the status, then how does it become a heap at a million? Start with one and add another stone—it still isn’t a heap, because adding one stone doesn’t change the status, so two is also not a heap. Add another stone; again that doesn’t change the status, so three is also not a heap, and so on. So where does it break? Why is a million a heap? What, is there some number—701,342—from there onward it’s a heap? That makes no sense; clearly that’s not true.

So what’s happening here? Or yes: when is it afternoon? The million-dollar question from my children. Yes, in the afternoon you’re allowed to go play outside, but at noon you’re not, because the neighbors are resting and it’s forbidden to make noise. Okay? When is it afternoon? For Americans, afternoon begins at twelve-oh-one. But in Israel, afternoon is an amorphous concept. Why? Because clearly if you add one second to noon, that doesn’t turn it into afternoon. But on the other hand, five o’clock is already afternoon. Twelve is noon; five is already afternoon. Adding one second doesn’t change the status, so when does it become afternoon? Or when does a certain color on the spectrum become a different color, from red to yellow? When do you move from red to yellow? It’s some continuous transition. Adding half an angstrom to the wavelength won’t change the color. So how does the color still change in the end? And so on; with any concept you like, I can formulate the heap paradox. From when is someone bald? How many hairs count as bald, or not bald? Fine? A man with one hair is bald. A bald person, if you add one hair, that doesn’t change his status. And a person with a million hairs—I don’t know how many, a lot, yes?—is not bald. So when does it happen? And so on.

The answer to this is that this collection of paradoxes basically assumes a dichotomous conception: that a pile of stones is either a heap or not a heap. But that’s false. A pile of stones is a heap in degrees, on a continuous scale of heap-ness. Say between zero and one. Its level of heap-ness is zero, 0.1, 0.12, 0.3, 0.44, 0.57 heap-ness, all the way to one. One means fully a heap. Meaning, heap-ness is measured on a continuous scale, not on a binary scale of zero or one. And then I simply say: adding one pebble changes the degree of heap-ness. It makes it a little more of a heap. That’s all. Then everything is fine. That solves all the heap paradoxes.

What do the heap paradoxes basically assume? They assume that our conceptual system is dichotomous: either it is noon or it is afternoon; either he is bald or hairy; either it is a heap or it is not a heap. But no—our conceptual system is one measured on a continuous scale. And assuming the binary picture is the mistake, yes? Like all those dilemma arguments. There’s no point in giving exams. Why? Because someone lazy won’t study even if there is an exam, and someone diligent studies even without an exam. So what’s the point of giving exams? It doesn’t help anyone. Where’s the mistake here? That there are people in the world who are not pathologically diligent and not pathologically lazy. They are somewhere on the continuum between diligence and laziness, and there the existence of an exam will indeed motivate them to study more than they would without one. It’s true that at the extreme level, the absolutely diligent study even without an exam, and the absolutely lazy don’t study even with an exam. But there is also a continuum of levels of laziness and diligence between zero and one. And on that continuum the exam can definitely motivate. Therefore dilemma arguments, which have a certain charm—they always sound very convincing—all fall because of the dichotomous assumption. The dichotomous assumption is probably not correct in most cases.

Why am I saying this? Because in this context it is a tool for breaking dichotomies, yes? It’s another tool from the toolbox I mentioned earlier. My claim is that when we looked at the picture of a midrashic conservative, a simplistic conservative, or a heretic, we were actually assuming a dichotomous, binary logic: either you accept the system or you do not accept the system. But if someone comes and says: look, I am committed to the rule of our forefathers—never mind now whether in its midrashic or simplistic form. You know what, in its simplistic form. I am a simplistic conservative. I say that the tradition of our forefathers is to walk around in a swimsuit in all weather. But as far as I’m concerned there are additional considerations or interests or values—it doesn’t matter—but another kind of considerations, and sometimes those considerations will override my commitment to the tradition, because my commitment to the tradition is not absolute. I’m not a heretic. A heretic is someone for whom the tradition is of no interest; he is not committed to it and doesn’t care. He is not conservative in the sense that for him there is only tradition. He is committed to tradition—it is one of his values—but he has other values too. He is not committed to tradition completely, not at any price—whether a moral price or a comfort price or whatever, each according to his own definitions. His commitment to tradition is not full. That is the reformer. The reformer is someone whose commitment to tradition is not zero and not one. If it is zero, he’s a heretic. If it is one, he’s a simplistic conservative or a midrashic conservative.

So are we all reformers? If it’s something in the middle, then he’s reformist. No, but if that’s so then we are all reformers. There are sometimes conflicts, like you talk a lot about Jewish law and morality, where we accept extra-traditional values. No—when I talk about Jewish law and morality, do we accept extra-traditional values? No. There’s no such thing as extra-traditional values. There isn’t only Judaism in the world; in my world at least, there is Judaism and there is life and there is morality and there is… In my case, no. What does that mean? For me, every value that exists here is part of my Judaism. I have no non-Jewish values. There are non-halakhic values, but not non-Jewish values. These are things whose source is the Holy One, blessed be He, yes, as someone here points out. Yes, morality has no validity unless its source is the Holy One, blessed be He. So morality too is the will of the Holy One, blessed be He. It is not part of Jewish law, but from my perspective it is part of the service of God. Okay, and the reformer has something outside Judaism and not only outside Jewish law? Yes, it is outside Jewish law—or again, it may even be comfort. My commitment to tradition is complete. Except that perhaps it will be overridden by other values to which I too am fully committed. For the reformer, the commitment to the system from the outset is not full. Therefore I suspect that really, where it conflicts with values, it becomes much harder to define “reformer.” Where it conflicts with interests or convenience, it is easier. Because there it is clear that the commitment is not full. The Orthodox person can also fail when it is inconvenient, but he does not turn that into an ideology. Okay? The claim is that non-full commitment is basically, I think, the model of the reformer. Meaning, commitment that is from the outset not full. Right. Not absolute, not one, but 0.7.

But they would say that’s not true, of course. What? I can’t hear. They would say that’s not true, that they are committed. If they say that, then in my classification they are not reformers. So who really is reformist, then? What do you mean by “really”? In my classification—I’ve presented my classification. The claim basically, in the end, is that I can take, say, the accepted sociological classification—yes, Reform, Orthodox, Haredi, Religious Zionist, or Modern Orthodox—all these sociological groups and try to map them onto the logical map I have drawn here. Some of them are easy to map. Heretics, yes, they are heretics, not committed to the system; that’s easy to map. The simplistic conservative, supposedly, is the Haredi. He wore the clothes his forefathers wore, and yes, he continues the tradition of his forefathers and doesn’t change it even with changing circumstances. The midrashic conservative is the Modern Orthodox. The Modern Orthodox basically says the circumstances have changed; the true continuation of the tradition is to wear warm clothes, not a swimsuit. That is the true continuation. The Haredi is a criminal. Because he is not keeping the tradition, even though he is doing exactly what our forefathers did. But under the circumstances that prevail now, what the tradition of our forefathers says is to act differently: to wear warm clothes, not a swimsuit. Okay? So the Modern Orthodox is the midrashic conservative. The Reform are those who apparently are not committed to the system absolutely. But they are not heretics. Tradition matters to them, it speaks to them, fine, it matters—but not at any price. Meaning, it is not full commitment.

Now look, this identification—and I’ll get to this later at length—but this identification is one we have to be very careful with. Because I am identifying not people but arguments. I have now made a jump into sociology. Sociology already deals with people or groups. But one must be very careful. Later in this series we will go into all kinds of arguments of Reform people, for example, in Jewish law. And I will try to show you that some of those arguments are Orthodox arguments in every respect. The fact that they appear in a Reform book means nothing. The argument, in its logical character, is an Orthodox argument. It is the argument of a midrashic conservative. And there are arguments that are reformist arguments.

But wait—according to what you’re explaining, that still doesn’t explain the defining feature of the reformer. For example, if you have a commandment that doesn’t conflict with other non-halakhic values—say, what value conflicts with the obligation to wash one’s hands before bread—and still you see that they don’t do it? That’s what I’m… that’s exactly the point. But they don’t do it because they are not fully committed, not at any price, not because there is some other value that overrides this value. I think there is no difference in values between the Orthodox and the Haredim, between Religious Zionists and Haredim. They are committed to all the commandments, to all the values. They don’t say “only some.” No—that is simplistic conservatism and that is midrashic conservatism. That is exactly the point. Both are conservative; both are committed to the system. The only question is: what is the system to which we are committed? No, I’m saying the Reform, unlike them, are not committed to the whole system. Right—that’s what I’m saying. So, conservatively: there are simplistic conservatives and midrashic conservatives, both of whom are fully committed to the system. So put all of them on the same side of the scales—the Haredim, the Orthodox, yes, the Religious Zionists, all of them on one side, and the Reform on the other. No, no, it’s not a question of one side or not one side. I laid out several models. There is the simplistic conservative, there is the midrashic conservative—both are conservative, but they are still different outlooks. But both explain all the values. The Reform say: no, no, we know these values exist; we just don’t accept them. Right. The Reform—the midrashic and the simplistic ones accept all the values. Right, agreed. That is exactly how I defined the models.

Now notice two remarks about this map. Again, before the two remarks, I want to emphasize: what I characterized here are types of arguments, not people and groups. There can be people who sociologically belong to the Reform and raise Orthodox arguments. There can be people who sociologically belong to the Orthodox and raise reformist arguments. Because people are not always coherent. Therefore I think one should discuss arguments and not people. I made the sociological characterization only so that we understand what direction the things are pointing in. Later I’ll get into examples. For now I simply want this theoretical map I’ve drawn here to come down a bit to earth. That’s why I made that identification. But we must insist: this is not about people; it is about arguments. If a Reform person raises an argument that is one of midrashic conservatism, that is a completely legitimate argument; one must discuss it. What do I care that the person who raised it is Reform? One must discuss it. Is it right or not? A reformist argument I don’t agree with, so I have nothing to discuss. So I don’t care who the person raising the argument is; I care what the argument is. That is a very important point.

Now, two remarks about this map. The first remark is that there really are no simplistic conservatives, as a continuation of the Wittgenstein point I explained earlier. Simplistic conservatism is the Haredi ethos; it is not Haredism itself. Haredism sells itself and others the line that they are simplistic conservatives. That they do exactly what our forefathers did, and that every innovation even a young student is destined to introduce was already shown by the Holy One, blessed be He, to Moses at Sinai. Yes, my uncle—the example I always bring with my uncle—is that he says Abaye and Rava certainly learned in Yiddish. The Iraqis, yes, certainly learned in Yiddish. Why? Because they knew how to learn, and whoever knows how to learn, learns in Yiddish—yes, that’s obvious. Now, he knows that this isn’t true. But it is definitely his ethos. His ethos is that they wore a shtreimel and a gartel and learned in Yiddish. He knows it isn’t historically true; that’s why I say he’s a clear-eyed person. But the Haredi ethos is living in contradiction. The clear-eyed among them know it’s nonsense, but continue living inside that consciousness. The less clear-eyed actually think it’s true, that Moses wore a shtreimel and a gartel. That all the laws we keep now are what the Holy One, blessed be He, gave to Moses at Sinai. Many more people would sign onto that than onto the shtreimel and gartel. That too is nonsense, of course. But that is the Haredi ethos.

The Haredi ethos is the ethos of simplistic conservatism: we change nothing. Therefore we wear clothes that were customary in Poland two hundred years ago. True, it’s hot here in Israel, it doesn’t fit the climate here—so what? We continue with our swimsuits, just the other way around. To continue in a swimsuit in a cold area is like continuing with warm clothes in a hot area. You act uncomfortably because you are loyal to the tradition of your forefathers. Now why do I go without a shtreimel and a gartel? I too am loyal to the tradition of my forefathers. But I say: I wear clothing suited to the weather. Here the thing being illustrated is already very close to the parable itself. Of course the clothes aren’t important, but here there are already some very direct expressions of the parable within the actual case.

But the ethos—the Haredi ethos is an ethos of simplistic conservatism. They are not really simplistic conservatives. They change all the time, and of course are completely different from what existed in previous generations—the Haredim. They are not aware of it and don’t admit it. So their ethos is an ethos of simplistic conservatism, but they themselves are midrashic conservatives. And the difference between them and the Modern Orthodox is a difference of degree. It is not an essential difference. Meaning: how interpretive you are, and how far-reaching those interpretations are. That’s all.

Sorry, but I didn’t understand the nuance. What didn’t you understand? I didn’t understand the distinction you’re making, this first remark. I didn’t understand what you’re adding to the class, so to speak. I’m claiming that the Haredim—basically, there are no simplistic conservatives in the world. That follows from Wittgenstein, okay? It’s an implication of what we saw in Wittgenstein. Now I’m claiming it factually, empirically. There is no such type as a simplistic conservative, because there is no such thing. They always change. There is nobody who does not change and reinterpret the tradition he received. There is nobody who really behaves exactly as our forefathers behaved. There is an ethos of simplistic conservatism. The Haredi ethos is one of simplistic conservatism. It’s like—you know, once I saw someone write, some student in Hebron Yeshiva, a young fellow, wrote some inflammatory screed against Rabbi Sherlo many years ago: who are these rabbis you apprenticed under? There aren’t even leading sages of the generation; you didn’t apprentice under the leading sages, so what are you? I almost died laughing when I read that nonsense, because the path he was defending is so innovative, much more innovative than Rabbi Sherlo’s path. The path of Kav, the yeshivot of the Kav line. But they constantly speak in the name of tradition, and whoever served Torah scholars, and the others are basically Reform. It’s as if for them the tradition begins and ends with Rabbi Kook. Moses received the Torah at Sinai and transmitted it to Rabbi Kook. And from their point of view, therefore, this teaching of the Kav came directly from Moses: “the faith of our times,” as it’s called, was given to Moses at Sinai. And they don’t understand that this is so different from everything done in previous generations, that when they speak in the name of continuing the tradition and apprenticing under Torah scholars and so forth, you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

By the way, the Briskers are the same. Yes, exactly. The Briskers are the same. The Briskers constantly speak in the name of tradition—that is the most common word in Brisker journalism. Tradition, tradition, tradition—we go only with tradition. Their tradition began a hundred years ago with Rabbi Chaim, who made a crazy revolution relative to what had been customary before him. In the mode of analytical Talmudic study, but also in halakhic ruling. But they constantly speak in the name of tradition. My feeling is that this is some kind of projection, perhaps even psychological projection. A person understands that he is in fact following a completely new path, and he sells himself the line that he is continuing the tradition; he lives in an ethos of simplistic conservatism, and then attacks everyone else—who are actually much closer to the tradition than he is—as people deviating from the tradition. Because tradition means Rabbi Kook or Rabbi Chaim. Whoever doesn’t behave like them is deviating from tradition. Why? He is far closer to Moses than Rabbi Kook or Rabbi Chaim were. Yes, but he’s not Rabbi Kook or Rabbi Chaim. Meaning, many times there is a terrible dissonance: you live inside an ethos that you are the ultimate simplistic conservative, that you behave exactly as Moses behaved, when in fact you are the greatest innovator. Like Jacob Katz wrote quite a bit about the fact that Orthodoxy is a modern invention. The Orthodox conception is a modern invention. There wasn’t once an Orthodox conception. There was Judaism; it was something natural like that. Orthodoxy is an ideology, it is a party, it is a formulated set of rules. Once, Jews did not have formulated rules. Maimonides tried to formulate thirteen principles too—also some doubtful attempt. But people didn’t operate with that. It was our life; our life was Jewish life. It was not a manifesto, not an ideology. In our age, this is an ideological age. So there is a Reform ideology, and in response an Orthodox ideology was created. Both phenomena are new.

In the class we keep talking all the time about tradition. In this context, when you say tradition and Jewish law, do you mean the same thing? No. There is halakhic tradition, there are different traditions. In Jewish law there is the halakhic tradition. Of course, in the end I’m aiming to get to conservatism and innovation in Jewish law, but right now I’m still dealing with the concepts; this is the conceptual analysis.

The additional remark I still want to get in today—it took me much longer than I thought—is where to place the Conservatives. We haven’t spoken about them yet. What do you say? Say what they do so differently—I’m not so familiar. What are the Conservatives? The Conservatives are, yes, sort of the upgraded Reform. The Conservatives shifted their position a bit; they moved a lot to the left in the 1980s. Once they were closer to the Orthodox; today they’re Reform but a bit more conservative. Not only did they move, but there is no such thing as “they.” There are of course many shades. But generally, when I want to place on the map of arguments—not of people—a Conservative argument, there is no such thing. That is midrashic conservatism. Modern Orthodox and Conservative are the same thing. There is a difference in degree, there is a difference in how far you go, or which sources are binding for you or not binding, but in terms of the logic of the argument, both are arguments of midrashic conservatism. It’s the same thing; there is no difference.

By the way, most Conservative arguments—not all, but most—can definitely also be found in halakhic literature of Modern Orthodoxy. The argument, for example, that it is better to drive on the Sabbath so long as you get to the synagogue—which many Conservatives say. Okay. Is that a midrashic interpretation? It could be, yes. Depends—you can get into the details and see. The question is what the prohibition there is; the question is how far you permit prohibitions for the sake of… what do you mean, today Orthodox rabbis—something that by the way wasn’t true twenty years ago—many Orthodox rabbis today will tell you that argument. Rabbi Aviner wrote it. Rabbi Aviner came back from a trip abroad and wrote: I learned there that they are right. It’s not like in Israel. Abroad one must encourage people to come by car to synagogue. I saw it with my own eyes. Not to mention inviting a secular person to come visit me by car on the Sabbath. Quite a number of Orthodox halakhic decisors today permit this. Because it is a value consideration, not a halakhic consideration. Okay, but to come by car on the Sabbath—“do not place a stumbling block”? Yes. He says that halakhically it would be forbidden, basically it is forbidden, but since there is the value that he come to synagogue… You understand that if a halakhic decisor says this, then it is not a reformist argument? Then the decisor is making a meta-halakhic consideration, perfectly fine.

Meaning, the Conservatives—I want to say that on the map of arguments, as distinct from the sociological map, which is always more complicated—on the map of arguments there is no place for a Conservative argument; there is no such argument. Conservatives sometimes raise reformist arguments, sometimes arguments of midrashic conservatives. By the way, usually those of midrashic conservatives. Conservatism is Modern Orthodoxy at the leftmost edge. That’s all. But at the principled level, it is Modern Orthodoxy.

By the way, someone mentioned earlier Religious Zionism. Religious Zionism is not even on this map. What is on this map is Modern Orthodoxy. Because Modern Orthodoxy is a way of relating to halakhic arguments and halakhic rulings. Religious Zionism is not a conception about how I view Jewish law. Religious Zionism is an ideology concerning Zionism, that’s all. There are many Religious Zionists who are also Modern Orthodox perhaps, fine, that may be. But Religious Zionism is not on this map at all. Just as the difference between Belz Hasidism and Vizhnitz Hasidism is not on this map. It’s not relevant, okay? That’s a dispute within a certain halakhic domain; it’s not a dispute about the form of halakhic argument. This map describes the types of arguments in halakhic interpretation or halakhic deliberation. Okay? And on this map, I don’t think there is room for any other type of argument. There is the heretic, who is not in the game; there is the reformer, who is in the game but not fully; there is the midrashic conservative and the simplistic conservative. I don’t think there is any other type of argument.

And I will try to go through various arguments—one or two came up here, but I’ll bring more. There is a book by a Reform rabbi named Moshe Zemer called Evolving Halakhah. I once read it and saw there many arguments that made the coin drop for me the first time: that in fact a large part of them I could have signed and written in an Orthodox halakhic discussion. Others may say that I too am not Orthodox, doesn’t matter—but it could have appeared there. And I’ll want to go over some of their arguments and try to illustrate these things further on. But up to this point I have drawn the map of arguments. And again I emphasize: this is a map of arguments. Sociology is of course divided with some connection to these arguments, but the connection is far from airtight. Therefore, when someone raises an argument, don’t look at the color of his gartel. Try to examine the character of the argument. It doesn’t matter who he is; what matters is the argument he is making. And we will get to that further on.

Okay, I’ll stop here. Comments or questions? Thank you very much, Sabbath peace. Comments or questions? Why not broadcast? There is a new student here, age four. Oh, nice. A small question: why did you say regarding a secular person, “do not place a stumbling block before the blind”? He knows it’s forbidden and still wants to come. “Do not place a stumbling block” also applies to someone who knows. When you hand a cup of wine to a Nazirite, he knows that it’s forbidden for him to drink wine. But he isn’t blind. You hand a cup of wine to a Nazirite—that’s the Talmud’s example for “do not place a stumbling block.” It’s talking about a Nazirite who knows he is forbidden to drink wine. The blind person doesn’t have to be blind. Maybe his impulse simply overcame him, or you shouldn’t give it to him. His impulse overcame him—what difference does that make? In practice he knows. Okay, thanks. Goodbye, have a good week, thank you very much.