Disputes: History and Essence – Rabbi Michael Abraham – Lesson 9

Table of Contents

• An example of two collectives in the same place
• A dispute for the sake of Heaven versus manners and etiquette
• Fights between rabbis as a positive phenomenon, and lack of concern as pseudo-enlightenment
• Leibowitz as a model of fighting for a position and being willing to pay a price
• Contemporary militancy, “liberal madness,” and preferring opposition over indifference
• The possibility of dialogue דווקא with opponents and with “Bnei Brak”
• A “mathematical proof” about kosher restaurants and a justification for fights in the religious world
• The Chazon Ish’s letter: extremism as greatness, wholeness, and a beginning
• Openness and fanaticism in Rabbi Delia Nadel, and why there is no contradiction
• Chaim Grade, Novardok, “Tzemach Atlas,” and the Chazon Ish as “Avraham the playwright”
• The Chazon Ish: not entering arguments, autonomy, and the Mishnah Berurah
• The distinction between conceptual extremism and style and practical logic
• The radius of tolerance, legitimate error, and the distinction between tolerance and pluralism
• Quotations from the Chazon Ish: condemnation of “mediocrity” and the definition of “the sweetness of extremism”
• Mediocrity after the fact versus ideological mediocrity, and education toward extremism
• Contemporary extremist phenomena: the shawl women and the hilltop youth
• Criticism of “middle-of-the-road” education and its connection to abandoning religious education
• What is missing from the Chazon Ish’s analysis: the value of tolerance and the degree of certainty
• Examples of a dispute that is not a “legitimate error”: civil divorce in France and state conversion
• Criticism of “pursuing peace” as a cover for not really caring, and conclusion

Summary

General Overview

The text presents a view according to which a dispute for the sake of Heaven is determined by whether it is substantive, not by whether it is polite, and it emphasizes that sharpness and style are tactical considerations rather than a measure of truth or of being “for the sake of Heaven.” It argues that ideological fights in the religious world are sometimes a positive phenomenon because they show that things really matter, and that indifference is worse than militant opposition. It then brings a letter from the Chazon Ish praising extremism as wholeness and greatness, and develops a distinction between lucid extremism that grows out of clarified truth and unlucid fanaticism that grows out of inner tensions. The text ends with halakhic examples in which there is no room for “respecting all opinions” when the ruling affects the public as a whole, and with criticism of “pursuing peace” when it sometimes conceals a lack of concern.

An example of two collectives in the same place

The text opens with the claim that the boundary set by physics is that two different sides cannot occupy the same place, and then presents an example of dual collective existence in the same area. The example identified is Lod, where Arabs and Jews live within the same space.

A dispute for the sake of Heaven versus manners and etiquette

The text states that a dispute for the sake of Heaven is measured by the fact that it is substantive, meaning that it stems from the belief that the other person is mistaken and is backed by substantive arguments. It states that there is no essential connection between being for the sake of Heaven and politeness, respect for the other, or style of speech, and that sharpness, cynicism, boycott, or ostracism can also appear within a dispute for the sake of Heaven if the motive is substantive. The text warns against a common conflation in traditional commentarial literature between the question of being for the sake of Heaven and educating for politeness, and argues that the moral-principled question of the quality of the dispute is separate from tactical questions of effectiveness and harm.

Fights between rabbis as a positive phenomenon, and lack of concern as pseudo-enlightenment

The text tells of a baal teshuvah whom the author accompanied, who asked why there are ugly fights in the rabbinic world, and the author replies that this is actually a beautiful phenomenon when the fights are ideological and not merely power struggles. The text argues that such fights show that the sides believe in their truth and are willing to fight for it without “putting on airs,” whereas excessive politeness can stem from the fact that a person does not really care either about what he himself says or about what the other says. The text says that he would not want to live in a society in which there is nothing worth fighting over, even if struggles sometimes involve “below-the-belt blows.”

Leibowitz as a model of fighting for a position and being willing to pay a price

The text presents Leibowitz as a figure worthy of admiration not because of agreement with his positions but because he fought for them and paid prices for them. It attributes to Leibowitz giving up the Israel Prize, and describes him as someone who managed to “annoy everyone,” and as someone who resigned from the senate of the Hebrew University over the opening of the swimming pool on the Sabbath. The text notes that Leibowitz had previously been a “religious politician” and a representative of Hapoel HaMizrachi in the Histadrut, and emphasizes that his unbending stance is the source of the respect felt toward him.

Contemporary militancy, “liberal madness,” and preferring opposition over indifference

The text describes irritating militancy coming both from religious sources and from liberal ones, and includes the description of a teacher in a secular school who says that it is impossible to talk about any topic without everything revolving around the homosexual-lesbian issue, “Hadarah,” and “all that nonsense.” The text says that nevertheless, the very fact that people fight over things shows that those things matter to them, and adopts the position that indifference is worse than militant opposition because indifference means there is no one to talk to.

The possibility of dialogue דווקא with opponents and with “Bnei Brak”

The text argues that opponents are sometimes precisely the side with whom “there is someone to talk to,” because the subject matters to them, and gives the example of the “League Against Religious Coercion” as a space in which there is dialogue with people who care. The text says that it is easier for the author to make radical statements in Bnei Brak than in a “Mizrachi-style” synagogue, because in Bnei Brak there are rules of halakhic give-and-take, an understanding of proofs and arguments, even if there is no practical agreement. It gives an example from Simchat Torah about women receiving an aliyah with a Torah scroll, and describes how in some places people can understand the logic even if “we won’t do it because that’s not what is accepted among us,” whereas in other places the reaction is accusations such as “heresy” with no possibility of argument.

A “mathematical proof” about kosher restaurants and a justification for fights in the religious world

The text presents the claim that a kosher restaurant will always be less tasty than a non-kosher restaurant because the non-kosher restaurant can adopt anything tasty even if it is kosher, whereas the kosher restaurant is limited. The text includes an internal argument about the logic of the claim through the example of fish and meat, and formulates the principle as a gap that stems from the greater number of non-kosher possibilities versus the limitations of kashrut. From this it concludes, in parallel, that in the religious world there are more fights because there are more things that matter to people—more values and commandments—and therefore more friction is created, and even if that looks bad, it expresses vitality.

The Chazon Ish’s letter: extremism as greatness, wholeness, and a beginning

The text quotes a letter of the Chazon Ish stating that “simplicity and truth” are synonymous, and that “extremism and greatness” are synonymous. It interprets extremism as the appearance of a matter in its wholeness, and argues with the Chazon Ish that “one who champions mediocrity and despises extremism shares his lot with the falsifiers or with those devoid of understanding,” and that without it “there is no wholeness” and “there is no beginning.” The text emphasizes that the Chazon Ish links extremism specifically to “constant questions and refutations,” that is, to a critical striving that continues to clarify and does not bypass questions.

Openness and fanaticism in Rabbi Delia Nadel, and why there is no contradiction

The text cites Tamar Rotem in Haaretz, who described Rabbi Delia Nadel as a figure who was both fanatical and extreme and also open, someone who read everything and debated everyone, and asked how that could fit together. The text states that there is no contradiction, and that openness and the examination of alternatives actually strengthen fanaticism in someone who has reached a clear conclusion, because he knows the alternatives and fights them out of certainty. The text distinguishes between clarified fanaticism and foolish fanaticism on the part of someone who never examined things, and therefore cannot really be fanatical in any grounded way.

Chaim Grade, Novardok, “Tzemach Atlas,” and the Chazon Ish as “Avraham the playwright”

The text describes the Novardok background and the sending of young students to establish yeshivot in villages, and Chaim Grade, who grew up in a yeshivah in the village of Volknik and describes in his book Chaimke and the head of the yeshivah, “Tzemach Atlas.” The text describes “Tzemach Atlas” as a stormy character consumed by drives and doubts, who outwardly is ultra-fanatical and persecutes every question or deviation. By contrast, it presents the Chazon Ish in the literary figure of “Avraham the playwright” as a harmonious, calm person, open to questions and willing to hear everything, while at the same time sharp and uncompromising in his worldview. The text interprets the gap as the difference between fanaticism as a projection of inner struggle and extremism that stems from inner wholeness, which makes calm relations with people possible.

The Chazon Ish: not entering arguments, autonomy, and the Mishnah Berurah

The text quotes an approach associated with the Chazon Ish: “It is not my way to enter into arguments,” and tells a story about Rabbi Delia Nadel, who asked a question on the Chazon Ish and received an answer in the style of “Do what you understand.” The text also attributes to the Chazon Ish an emphasis on halakhic autonomy—that whoever thinks differently should act differently—and brings the example of the status of the Mishnah Berurah as being “as though handed down from the Chamber of Hewn Stone,” alongside the fact that the Chazon Ish disputes it in many places. The text distinguishes between an authority one may rely on and an authority one is obligated to agree with, and presents two kinds of “Chazon Ish followers”: those who imitate his books and those who imitate his independence.

The distinction between conceptual extremism and style and practical logic

The text states that extremism in the Chazon Ish is not necessarily verbal turbulence but rather an unequivocal conception and a willingness to pay prices for truth. It emphasizes that an extremist is not supposed to be an “idiot,” and that considerations of common sense determine whether there is any point in a fight when there is no chance of benefit. The text distinguishes between lucid extremism aimed at results and unlucid extremism in the style of “Tzemach Atlas,” driven by fear of thought or by inner tensions.

The radius of tolerance, legitimate error, and the distinction between tolerance and pluralism

The text returns to an earlier discussion of tolerance versus pluralism and formulates the idea that tolerance has a radius within which error is legitimate even though it is not the truth, while outside that radius there is error that is not legitimate. It describes tolerance as based on monism, on one truth, and adds that real tolerance does not require avoiding persuasion; on the contrary, it can include a desire to persuade out of concern, and only considerations of effectiveness may restrain that. The text emphasizes that coercion too can be justified in certain cases, but that the value of autonomy can also justify refraining from coercion, not out of weakness but out of principle.

Quotations from the Chazon Ish: condemnation of “mediocrity” and the definition of “the sweetness of extremism”

The text quotes from the letter that certain “well-known” circles pride themselves on not being extreme and still see themselves as “faithful Israel,” and sets against them the claim that lovers of Torah have no love for middle-of-the-roadness and no hatred for extremism. The text quotes that the principles of faith are found “in vigorous contradiction with easy notions and the flow of life,” and that specifically the clear, reasoned recognition and meticulousness in faith are what constitute extremism. The text quotes that those who testify that they have not tasted “the sweetness of extremism” are testifying that they are “devoid of faith,” and that an encounter between extremists and those “devoid of the edge” creates fights and a rupture “with no remedy,” and presents this as part of the conception of extremism and not as a reservation about it.

Mediocrity after the fact versus ideological mediocrity, and education toward extremism

The text quotes that the only mediocrity that has a right to exist is the level of average people “who love extremism and aspire to it,” and distinguishes between weakness that recognizes the ideal and an ideology that belittles extremism. The text argues that educating toward extremism is dangerous because young people may issue an “overheated judgment” and go too far, but agrees with the Chazon Ish that one should not place restraints on a way of life that leads to “heavenly pleasantness,” and should not give up educating toward true love of Torah. It parallels this to the claim that one does not give up on faith because of problematic practical outcomes, but rather corrects the education and the behavior.

Contemporary extremist phenomena: the shawl women and the hilltop youth

The text suggests that phenomena such as the shawl women and the hilltop youth arise from criticism of a compromising establishment and from a decision to go all the way with ideals that were taught, including a willingness to pay prices. It argues that rabbinic rebukes do not have much influence because the extremists believe that the rabbis themselves inwardly identify with the ideal but cannot apply it to the general public, and therefore the extremists see themselves as “the torchbearers.” The text distinguishes between extremism “across the board” and sectoral extremism that tramples many values for the sake of one value, and suggests that some cases resemble the “Tzemach Atlas” kind of extremism.

Criticism of “middle-of-the-road” education and its connection to abandoning religious education

The text argues that “educators of average schools” do not succeed because of “the falseness in middle-of-the-roadness,” and that an “intelligent heart” neglects such falseness. It argues that students leave because the education gives them justification to turn their backs on “oppressive beliefs” when the educators “rob” them of “the secret of extremism.” The text links this to a culture that takes pride in not being extreme “as a value in itself,” and not to moderation based on other considerations.

What is missing from the Chazon Ish’s analysis: the value of tolerance and the degree of certainty

The text presents a difficulty in that the Chazon Ish ignores the possibility that tolerance is a value and not merely compromise, and distinguishes this from a pluralism of “everything is true.” It adds that the question of the degree of certainty is also missing, and argues that a lucid person cannot be completely certain that he is not mistaken, and therefore cannot set out on a “jihad war” against those who disagree as though there were no other possibility. From here the text develops a discussion of self-sacrifice, and presents a personal position that does not know whether it would meet the standard when doubt exists, and brings the Chasid Yaavetz, who praised the self-sacrifice of ordinary Jews as opposed to Torah scholars, who know how “to bend” things and evade.

Examples of a dispute that is not a “legitimate error”: civil divorce in France and state conversion

The text brings a historical example from nineteenth-century France in which Orthodox rabbis ruled that civil divorce is halakhically valid even without a get, and describes an uproar and sharp letters in Europe and Eastern Europe, including mention of Rabbi Chaim Ozer and the booklet Agvanei BeNissuin (Bnei Torah edition). It argues that in such a case there is no obligation to “respect” the view just because it is being said by a rabbi, because the halakhic claim seems absurd in his eyes, and he supports going out sharply against a harmful idea while stressing that one should “discuss the arguments, not the arguers.” The text gives a closer example of conversion, presents the sharp criticism of the state conversion system, and defines Rabbi Druckman’s activity as “violence with good intentions” because it imposes standards that are not part of the consensus on the gateway into the Jewish people. The text justifies sharpness here because the ruling has implications for the entire public, including marriage and lineage, and therefore “these and those are the words of the living God” is not sufficient when irreversible public facts are being created.

Criticism of “pursuing peace” as a cover for not really caring, and conclusion

The text states that “excessive pursuit of peace” often reflects a stance of “I don’t really care that much,” and not necessarily enlightenment or a principled belief in the value of tolerance. It concludes by saying that the meeting was more of a conversation than a systematic lecture, and stops at that point.

That two different sides can be in the same place. That’s the limit of physics. So here, for example, is a good example. The two aspects of our collective existence really are happening while being in the same place. Each person is in a different place, but these two collectives live within the very same territory. Which collectives am I talking about? In Lod. Arabs and Jews. Just random chatter from before. Isn’t that the key? What? Is it open too? Oh, closed? I thought it was open. When we came in it was open. There was another prayer quorum. Ah, they probably closed the minyan. When they finished they probably closed it. Okay, so actually we’re at the last session on the question of dispute. And last time, toward the end, I started the final section in the series, and that’s the question of disputes in the social sense. Meaning: how to conduct disputes or arguments. And basically, bottom line, what I said is that a dispute for the sake of Heaven, whose end is to endure, and a dispute not for the sake of Heaven, whose end is not to endure—as the Mishnah in Avot says—that isn’t determined by the standard of manners and etiquette. Meaning: whether you behave politely and respect the other person or not. In my view, at least, a dispute for the sake of Heaven is a dispute conducted in a substantive way. Now, “substantive” does not mean not stormy, not intense, not sharp, not cynical. You could maybe say that it isn’t effective to do it that way because the other person won’t accept your arguments—fine, those are technical arguments. I’m not talking right now on that level. I’m talking on the principled level: is it improper to do that, say, morally improper, or does that make it a wrong dispute, not for the sake of Heaven? So no. In my view, a dispute undertaken for a substantive reason, because you truly think the other side is mistaken, is a dispute for the sake of Heaven. And if you raise substantive arguments, it’s a dispute for the sake of Heaven even if you really go after him, do it very sharply, ostracize him, excommunicate him, I don’t know whatever you do—depending on how severe you see his position to be. But the conduct is one thing—the manners are one thing—and the essence is another. I think the conflation of these two things—and it happens a lot, by the way, also in traditional Torah commentary literature, where people often move immediately from the question of a dispute for the sake of Heaven to a question of manners and respecting the other and all kinds of things of that sort—in my opinion there is no connection whatsoever. I don’t think there’s any connection between those two things. And again, I’m saying that doesn’t mean it’s recommended or right to speak sharply—and this despite the fact that I do tend to do that from time to time—but that’s another question. That’s a tactical question, or I don’t know, not to hurt the other person, okay, that can also be correct. But not in terms of the quality of the argument or how you judge the argument itself—I don’t think it’s connected. I don’t think it’s connected at all.

Now, in that context, there was some guy, a baal teshuvah, that I accompanied. Yes, it started in an interesting way. Dafna, my wife, worked in Yeruham, so she worked in this sort of pluralistic study center, “BaMidbar,” that was the name of the place. And one day some guy came in there with a backpack, wandering around, hiking there by himself in the street. He started to get interested—do people learn Judaism here? So she says to him: come, come have breakfast with my husband. And since then we… he’s already Haredi now, in Ma’alot, I don’t know, somewhere. In any case, in one of his phases he asked me—he was very troubled by quarrels between rabbis. Rabbi Ovadia and this one and that one, fighting and attacking each other, politics and factions and different Hasidic groups of course, a lot of things. In short, he asked me: why is it that precisely in this world there are so many ugly things, ugly phenomena, quarrels? By way of the well-known saying, “Torah scholars increase peace in the world.” It’s about like saying Yasser Arafat was the greatest expert in peace agreements, because every week he violated the agreement and so you needed a new peace agreement, so he was the world champion of peace agreements. So also in this context, somehow Torah scholars don’t really seem to increase peace in the world.

So I told him that actually, in my opinion, this is a beautiful phenomenon. It’s a beautiful phenomenon, although again, yes, it’s also annoying sometimes. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking here about ideological fights—these say those are heretics and those say these are heretics, it doesn’t matter—the principled fights, not who gets the money. And maybe even who gets the money, by the way, is also a reflection, because I want to promote my direction, so I need the money too—not money for my pocket, but money for the path, for institutions, I don’t know, to advance my way. To me that’s very beautiful. It’s beautiful because the people really believe in what they say and it matters to them, and they’re prepared to fight for it, and they don’t bother mincing around and playing games, rather they fight for what they believe in. And many times someone who’s very enlightened and polite and doesn’t fight and respects everyone—that’s simply because he doesn’t really care. So I say it this way: you say this, I say that, all the best, what do I care? What I say isn’t important to me, and what you say isn’t important to me either, so do whatever you want. Now again—and this is exactly the same distinction I made before—that doesn’t mean that everything they do there is worthy and nice and how it ought to be. But we’re all human beings, and overall, as a phenomenon, in my opinion it’s much more… I wouldn’t want to live in a society where this didn’t exist. A society where this doesn’t exist is some boring society—not only boring in the sense that it’s boring, though that’s also true, it’s boring and sleepy. But not in the self-interested sense that I like things to be interesting, rather also in the sense that it’s a society to which things don’t matter. Meaning, they don’t fight over them. Now when you fight, we’re human beings. Human beings sometimes fight in non-kosher ways, throw punches below the belt, okay, but you don’t want to live in a place where there’s nothing worth dying for, as the poet says. So “Imagine” by the Beatles. Yes, it’s just a Hebrew translation. There’s nothing worth dying for and that kind of stuff. “I’m lying on my back” of Ariel Zilber. There’s nothing worth dying for.

I’d say Leibowitz succeeded—he succeeded in annoying everyone. Right. No, I think Leibowitz deserves a great deal of appreciation beyond the question of whether you agree with his positions or not, because he fought for his positions and was willing to pay prices. He gave up the Israel Prize over it—he canceled it in the end. He made fools of everybody. Came out like a real man—what should I tell you—came out like a real man, not in the street sense of some thug. Something mattered to him and he fought for it, and he didn’t bend before all the fools there who don’t know what they’re talking about. And I very much respect someone like that. Meaning, I wish there were more like that. When the university administration sent them a notice that they wanted to open the swimming pool at the Hebrew University on the Sabbath, he wrote them a letter that he was resigning from the university senate. I assume that was at an early stage. They retracted, but toward the end of his life I assume he wouldn’t have done that. He was active, he was a religious politician, a representative of HaPoel HaMizrachi in the Histadrut. Meaning, he was really a religious politician with a ticket—it’s hard to believe when you look at his later phases.

In any case, the point is that places where people don’t fight are places where it doesn’t matter to them. Meaning, in certain respects—even though various current militancies annoy me terribly, from different religious directions but also from liberal directions and whatever—just this morning I spoke with someone who teaches in some secular school. He says: listen, you can’t talk to people. Meaning, there’s some religion there and you can’t talk about anything except the gay-lesbian issue. Nothing else. Nothing else gets through the screen, nothing. You can’t talk about anything else. The liberal madness simply doesn’t let you—and I’m not even talking about expressing other positions in the gay-lesbian field. Just, you want to talk about something else. No. Everything will be dragged into this issue and brought in here, exclusion and all that nonsense. In short, that’s on the one hand. But on the other hand, listen, there are things that matter to people and they fight for them. In that sense, it’s actually an optimistic perspective. Meaning, it’s terribly annoying, but at least—as people always say—indifference is worse than militant opposition. Because indifference means there’s no one to talk to. Meaning, you can’t talk to him. Someone who fights—yes, that reminds me, since we’re in social matters I’ll maybe drift into talking a bit about myself.

After all, Tzvi Inbal—he’s this activist, this well-known lecturer in Arachim—he was one of the members of the league against religious coercion. Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda, I think, was also a member of the league against religious coercion—which is a league in favor of secular coercion—and then left. I think that’s what I once heard. I know he was a member, but I heard that was the background for why he left. Because the people who oppose—it matters to them, so there’s someone to talk to. Meaning, it’s like I talked about this one of the previous times—I said that I think all kinds of radical things that I say are much easier for me to say in Bnei Brak than in some synagogue of Religious Zionists, excuse the expression. Why? Because in Bnei Brak these are people who know how to learn. I bring them proofs, I have arguments, they can disagree with me, they can say it’s harmful, but we’re in some kind of negotiation. We know—there are rules of negotiation, there are arguments. That doesn’t mean they’ll do tomorrow what I say or that I’ll convince them. That’s another matter. But there’s someone to talk to. They understand that this approach has something to rely on. They don’t agree with it, but they understand that okay, you have an approach. There are people who aren’t used to halakhic negotiation and don’t understand; no arguments will help. Meaning, there’s nobody to talk to. Meaning, it just doesn’t fit for them, and there’s no one to talk to. Meaning, you can’t conduct an argument.

That reminds me that here in the synagogue there was one year on Simchat Torah, and they came to ask me whether the Torah scroll could be brought to the women on Simchat Torah. Since then some water has gone under the bridge, I understand, though not here… What? Here in this Jordan barely. No, but still, a bit, at least from what I can see. I said: what’s the problem? Obviously. What’s the question, exactly? And afterward I heard there were all kinds of arguments—what do you mean, how can you do such things, what is this, it’s heresy. There’s some gloss of Rabbi Moshe Isserles that says that a menstruating woman—in Krakow there, I don’t know where—they had the custom that she shouldn’t touch a Torah scroll. Fine, so in Krakow they had that custom—so what? What does that say? It has no basis. What are these things? But I’m saying—in Bnei Brak you can talk about it. It won’t be implemented. Meaning, it won’t be implemented, okay, I understand. But everyone there will understand that what I’m saying is fine and reasonable and everything is okay. We won’t do it because what’s accepted among us isn’t like that. Okay, I have no problem with that, because you can talk with them. So in that sense, when there’s discourse, when there is some argument, that’s sometimes better than someone to whom you’re simply uninteresting, or who isn’t willing to talk to you for other reasons, doesn’t matter, or who can’t talk to you for other reasons. In any case, that’s what I told him—that those arguments indicate that.

After all, in a world where—we once talked about how this isn’t completely true here—but it’s like a mathematical statement that a kosher restaurant will always be less tasty than a non-kosher restaurant. Because if there’s a kosher dish that’s tastier, then the non-kosher restaurant will adopt it. And if there’s a non-kosher dish that’s tastier, the kosher restaurant can’t adopt it. And therefore it’s greater-than-or-equal, and it’s a lower bound. Meaning, the non-kosher restaurant will never be less tasty—or cheaper. Meaning, of course the product of price, quality, and kashrut is constant. No, no, logically that’s not true. Huh? Logically that’s not true. Why? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because suppose there’s some particular kind of fish that isn’t kosher, and it’s tasty, but there’s another kind of meat that is kosher and is tasty. And that restaurant sells both fish and meat. So you’ll bring the kosher meat dish and the non-kosher fish dish—but it’s a non-kosher restaurant, you can’t eat there, right? Because you don’t know how to distinguish. So why does that mean that by definition the non-kosher restaurant will be tastier than the kosher restaurant? The non-kosher restaurant won’t bring the kosher meat? Yes, of course. So anything that’s tasty the non-kosher restaurant will take, because it has no problem serving kosher, but the kosher restaurant can’t use non-kosher. There are jokes about this, but it’s not a joke, it’s a theorem. Meaning, it’s simple logic, it can’t be otherwise. Unless, again, there are tradeoffs in price, fine. Unless he decides he’s open on the Sabbath too, and then he’s a non-kosher restaurant. No, because he doesn’t have a kashrut certificate or he doesn’t employ a kashrut supervisor. That won’t change this balance. Not related. He can open on the Sabbath but he won’t be less tasty. What? That’s why you’re missing the point. There are ten kosher things and a hundred non-kosher things. Fine. It comes because of the… Why are you philosophizing? Why are you philosophizing?

So I’m saying, in this context too, why are there more fights in the religious world? Because in the religious world there are more things that matter to people. That’s factual, it has nothing to do with the argument, it’s not for the sake of criticism. Factually, certainly that’s true. Meaning, there are more values or more commandments or more things that matter to people in the religious world than in the secular world. That’s all. And therefore obviously there are more fights there. Many times it also matters more to them—the thing that matters is more important—but not always. Sometimes it’s not like that. And therefore obviously there are more fights there. And therefore obviously there are more fights there. So in my eyes, maybe the fights look bad and I don’t know, I don’t like them so much, or others don’t like them so much, but in a certain sense they express something very, very positive. And of course when there are lots of fights and lots of things matter to you, then you also go below the belt and do ugly things. Fine, that’s part of it. But still, you’re fighting for something that matters to you. There’s also more time to fight. On the other side there’s more time to fight. I don’t know, sometimes that’s true. Really, sometimes the fights are the result of boredom. On that I agree. But it’s not always like that. Why is there more time? I actually agree with him that there’s much more time. After all, all those not in yeshivot have free time. Their whole two hundred dollars if they don’t study. They have lots and lots of time.

In any case, there’s a letter of the Chazon Ish that I wanted to read, a famous letter, where he basically talks a bit about this issue, or a related issue—the letter about extremism, a well-known letter of his. “Just as simplicity and truth are synonymous, so too extremism and greatness are synonymous.” The first sentence, by the way, is interesting: that simplicity and truth are synonymous. Meaning, I assume he means Occam’s razor. What is simpler is probably also truer. “So too extremism and greatness are synonymous.” Meaning, being a great person and being an extremist are synonymous. Meaning, it’s the same thing. “Extremism is the completion of the matter,” meaning it is the manifestation of a matter in its full wholeness—that’s called extremism. “One who advocates mediocrity and despises extremism belongs with the falsifiers or with those lacking understanding.” Someone who opposes extremism—what he calls mediocrity; mediocrity isn’t necessarily in the sense we use it today, he’ll get to that, but for now the term “mediocrity” here means lack of extremism. Meaning something more moderate—how shall I put it? Politically correct. So he says that mediocrity in this sense—whoever adopts it belongs with the falsifiers or those lacking understanding. “Lacking understanding” means he has no position. And if he has no position, then he doesn’t oppose and he doesn’t fight for his positions and he isn’t extreme and he’s willing to accept everything. Or he’s a falsifier. Meaning, if he’s a falsifier, then he’s basically saying: look, I believe in something, I’m not intellectually lacking understanding, I know what the truth is, but I can’t be bothered, I don’t want to pay prices for it. Meaning, I’m not willing to pay the price of a tough, extreme struggle for my truth. And therefore he says that this is not a virtue—mediocrity—but a deficiency, whereas extremism is a virtue. That’s his claim. Fine, it can be qualified, but we’ll see that later.

“If there is no extremism there is no wholeness. And if there is no wholeness…”—because someone who is whole goes all the way with his truth. He isn’t willing to compromise or to fulfill only part of things; he goes all the way. Including convincing others too, of course, of his truth—everything—not just himself, because part of wholeness is to cause other people to behave correctly too. “And if there is no wholeness there is no beginning. What is the beginning? The beginning is in constant difficulties and refutations.” This is an interesting sentence, by the way. Because extremism means things matter to you. If things matter to you, then you won’t ignore difficulties and refutations, even though that seemingly goes against extremism. Because extremism is to be fanatical, not ask questions, but go with your truth and not put it to the test. And the Chazon Ish says it’s not like that. The Chazon Ish says, on the contrary, extremism is something that will lead a person to ask questions. What we talked about before—that someone who joins the league against religious coercion is a likely candidate to become religious, because he asks questions and things matter to him and he investigates, and maybe in the end he’ll be convinced that it’s wrong, and vice versa. Listen, I doubt the empirical truth of that statement. Why? It seems to me it’s true. What? That people like that really would become religious? Yes, certainly. Extreme people become religious more than mediocre people. No question, certainly. I have clear statistics. I knew lots of baalei teshuvah in yeshiva and in many places, there’s no question. Again, “extreme” doesn’t necessarily mean—they depend on in what direction. These are people who care, people who investigate, people to whom things matter. Otherwise a person stays where he is. What does he care? Everyone does what he wants. He’ll never become religious that way. How would he get there?

No, he can be Modern Orthodox, but he made an extreme move in going from secularity to religion—that, there, is extreme. Extreme in the sense of things mattering to him, that they matter to him. What matters to him? That’s another matter. One person can care about liberalism, another can care about conservatism, another can care about feminism, another can care about anti-feminism. Fine, doesn’t matter. All these are extremists. Meaning, they’re extremists in the sense that they care and they fight for what they care about. So here the point is that these constant difficulties and refutations—and by the way we talked about this once—it’s always in the background here: tolerance, openness, pluralism. It’s obviously in the background here, and we already discussed that so I won’t repeat it here. But I remember once reading an article in Haaretz by Tamar Rotel, I think, who wrote—yes, she’s a former Haredi-national-religious woman—who wrote about Rabbi Dalia Nadel after he died. And she wrote in Haaretz a kind of eulogy—not exactly a eulogy, but she wrote about him, about the man, who he was, because the public didn’t know him. And among the things she said, she was very amazed by the contradictions in his personality, because—and it’s true, anyone who knew him knows this—that on the one hand he was super fanatical and extreme. Super. Meaning, he fought against everything and also against Zionism and against lots of things, although ostensibly he doesn’t come across that way. And on the other hand he was open to everything. He read everything, spoke with people, argued and read books of all types and kinds and studied all kinds of subjects and all kinds of things. So she says: how does openness fit with fanaticism? And when I read her article, I think that’s what made the penny drop for me with the article I wrote on openness and tolerance and pluralism, because suddenly I grasped that there is no contradiction at all—quite the contrary. Meaning, if someone is open and examined different options and reached a certain conclusion, then obviously he’ll be more fanatical, because he’s more certain he’s right; he knows the alternatives and he fights against them because he concluded they are wrong. But a person who didn’t examine the other things—and also cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t have examined—yes, exactly—then on what basis would he be fanatical? It’s just stupidity to be fanatical. How would you know—maybe the other person is right? Did you check? Did you see his arguments? Did you look?

So I don’t think there’s any contradiction here at all. There is a different kind of fanaticism. There’s another kind of fanaticism—while we’re at it—and this too is the Chazon Ish. The relation between this letter and… there are books by Chaim Grade, Tzemach Atlas, The Battle of the Inclination. He was a Yiddish writer, a Yiddish writer and poet, was also nominated for the Nobel Prize, was angry at Bashevis Singer for taking the Nobel Prize from him, never mind. But in any case, as a young yeshiva student he grew up in a Novardok yeshiva. The yeshivot of Novardok—the Alter of Novardok, who was also not exactly a mild man—sent all his yeshiva boys, lots of young men, to establish yeshivot in various villages because of the Enlightenment and the fear that they were losing the youth and the young people. So he sent his boys, pushed them—each one should get to some village, establish a yeshiva there, teach the local children from the area, and that’s it. And so lots and lots of Novardok yeshivot were founded throughout Eastern Europe.

And Chaim Grade, as a child, studied in one of those yeshivot, and the village is called Volkenik—maybe that’s the literary name, I don’t know whether it was the real name of the village, but that’s the name—and there he describes Chaimke, who is himself, yes, it’s clear that it’s himself, and the head of the yeshiva is Tzemach Atlas. That’s his name. The literary name he chose. By the way, there’s an article by Hillel the bibliographer, that librarian, in which he tries to identify who Tzemach Atlas is and who the characters are. They identified him for sure. Huh? They identified him for sure. I don’t know if it’s for sure. I know there were various attempts. There were claims that it was the son-in-law of Baruch Ber, I think—what was his name—Rabbi Reuven Grozovsky. Yes. There were such claims, I don’t know. He was later a yeshiva head in France too, a yeshiva of young boys. Yes, right, I also heard that identification. I’m not sure it’s correct. There was a film, the famous film, I think… My Quarrel with Hersh Rasseyner. Exactly. Chaim Grade after the Holocaust met him in France—in Canada, sorry, in Canada he met him, and in the story it’s in France. What story? No, he met him in Canada, but the Jew in the story was, I think, from France, I think, that Jew he met in Canada. There there’s a theological debate around the Holocaust, a very powerful film.

In any case, this Tzemach Atlas is a Novardok boy of twenty-something, I don’t know how old, a young student in the second year, who went to found a yeshiva and became the head of a yeshiva for twelve-year-old kids. And that’s how it was there. Now, they grew up under a wild man, in a completely wild yeshiva. Novardok is a yeshiva without restraints, really not. Meaning, their ideology was not to care what anyone thinks of you and so on, all the famous stories, not to be impressed by people’s opinions of you. And you send a twenty-year-old boy raised in such an education to be a yeshiva head—you understand that this is a recipe for insane damage to children. Really, it’s simply disastrous, that thing. And there he describes that head of the yeshiva, that Tzemach Atlas, as a literary figure, but he describes him as someone consumed by drives and doubts, who doesn’t know how to live with it inside. Meaning, he describes what’s happening inwardly in his soul. But outwardly: ultra-fanatic. Meaning, he fights, he persecutes anyone who voices some opinion or asks some forbidden question, and drives—not to mention, no way, total war, jihad—against any hint of heresy or drives or sexual impropriety, all kinds of things, “do not stray after your hearts and after your eyes.”

And against that he describes there what he calls “the visionary Avraham,” which is the literary name for the Chazon Ish. Because it’s known that the Chazon Ish came to vacation in that village; every summer he would come there for a vacation, some month or two or three, I don’t know how long, for part of the year. And on one occasion, when they threw Chaim out of the yeshiva following one of Tzemach Atlas’s outbursts, he went to live with the Chazon Ish in his house—and that really happened. He lived in his house for years. And he calls him “the visionary Avraham,” that’s the literary name. And the book, to a large extent, is basically a contrast between the two figures. Tzemach Atlas is a stormy type consumed by drives and all that, fighting outwardly against every trace of heresy or drives or illicit relations, while the Chazon Ish is portrayed as someone completely whole, harmonious, simple, everything is clear. Anything you want, you can ask him—this goes back to the difficulties and refutations. Anything you want you can ask him. Tzemach Atlas doesn’t allow questions. The Chazon Ish isn’t portrayed that way. The Chazon Ish is portrayed as a pretty fanatical Jew in the sense—again, not fanatical in the sense of throwing stones—but in terms of his worldview he is very, very closed, he is unwilling to accept deviations. Yes, national Zionism is “be killed rather than transgress.” Meaning, you have to remember all his public directives. And he answers every question, and sits with him, and everything is okay and wonderful. Meaning, inwardly he is completely calm, he is harmonious with himself, not consumed by all the drives that consume Tzemach Atlas. And on the other hand he behaves—not fanatically, even though he is very whole with himself and the other one is torn apart. So it’s not despite that, it’s because of that.

Meaning, the claim is that Tzemach Atlas, of course, is fighting with himself, he isn’t fighting the environment. Meaning, he doesn’t know what to do with the doubts and drives and difficulties he has inside. What do you do with that? He is consumed by it. Meaning, it’s clear to him that it isn’t okay, but what can you do, it’s there. So instead of sitting and clarifying the matter for yourself and checking and taking the risk that maybe it will turn out that you aren’t necessarily right and the questions are good questions—or drives, doesn’t matter, another kind of risk—so you don’t want to take the risk, and you don’t fight it, but it comes out somehow. So if you don’t fight it inside, then you fight all the others. Which is what psychology calls projection. Yes, you project onto them everything that’s inside you, and you fight against yourself as you appear through them. Okay? Whereas the Chazon Ish, who doesn’t have all these internal tensions, doesn’t fight anyone. The Chazon Ish has a well-known famous letter—I’m one of his great admirers, by the way, full disclosure as they say—he has a very famous letter: it is not my way to enter arguments, and in any case no one gets convinced, and if you think differently then act differently, what do I know? I know that Rabbi Dalia Nadel—which I heard, I think, from Rabbi Yogel, who was Rabbi Dalia Nadel’s study partner—and they would go every week to the Chazon Ish to ask him questions on what they had learned during the week. He was a student, Rabbi Yogel. And once, Rabbi Dalia had a difficulty on the Chazon Ish, something written in one of the Chazon Ish’s books. Rabbi Dalia said to him, listen—fine, you don’t agree with me? So do what you think, what’s the problem? What do you want from me? Apparently he explained it to him once, and he didn’t accept it, so okay. What happened? You think this way, I think that way, everything’s fine, do what you think.

Isn’t that contradictory to this letter? Huh? Isn’t that contradictory to this letter? Yes. What? With the extremism… wait, that’s why I’m bringing it. I’m saying this too is the Chazon Ish, and Tzemach Atlas too is the Chazon Ish, in the way he portrays “the visionary Avraham” there. You know, in my eyes it’s an amazing ethical work, that book, because it’s a book not written by a novelist in the superficial sense. He lived in his house for several years, he wasn’t fed slogans. He saw how he behaved every moment, and he had no interest, because when he wrote it he was already completely outside the whole religious framework. There are all kinds of legends in Bnei Brak about how he wanted to become religious again and had arranged with the Chazon Ish that he would come, and this is the kind of legend they also say about Maimonides—that he said he would come and the Chazon Ish died right then and he didn’t manage to meet him, and therefore he remained secular to the end of his life. Fine. In any case, the claim is that this is all the Chazon Ish. And that’s interesting against the background of this letter—this serenity, this non-extremism, this yes-acceptance of other views. But here one really has to distinguish between a few things. Meaning, extremism doesn’t always mean you need to fight with someone if there’s no chance you’ll convince him. Meaning, that’s not extremism, that’s stupidity. I don’t think the Chazon Ish is speaking of extremism in that sense. If you’re not going to convince him, why fight with him? It’s simply a matter of common sense. There’s no point fighting with someone when the fight won’t be beneficial. That’s one thing. Second, there’s of course some radius. We talked about tolerance versus pluralism, and I said one of the things that distinguishes them is that tolerance has a radius, whereas pluralism—or at least substantive pluralism—has no radius. And the radius is basically that there is a certain range of things which, though in my view not true—because tolerance is based on monism, that truth is one—still they are legitimate mistakes. And outside that radius we’re talking about things that are not true and are also not legitimate.

Now, even when you talk about extremism, you need to distinguish between these two domains. In the domain of legitimate error, fine, it’s legitimate—that’s what you think. More than that, the Chazon Ish also strongly championed the value of autonomy, that a person should do what he thinks. He himself acted that way and wrote that way. I once mentioned that people always quote the Chazon Ish as the one who gave the Mishnah Berurah its status. How did the Mishnah Berurah get its halakhic standing? The Chazon Ish did that. The Chazon Ish basically said that the words of the Mishnah Berurah are as if handed down from the Chamber of Hewn Stone. Therefore the Chazon Ish is, of course, a rebellious elder? Since he disagrees with the Mishnah Berurah in many places. There are even editions of the Mishnah Berurah with notes by the Chazon Ish on all the places where he disagrees with it. So what does “Chamber of Hewn Stone” mean? What’s that about? It means—it’s a book of Jewish law you can rely on, that’s what it means. In any case, you can rely on it and also disagree with it. Right—not only can you, you must. Meaning, if you think differently, do differently. If you’re not qualified and you can’t issue a halakhic ruling, take what the Mishnah Berurah writes, and if you did that, it’s fine, because it’s a good book. He wasn’t an ignoramus, he knew how to learn, he knew how to rule in Jewish law, so you can rely on him, he’s authoritative. That doesn’t mean I agree with him about everything. Those are two different things.

The Chazon Ish—I talked about how there are two types of Chazon-Ish-niks. The Chazon-Ish-niks who do everything written in the Chazon Ish’s books, and the Chazon-Ish-niks who do what they themselves think, just as the Chazon Ish did what he thought. And Tzemach Atlas was a Chazon-Ish-nik of the second type, obviously, and indeed that’s so. So how does that fit with this hymn of praise to extremism that the Chazon Ish writes here? So as I said before, the question is: when you speak about the people outside, then indeed you have to fight a total war, with extremism, and condemn and not accept and not “contain” and nothing. And there too I say: obviously considerations of common sense and reason have to operate there too. Meaning, there’s no point waging wars over something that won’t help. So I think common-sense considerations are something an extremist should also have. An extremist is not supposed to be an idiot. An extremist is supposed to be someone who fights for things that matter to him, who is willing to pay prices for them—but he is willing to pay those prices in order to achieve results. Someone who pays prices without achieving results—that’s Tzemach Atlas. Meaning, he’s an extremist of the non-discerning sort. He’s not an extremist who does it out of lucid decision because it truly matters to him; rather he’s extreme either because he is fighting things inside himself, or because he’s just some fanatic who is afraid to think, and therefore he’s unwilling to hear someone raise questions or raise the possibility of thinking differently or something like that. That’s another type of fanatic. I don’t think this hymn of praise is speaking about them.

“And innocence is the sharp answerer that establishes each matter appropriately and in its truth.” And this too is an interesting point. What does “innocence” mean here? So here innocence is not mediocrity. Innocence is apparently the trait of the extremist. In literal translation it means wholeness. Right? “Tamim” means whole, like an unblemished offering, a flawless lamb. So here too he says extremism and greatness are synonymous, and extremism is the completion of the matter. And innocence is connected to extremism. Innocence means wholeness. And what does that mean? “Innocence is the sharp answerer that establishes each matter appropriately and in its truth.” You deal with the difficulties, as he said before, and innocence—wholeness—is finding answers to all the difficulties, not ignoring the difficulties but pursuing them in an extreme, all-out war. When you read it that way, suddenly you see that Tzemach Atlas doesn’t at all contradict this hymn of praise to extremism, because he isn’t speaking about extremism like Tzemach Atlas’s. He is speaking about extremism like his own, because he too was extreme. The Chazon Ish was a super-extreme figure. Super-extreme—but not in his interpersonal conduct. Meaning, in his interpersonal conduct he was completely whole. But he was unequivocal: forbidden is forbidden, permitted is permitted, there’s no room for arguments. When, for example, he sent regarding the International Date Line controversy—he sent a very sharp letter to Japan there and said: you will fast on this day and that’s it, without hearing anyone else. I say so, and that’s what you’ll do. Unwilling to hear anyone else.

So extremism—and this goes back to the same distinction I made before—the extremism he’s speaking about here does not mean verbal storminess. It does not mean sharp speech. That’s not the point at all. Sharp speech or not sharp speech—do it or don’t do it—that’s secondary, it isn’t important at all. Extremism here speaks of a stance. Meaning, if you really believe what you believe and you’re willing to fight for it and argue about it and pay prices for it, and not say: okay, you’re right and I’m right and she’s right and everybody’s right. Meaning, that’s what he calls “one who advocates mediocrity and despises extremism—the falsifiers and those lacking understanding.” “We are accustomed to hear in certain circles”—no need to point out which circles these are—“proclaiming of themselves that they have no share among the extremists, while still reserving for themselves…” Now just look at his extremism here. You see? When he talks about those circles who come out against extremism, he says very extreme things. He says, “We are accustomed to hear in certain circles proclaiming of themselves that they have no share among the extremists, while still reserving for themselves the right of a faithful Jew with sufficient faith in Torah and the words of Torah.” As though they still regard themselves as faithful to Torah, even though basically they are moderate, mediocre, not extreme, and oppose extremism, and so on. “And we permit ourselves to say, from the standpoint of judgment…” Yes—just read all those Torah pieces on Pinchas in the weekly pamphlets. All the pages, doesn’t matter, to the last one. It makes no difference which page you read, it’s always the same thing. It’s all against extremism, and reserved only for unique individuals, and you need to be moderate. Not the words of Torah themselves, but interpretations of Torah, and there there is some distortion. Not the words of Torah, God forbid, the words of Torah. What’s woven between the hotel and travel ads. Meaning there are a few written pieces, yes. In any case, the claim is: “We permit ourselves to say, from the standpoint of judgment, that just as lovers of wisdom do not love lesser wisdom, though they may despise abundant wisdom…” Someone wise does not love stupidity, with all due respect; perhaps he takes account of the fool but does not love it. “So too, lovers of Torah and commandment do not love middle-of-the-roadness and do not hate extremism.” This is very interesting.

On the side of the righteous, wisdom in small measure—it’s like fire—small measure helps warm, but in greater measure it will burn countries and cause damage. Okay, so that’s a result of the extremism he’s speaking about here. No, on the contrary. Oh, anti-extreme? No, extremism. Extremism really can burn countries, but that’s a result of wisdom. That’s what he’s saying. Otherwise you’re among those lacking understanding. Oh, I see. On the contrary—that’s the Torah essay of Pinchas. Those who say no no, it’s dangerous and it isn’t nice and not moral, why fight, you need to receive every person with a pleasant countenance and respect every opinion, and all that nonsense. In any case, the claim is that if it matters to you, then what do you mean that you accept someone who says otherwise and thinks otherwise? He’s wrong, wrong and harmful and all that—what do you mean, accept this? “All the foundations of faith, the thirteen principles and their derivatives, are always in vigorous contradiction to easy notions and the stream of life developed under the sun. And clear and well-answered recognition, extending excessive exactitude in their faith—that is extremism.” When you know the principles well and believe in them and internalize them and it matters to you because you’re genuinely religious and not toy-religious, then how could you not be extreme? How can you accept someone who bores a hole—a hole in the ship in which you are sitting—if you really think that’s what he’s doing? Therefore he says that someone who accepts all opinions is basically showing that his own opinion isn’t important enough to him, or that he has no opinion—or he’s a falsifier or one lacking understanding, as he said above. “This is the pleasantness of extremism. And those who testify of themselves that they have not tasted the sweetness of extremism testify thereby that they are lacking faith in the fundamentals of religion, according to their intellectual power and emotional sensitivity. They relate to it only by dim cords of relation. And the extremists, from the depths of their souls, with their mightiest desire to have compassion on those lacking the edge”—those lacking the edge means those who are not extreme—“will not feel honor and esteem for these opponents. And the abyss that separates them, when it meets in practical deeds, producing by its very nature quarrels and disputes, will only increase the breach beyond remedy.”

Here it’s not entirely clear to me what he means. I think he means those same “lacking the edge,” who don’t want to enter into this, who object because extremism creates rifts and so on. Meaning, I think this sentence actually is not one he brings as something he identifies with. Rather, he says this is the mediocrity he doesn’t accept. Why not say he’s describing what will happen between extremists and non-extremists? Right—and all of this is due to the extremists, not due to the non-extremists. I’m not sure why he’s describing here the approach of those lacking the edge. He says: when extremists meet non-extremists, a breach beyond repair will be created between them. And he doesn’t see that as a reservation. As far as he’s concerned, fine, there will be a breach because this is what matters to me. And someone who says no no, there will be a breach, because one shouldn’t do this because the unity of the people is terribly important—right? So that’s the mediocre ones. “The mediocrity that has a right to exist is the quality of those mediocre ones who love extremism and aspire to it with all the longing of their soul.” In retrospect, it’s permissible to be mediocre. Which mediocre person? One who understands he’s mediocre and that it’s not right, and he doesn’t have the strength. But his ideal model, his utopia, is the extreme utopia—the encouragers. Yes, exactly, the encouragers, or at least those who encourage it in their hearts. So that kind of mediocrity has a right to exist. Meaning, this is someone who says: it matters to me, I don’t have enough strength, I’m not sufficiently self-sacrificing for this matter, but I do support or identify with what the extremists are doing.

By the way, part of the matter here really has many manifestations in our world. I think some of the extreme phenomena we are experiencing in the religious world now—the shal women and that whole phenomenon in the Haredi world, or the hilltop youth in the Religious Zionist world—come from a very similar phenomenon, I think. It’s a situation where people are basically saying: we’re willing to pay prices and go all the way with what we believe in. And they have criticism of the establishment or the religious or Haredi mainstream, each in his own place, that they are compromisers, basically. They are unwilling to take the conclusions all the way and pay prices and cover up all the way. After all, you educated me that modesty is modesty and the best is to be as modest as possible. Fine, you’re willing to accept compromises, but you understand that this is the ideal, right? So why are you now telling me stories that what I’m doing isn’t okay? That I’m covering myself from all… They don’t believe those scoldings. Why don’t they believe those scoldings? Out of that very same conception. Meaning, if you educated us on this, then what do you mean? Then the required result is that we too will act accordingly and pay prices for it and be willing. And since they also think or estimate that the rabbis who scold them, inwardly, actually also identify with them, only they can’t allow themselves or don’t dare do such a thing or something like that, therefore it also has no effect. Because they understand that they are actually doing what the rabbis would want them to do.

That’s why it’s strange, because with all that fear of Heaven, I would expect them to listen to the rabbinic leaders of their group—whether Haredi or Religious Zionist, doesn’t matter. But they don’t listen. It’s a completely undisciplined public. Meaning, all the great rabbis can come out against them—it won’t help at all. Why won’t it help at all? Because from their perspective they’re convinced that the rabbis who rebuke them actually want them to do it, deep inside. They can’t permit the whole public to be like this, but the torchbearers, the vanguard—yes, they should do it all the way, and that is worthy of great admiration. And by the way, to a certain extent that’s true. Meaning, for all that I don’t agree with the path, still the very… “But how lowly is the noisy mediocrity that despises extremism.” Meaning, there are mediocre people who turn mediocrity into an ideology, not just a weakness. They say, we are weak, what can you do? So that’s mediocrity that, after the fact, one can live with. But there are mediocre people who turn it into an ideology. That—too bad—yes, “the noisy one that despises extremism.” “Indeed, the boiling spirit in the heart of youth will not fail to render a heated judgment upon the private individuals who act outrageously, and to do so with exaggeration.” “The development of youth”—meaning, again, I think it’s not always fully clear to me what he means—but it seems to me he means that educating toward extremism is dangerous when you’re speaking with young people, because the youth will make extreme decisions like the hilltop youth, and they’ll simply do what you educate them to do, God forbid. Take into account that when you educate someone, it’s possible he’ll actually do what you educate him to do; one must be very careful.

Just today I told that fellow I was driving with, that teacher, I said that generally we educate the generation of our students’ students. That’s the educator’s role. Because our student will rebel against us and do the opposite, and his student will rebel against him and do what I told him to do. We are basically educating our students’ students. So the claim is that it’s dangerous to educate toward extremism, because young people and people who aren’t mature enough and don’t know how to critique their own behavior can do things that shouldn’t be done and aren’t worthy. And again you see that extremism does not mean not weighing things on the scales of common sense as to how it is right to behave. Those are two different things. Extremism in outlook, extremism in willingness to pay prices—but not the question of how to behave; that’s another question. “The development of youth”—and still he says it’s worth paying the price. Despite the danger, it’s worth paying the price and still educating even the youth toward extremism. Why? “The development of youth to true love of Torah, which requires emotional inspiration and heavenly delight”—meaning, identification with the religious world that you want to educate him into—“will not allow restraints to be placed on the paths of life that lead to those who sit crowned and enjoy the radiance.” We cannot deny them authentic service of God just because of these concerns. We need to educate them toward genuine religiosity. Fine, there will be problems, try to handle them.

It reminds me a bit of the rebukes after Rabin’s assassination, when people would always say: see what comes from religious fanaticism, as though that were a secular argument. So what do you want—that I stop believing in the Holy One, blessed be He, because he killed Rabin? What does that have to do with anything? I believe in the Holy One, blessed be He, because I think He exists. What do you want me to do? I don’t subordinate my beliefs to practical outcomes. At most you can say: look, because you believe things in such a fanatical way, be careful that problematic results don’t emerge. That is a criticism I definitely accept. But this subordination of the beliefs themselves to the problematic outcomes is a very problematic argument. Sometimes at the margins there is room for it—that’s the polemic of noble lies. But in principle—why exactly? Meaning, you need to educate correctly, and if it creates problems then try to make sure that doesn’t happen, try to moderate it, but you don’t give up on proper education. But I think the Rabbi is speaking—his extremism is across the board. And when you move to phenomena like I don’t know, modest dress and hilltop youth, that’s a very particular type of extremism. It’s not across the board. They aren’t that extreme in Grace After Meals. I’m not sure. I don’t know them well enough. At least the ones I know—the modest-dress ones and all the Taliban stuff, from what I know—so maybe, she says, it could be extremism… I said it could be Tzemach Atlas-style extremism. That’s what you’re describing. Meaning, that kind of thing isn’t really it. He’s speaking about a different extremism. That one I accept, because he was that way across the board. He behaved properly with people, and he recited Grace After Meals properly, and he was God-fearing, and conduct is not evidence. And he was an extreme Torah scholar and all the… Right. That’s exactly what I described before: conduct is not evidence. No, not conduct—I’m saying I accept the overall description. I’m only saying: sometimes extremism can come from a real place. Extreme behavior in the sense that you trample a million values for one extreme value—that isn’t called extremism. No, sometimes you trample values because you judge that it’s worth trampling them for this, and sometimes you don’t think you’re trampling values. That can also happen. I’m saying the phenomena are complex. Generalization is always incorrect. But still, such and such types exist, and that’s enough for me.

Do you know what stopped the trash-can burnings in Beit Shemesh? How did they stop the burning of the garbage bins in Beit Shemesh? They told them: guys, this is meat and milk, you’re violating “you shall not cook.” Don’t get confused. Really? True story? I’m telling you—do you know that in Beit Shemesh a lot of leaflets fell on Independence Day to some guys who recite Psalms, and they skipped the Psalms that day. I’m telling you, I was there. That wasn’t… it was a sticker. No, you don’t need to burn it—what a waste to burn that sticker, it’s not logical in a place like that. Meat and milk? Other arguments. Something got mixed up. Is that from before? If it wasn’t cooked it doesn’t count as mixed. Come, listen to the arguments. The point is that if it’s thrown in the trash it’s already not fit for eating, so it’s no longer meat and milk. Why not? There are people who take things out of the trash.

In any case, he says one must educate toward this too—not only is it a positive thing, one shouldn’t give it up. “Rather, the educators in mediocre educational institutions did not succeed because of”—because of—“the falsity in middle-of-the-roadness.” Why doesn’t the Religious Zionist educational system succeed? Let’s translate this into our own Hebrew. Because there’s some falsity in this mediocrity. They aren’t educating them toward fanaticism of another sort—the Chazon Ish says that I would respect. But they educate them toward something that is basically against fanaticism as such. In many places that is almost a flag. We are against fanaticism, we are not extremists. Not that we have other positions, not that we are moderate because we make such-and-such calculations. No no, we are against extremism as a value in itself. Okay? He says that’s why it doesn’t succeed. That’s his claim. “And an intelligent heart goes and abandons the falsity.” By the way, to a large degree I think he’s right. Meaning, there’s a point here. It’s not a generalization that’s true everywhere. It also depends on the place, and it depends on the times. Today it’s different than it was, at least partly. But there is something true here. It’s not nonsense. “And an intelligent heart goes and abandons the falsity.” Yes—those students who leave religious education in such a framework are precisely the more… in this God they don’t believe. Meaning, it’s the… “Their education gives the educated one justification to turn his back on the laws impressed upon him against his will and on the beliefs that burden his heart against the flow of life. And the secret of extremism was stolen from him by those who abused it—even his parents and teachers.” Even the parents and teachers who should, on the contrary, encourage him toward fear of Heaven, are the ones educating him not to be God-fearing. That is basically the claim.

What basically stands here? Why does this bother me, reading this? Why is it not complete? What is missing from this analysis? It’s a partial analysis, of course. Why? Because obviously there is also a value of tolerance as a value, not only compromise because… He ignores that option in a very extreme way. He ignores an option that definitely exists on the map. And I return again to what we already discussed about tolerance versus pluralism. He is basically talking about pluralism. He is basically talking about a multiplicity of truths where I have no truth of my own, I don’t really stand behind my truth, I’m just like this and you’re otherwise and everything is fine. But there is also tolerance. And tolerance comes from monism: I really believe in my truth. I simply also think that you should behave as you think, and I think there is room for dialogue between us. And as I said there too, someone who says in the name of tolerance that one should not come and persuade or not come and argue—that really does indicate mediocrity and not tolerance. Tolerance, on the contrary, I want to persuade you because you are mistaken. I care about you and I care about the correct position that I believe in, and therefore I will try to persuade you. If there is no point because I won’t succeed, then maybe I won’t do it for common-sense reasons, but there is nothing wrong with it.

Okay? As for actual coercion, I said there too there is room for it in certain cases. On the other hand, there is also a value of autonomy, and therefore maybe I won’t use coercion because I believe in the value of autonomy, not because I’m unwilling to pay prices. If I do it because I’m unwilling to pay prices, then that’s not tolerance; that’s just self-interest. But the value missing here—I don’t think it is specifically tolerance. The value missing here, in my opinion, is what we always learned about the middle path, about “love peace and pursue peace.” Within Judaism itself you can find the path of the golden mean, which is not extremism. But that’s what I said before: with respect to other views that fall within the range of legitimate error, that’s where what’s written applies: “these and those are the words of the living God.” You know, that’s the halakhic tradition from time immemorial, in principle. Again, I’m not saying they always live up to it, but in principle that is certainly the basic approach. He is talking about incorrect conceptions. He is talking about the attitude toward secular people. After all, what is the argument with the Religious Zionists? Not about… it’s about the attitude toward secular people. So from his perspective, this is not another approach within the legitimate world, but something outside the pale, at least in his eyes. And since that’s so, then here there is no room for the middle path and the golden mean and so forth. The middle path and the golden mean are between two extremes, both of which are not… forbidden. Those are modes of conduct, and between them you choose the golden mean. There’s no golden mean with a prohibition. I’ll do just half a prohibition. Yes, it’s the famous story about the man who came to the rabbi and asked: I eat kosher every year from the start of Elul. The question is whether to begin on the first day of the month or the second day of the month. That, yes, is a question of what the rabbi is supposed to answer him on that matter. But that’s some messianic-era legal question. What do you mean? What do you mean? First, second, not… there is, there is—we managed.

And there’s also the issue of self-criticism. Meaning, you need to weigh things. Right. Here there’s another important point. You’re talking about certainty, basically. The Chazon Ish also ignores another point, not only the value of tolerance, and that is the question of how sure I really am of my path. Meaning, he presents a conception—I don’t know whether this was really inside him—but this is what’s written here. He presents some conception according to which you’re supposed to be completely sure that you’re right. I can’t accept such a thing. Meaning, a person cannot be completely sure that he’s right, and in that sense this does somewhat affect accepting other positions. True, I oppose postmodernism, those who take it all the way and accept everything and say no one is more right or less right. But listen—if there is a possibility that I may be mistaken, and I can’t be sure—I’m a human being, a human being can err—then I can’t go out on a jihad war against someone who says otherwise. Meaning, maybe he’s right; that possibility exists. I’ll try to persuade him, I’ll try to clarify it, I may act against him, I won’t kill him, but I mean I won’t do things… the degree of certainty. What? But everything he says here is because he thinks he’s right. Yes. So no, I also think I’m right. If you think… the question is whether you’re sure. There’s a difference between thinking you’re right and being sure you’re right. He’s sure he’s right, obviously. So I’m saying that’s another point missing from the picture he presents here. One is the value of tolerance—not the tolerance of mediocrity, of pluralism, but the value of tolerance. And two is the degree of doubt, the certainty, yes, that every lucid person ought to have. And let’s say, I have great doubts whether he himself didn’t have that too. No, but he says that even if he had it, he… there’s an argument here: if you think this is the path, if you’re sure this is what you need to do, then fight for it all the way. Listen, if you’re sure. But the problem is that not in everything are we sure. It may be that for him extremism was right and he had to go all the way with it. There is no such thing, nothing is certain; that’s the only thing I’m certain of. No, no, that seems exaggerated to me.

No, you can always err. That the Holy One, blessed be He, exists—I am one hundred percent sure of that. There are some things I believe in, but not… am I sure? What, could it not be that I was wrong? Many times in the past I was wrong. So it can also happen that in the future it will become clear to me that I was wrong. What fact about me… is there some axiomatic thing, some insights that… Again, don’t confuse this with my not believing in the values I believe in. I do believe in them and I will act according to them. But that doesn’t mean I’m sure. Meaning, it doesn’t mean I can’t be mistaken. Doesn’t that mean you won’t go to war, won’t fight for them extremely? Depends how far, depends how far. Many times after I say this, people ask me: tell me, what if you had to give your life? After all, you’re not one hundred percent sure it’s true. Giving your life is still a step that… not a simple price, right? Doesn’t matter, but Jewish law in certain cases demands self-sacrifice, for the three severe transgressions and so on. I say honestly: I don’t know. I don’t know if I would stand up to it. I don’t know if I would stand up to it because… no, I’m saying I don’t know even at the level of consciousness. Not whether I won’t succeed in meeting the standard—I’m not sure it would even be the standard for me. Because if it’s not one hundred percent, I can’t help factoring the certain doubt I have in the matter into the obligation to give my life. What can I do? It’s a rational consequence of the assumption. But after all, there are situations we’re not completely closed on to the end. That’s what I’m saying—it depends on the situation and how much you… that’s really the point. That’s not true—people in the army are willing to give their lives, and I don’t think they all believe one hundred percent that we’re right and there’s no chance we’re mistaken. They go into the army to give their lives in full knowledge. No—the question is whether “full knowledge” isn’t not entirely… every person has his one-in-a-million chance that he’ll come out of it alive and be a great hero. Fine, but that one in a million is still giving one’s life with the other nine hundred ninety-nine thousand out of a million. And that too is called self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice is not always suicide. Self-sacrifice is to significantly endanger one’s life. And I’m saying that even on that level I don’t know. In a place where you have doubt, you don’t know.

After all, the Hasid Yaavetz wrote—there’s a myth in Bnei Brak. Not a myth, he really wrote it. The Hasid Yaavetz, one of the exiles from Spain, wrote there in praise of ordinary householders, simple Jews, and in condemnation of the Torah scholars, that those who revealed true self-sacrifice were the simple people and not the Torah scholars. It was like that also in the valleys of persecution. And why? In my opinion that’s not a song of praise. It only says that they simply understood less that there are other options too. And sometimes you’ll twist things because you’re wise and you know how to play with the… innocent wholeness. Yes, exactly. But I don’t see some great value in innocence, even if that may sometimes lead you to self-sacrifice and I won’t sacrifice myself—even though I might think one should—I still don’t turn stupidity and innocence into an ideology. I’m not willing to pay the… What is that? Stupidity means not being a Torah scholar—that’s stupidity. Not being a Torah scholar, not knowing Jewish law from its sources—that’s real stupidity. That’s not what he was talking… The Chazon Ish talks about innocence. The Chazon Ish talks about innocence, he says that’s wholeness. Does the Rabbi understand wholeness to mean not being wise? Because I’m whole and innocent then… No, you resolve difficulties. What is innocence here? He succeeded in resolving difficulties sharply. That’s not what… It’s like what the Rabbi explained about the Haredi people, that because they know less, they… what is that? No tricks. Right. As I said before, you can’t argue with someone who doesn’t know Jewish law. So he something… My mother once said to me… there. It’s a law given to Moses at Sinai—you can’t talk with her. There’s no one to talk to.

Okay. When I came home the first time from yeshiva high school, I said to my mother: wait, why don’t we separate tithes at home? She said to me: I don’t know, in our house they didn’t do that. In Hungary. They didn’t do it. If they didn’t do it, she doesn’t do it. Fine, in Hungary there was no need, but here there is. In the end she did accept it, but it took me a lot of time to convince her. It’s a little funny. But Rabbi, you know… I happened… I got to speak with all kinds of Haredi guys. It doesn’t matter how strong your arguments are, it doesn’t matter how right or not right you are. What they’ll do in the end is something else. But in the end they don’t do it because they were convinced. I agree it’s easier to argue with them and more comfortable to argue with them. And in the end they won’t do what you say even though you’re right. In the end they’ll hit you with some argument that’ll drive you crazy. But there’s still someone to talk to. There’s still someone to talk to, only because it’s enjoyable to talk to them in terms of arguments and all that. No, because they’ll answer you substantively. They’ll answer you… and maybe in the end they’ll find something and they won’t do it, but they’ll answer more substantively than the other sector. Only because they are people of learning. Yes, right. And that’s exactly the point.

Maybe just two examples I still want to get in. This claim that one has to respect such-and-such opinions—as I said before—it’s very important to understand whether these opinions are inside the circle of legitimate error, the radius of tolerance, or in the outer circle. I’ll bring two examples where, again, people very often raise claims against extremism and against paternalism and condescension and so forth, and I don’t accept those claims. For example, there was… let’s start with a distant example. In nineteenth-century France—and it spilled over into the twentieth century too, though it really began already with the French Revolution and went through various transformations—the Orthodox rabbinic leadership in France, or part of it, decided that once civil marriage was created there—that is, in gentile France, yes, until then it had been a very Catholic country, a Christian country. Then there was separation of religion and state following the Revolution, and then civil marriage was created. There were marriages in court or city hall or something like that. At city hall. Yes. And divorce too, of course. Now the Jews, of course, up to that period, there are fascinating historical studies on this, the Jews in France were very opposed to divorce. Even though in the Jewish world divorce is fine, they saw divorce as something one must not do, because in the Catholic culture that prevailed until the Revolution, that was… Now after the Revolution, suddenly divorce became something completely legitimate, among Jews too. Because there too people had already started divorcing, because it was no longer Catholic and all that. People were Catholic, but they conducted themselves in… there was a very interesting blend there. Even Catholic people did things in a civil way. There was a very interesting confusion there.

Anyway, at a certain stage the rabbis went one step further and announced that divorce in civil court was halakhically valid. Among gentiles? For Jews. In court. If they divorce you according to the legal procedure practiced in France in that period, then no bill of divorce is needed. Now the rabbinate—the chief rabbis, these were major rabbis in France, chief rabbis of central cities, I don’t know exactly because there were arguments—ruled this in practice and that’s what they did. Now all of Europe shook and roared. At least Europe, that’s what I know; I don’t know, maybe other places too. In Eastern Europe there were very sharp letters. It reached all the way to Rabbi Chaim Ozer, meaning it entered the twentieth century too. There were many phases. There’s a booklet Agvani on Marriage, published by Bnei Torah, for those who know. What period was this? As I said, it began in the nineteenth century and continued for about a hundred years in different incarnations. There were great Torah figures there who… I don’t know, I’m not familiar with the people involved in the matter, but they were the rabbis of French Jewry. I don’t know exactly to what extent. One of them published a pamphlet against it and aroused all the decisors of Eastern Europe, and they came out against it and everything. Did they base it on a halakhic source too, or were they making baseless claims? I read the pamphlet. Did the Rabbi mean something about the marriages, that some community leader performed the marriages, or in general? Not related? No no no. They argued that in divorce, at some stage, civil divorce was a substitute for a get, for a Jewish bill of divorce. Dina de-malkhuta dina, there were all kinds of arguments of that type. But dina de-malkhuta applies to monetary matters. Yes. So in short, halakhically baseless claims—but the rabbis said it, the local rabbinic authorities. So what do you do now? Respect it because some Torah scholar-rabbi said it? He is the leader of French Jewry. With all due respect, you can’t… they chose him as their leader. He’s an Orthodox rabbi, meaning he’s inside the camp, and he’s talking nonsense. What do you do? Don’t come out against him sharply? I’m in favor of coming out sharply in such a situation. Again, if it will help—common-sense considerations—but on the principled level, so what? A man who is an Orthodox rabbi who talks nonsense is making a problematic mistake. What do I care who he is? I’m dealing with… I’m arguing with the idea, not the person. And if a Reform rabbi raises a substantive argument, even if I think he’s mistaken, I can fully respect him. So what if he’s Reform? We need to deal with the arguments, not the arguer.

That’s one example, for instance, of a situation where if it happened today everyone would immediately say: what do you mean, he’s also a rabbi, and you don’t have a monopoly on truth, and how can you dismiss him like that? He’s talking nonsense, so I dismiss him, with all due respect. And who decides he’s talking nonsense? I think so. He thinks he’s speaking correctly. Right, I think he’s talking nonsense, and therefore I dismiss it. For myself I decide. And if the other way around? Then he should dismiss me too—peace. No, if he’s talking nonsense in halakhic extremism? Meaning, he goes and gets stricter but talks nonsense. Same thing, not only in favor of… not only against lenient positions in Jewish law, also… yes, of course. I’m saying nonsense is nonsense. Nonsense is nonsense. Nonsense is nonsense. Yes.

And that’s one example. Another example, more problematic and closer to us, is the case of conversion. All the conversions of the state conversion system—and people came out against them very sharply after the rulings of Rabbi Sherman and all the Haredi decisors and so on—they came out against it very sharply. And here these are already people who, at least some of them, are indeed Torah scholars and who care deeply about Jewish law. This isn’t the rabbis of France. Meaning, I agree with the Haredim completely in that dispute—or maybe not completely, but in terms of the attitude toward the conversion, not in terms of invalidating it afterward. So there too I completely understand the sharp rhetoric. I understand the sharp rhetoric because there it isn’t, again, just a halakhic argument: you think this way, I think otherwise, this is legitimate error, “these and those are the words of the living God.” What does “these and those are the words of the living God” mean when he declares that someone is Jewish? Now his daughter will marry my son. This has implications for the whole public. So how do you take standards that are not accepted, standards that you hold, and they are pretty far-reaching standards, with all due respect compared to the opinions of other decisors—and that’s it? And you sit at the gate of the Jewish people, converting people according to your standards. I wrote an article on this, yes, that stirred a lot of controversy, and I said that this is violence with good intentions—that’s what I called the article. That Rabbi Druckman is a violent man acting with good intentions. He has good intentions, I’m sure. I’m sure he believes in what he’s doing. But he’s a violent man. He’s a violent man because he imposes norms that are not accepted by an absolute majority of the decisors, and he converts people. Now, to convert people is a public decision. It’s not that you decide your daughter will marry him—do whatever you want. But when you convert a person, he becomes part of us. Nobody will check afterward how he converted; it’s impossible to check. So that has to be founded on some kind of consensus in public decisions.

So in such a case I completely understand the sharpness with which they came out against him. I completely understand. There is no principled problem with that. It illustrates the point. And here it’s already not only Rabbi Druckman—Rabbi Druckman, I don’t know what—but there are Torah scholars there. Meaning, the question is how you relate to another Torah scholar. I don’t know. I’m not relating to him, I’m relating to what he said. What he said is nonsense and I don’t agree with it, and I’ll come out against it sharply if needed, if it will help. And therefore this exaggerated peace-pursuing really does, in that sense—and here I return to the Chazon Ish—very often reflect some kind of statement that I don’t really care all that much, not that I’m so enlightened and tolerant and believe in the value of tolerance. Sometimes it’s like that and sometimes it’s not. And in these examples, for instance, my feeling is that many of those who preach tolerance are people who basically don’t really care, and that’s why they support tolerance so much. Okay, we’ll stop here today. It was more of a conversation than a…