Disagreement and Truth – Lesson 6

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] One possibility—we’ll see in a moment—is that there are really two ways to read the words of the heavenly voice. I’ll call them the pluralistic form and the monistic form. The monistic form means one truth, and the pluralistic form means a plurality of truths. Okay? So the pluralistic form basically says: “These and those are both the words of the living God,” meaning that both are right. There is a plurality of halakhic truths; they’re all right. Okay, not all of them, but there can be more than one right answer. And then of course the question arises: so what does “but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” mean, right? So let’s say that “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” is apparently a ruling that isn’t connected to truth. Truth has a plurality of truths—Beit Hillel is right, Beit Shammai is right, and the judge’s wife too. So why does the Jewish law follow Beit Hillel? The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because we need to establish some agreed-upon bottom line—not because it’s true, but because that’s how we set Jewish law, so that there will be some kind of uniformity. Okay? And that’s why the heavenly voice says the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. That’s the pluralistic reading. The monistic reading is the opposite: there is only one halakhic truth. Then I understand what “and the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” means—they are right, that is the halakhic truth; that’s what the heavenly voice is telling me. But then the question arises: what is the meaning of “these and those are both the words of the living God”? According to the pluralistic reading, the second clause needs explanation—“the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.” According to the monistic reading, the first clause needs explanation—why are “these and those both the words of the living God”? Okay? So according to the pluralistic reading, we’ve already seen the explanation: basically this reading says there is no halakhic truth, great. Okay, “these and those are both the words of the living God” means that halakhic truth is found both with Beit Hillel and with Beit Shammai; both are halakhic truth. But the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. Why? How can the pluralistic reading understand that the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel? The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel not because the truth is with them, but for other reasons. They want to arrive at a practical bottom line, so they establish the Jewish law as following Beit Hillel. Okay? In the monistic reading, the situation is more difficult, because we say that the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel, so apparently the truth is like Beit Hillel. But then we have to understand what “these and those are both the words of the living God” means. The pluralistic reading can be understood. The monistic reading is harder. We’ll get to that in a moment.

[Speaker D] “These and those are both the words of the living God”—now, the historical process, “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel,” the intention is… what does history mean?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Bottom line—is it true or not true that the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel? Is there—

[Speaker D] Here there’s an agreement in practical Jewish law. In this case, most of the public is like Beit Hillel; Beit Shammai remained individuals.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, now I’m still asking. Does the Jewish law follow Beit Hillel because they’re right? No. So we’re back to the pluralistic position. What difference does it make whether it’s history or not history? So we’re back to the pluralistic position: there is no one halakhic truth. They established the Jewish law for one reason or another as Beit Hillel, but not because that’s the truth, because there isn’t one halakhic truth. That’s the pluralistic reading. Now here you see that Hillel said—

[Speaker C] “Go out and see what the people are doing.” They would ask him some question, and he would say, “There’s a dispute here on this matter; go see what the people say, what the majority of the people say.”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, bottom line—but what does what the majority of the people say mean? Does it mean that that’s the truth?

[Speaker C] Yes, that’s how he accepted it as Jewish law.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Again, if you read it in a monistic way, then maybe you’re right. But then I ask you: what does “these and those are both the words of the living God” mean? If you read it in a pluralistic way, then the majority of the people determined that that’s the truth—but there isn’t one truth. So what does it mean that the majority of the people determined that that’s the truth? Either way, I don’t care whether you put in majority of the people, or history, or whatever else you want to put in here. Decide: either you’re pluralists or you’re monists. Each of these conceptions has to read this whole Talmudic passage. How do you read it? So I say, let’s look at the continuation. The Talmud says: “Now since these and those are both the words of the living God, why did Beit Hillel merit that the Jewish law be established in accordance with them? Because they were agreeable and humble, and they would teach both their own words and the words of Beit Shammai, and not only that, but they would mention the words of Beit Shammai before their own words.” What do you understand from this reasoning? It related to the arguments—

[Speaker I] of Beit Shammai; they didn’t ignore them. And therefore what?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What is this—what does it look like? Does it look like monistic reasoning or pluralistic reasoning? Pluralistic.

[Speaker I] Apparently pluralistic, right?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Basically I’m saying this: both are right—“these and those are both the words of the living God.” Why does the Jewish law follow Beit Hillel according to the pluralistic reading? For technical reasons of one kind or another, but not because that’s the truth. And now the Talmud comes and says: okay, since “these and those are both the words of the living God,” there is a plurality of truths, then why indeed did Beit Hillel merit that the Jewish law be established in accordance with them? Since that is not the truth—because it’s not the truth, since the truth is with Beit Shammai and with Beit Hillel together as well; these are truth and those are truth—so why indeed did they establish the Jewish law like Beit Hillel? Because they were nice people, polite, behaved properly, respected Beit Shammai, and everything was wonderful. They were given a prize for good behavior, and we gained an educational lesson. Right? We educated the public that one has to pay attention, listen, and be good children, and therefore they ruled Jewish law like Beit Hillel. Not because of a consideration that this is the truth, but because of an educational consideration. So that’s the pluralistic reading, right? But the Talmud’s reasoning looks like pluralistic reasoning. Meaning, apparently this Talmudic passage leads us to the pluralistic reading. Okay? What do the monists do? Well, they have a great tree to lean on, and that is the author of the Shulchan Arukh, Yosef Karo. In his book Kelalei HaGemara, he says: why is it really that what is written here—that they ruled according to them because they were agreeable and humble and taught the words of Beit Shammai and put the words of Beit Shammai before their own words—what does that mean? He says: why did they really rule according to them? Because they were right. What does that mean? That someone who teaches the words of Beit Shammai before his own position, and only afterward formulates a position, will get closer to the truth. That’s basically the claim. Beit Hillel’s methodology was such that, even though Beit Shammai were sharper, more incisive, Beit Hillel’s methodology was such that even though they were less brilliant, they had a higher chance of getting close to the truth. Why? Because they seriously considered the position of Beit Shammai before formulating their own position. In other words, a brilliant person who doesn’t listen to someone else’s positions will veer away from the truth despite being more brilliant, whereas a person who is less brilliant but carefully weighs the positions has a higher chance of approaching the truth. Why? Because they seriously considered the position of Beit Shammai before formulating their own position. In other words, a brilliant person who doesn’t listen to someone else’s positions will veer away from the truth, even though he’s more brilliant. And a person who is less brilliant but carefully weighs the different positions before formulating a position will come closer to the truth. Therefore, Rabbi Yosef Karo says—one second—therefore Rabbi Yosef Karo says that the fact that they ruled Jewish law like Beit Hillel is because they were right. Not a prize for good behavior. They were right. Meaning Rabbi Yosef Karo reads this Talmudic passage in a monistic way. The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because the truth is with them. Now again, it’s not necessarily exactly so, not one hundred percent so. But if I have to establish the Jewish law like one of the two houses, either Beit Shammai or Beit Hillel, the path that brings me closest to the truth is to establish the Jewish law like Beit Hillel—and that they are closer to the truth.

[Speaker B] Somebody has to speak first.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I didn’t understand.

[Speaker B] When they say it’s because Beit Shammai spoke first?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Not because they spoke first. Beit Hillel taught the words of Beit Shammai, weighed them, and then formed a position of their own.

[Speaker B] So somebody had to formulate an opinion first in order to speak.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Both of them have positions. But after you have a position, are you willing to reconsider it? To hear someone else who expresses a position and reasons, and see—maybe he’s right? So Beit Shammai were not willing. They had their own position and were locked into it. We’re such geniuses—what could Beit Hillel possibly teach us? So precisely that arrogance was to their detriment. Brilliance very often—yes, “the sharper the mind, the greater the error.” Meaning the sharper a person is—as Oscar Wilde, in a different context, says: there are things so stupid that only intellectuals can say them. These are everyday things. You can see it very clearly. The stupidest things you’ll hear on earth will come from intellectuals. Stupid people say stupid things, but they don’t say things that are completely absurd. Intellectuals can sometimes say things that are completely detached.

[Speaker C] And that connects more or less to that mechanism of what Father said. More or less that mechanism.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What’s called the wisdom of crowds. I’m not one of those who believe in the wisdom of crowds. I, generally speaking, if the crowd says something, it’s probably not true.

[Speaker C] But that’s what you’re saying. Because they were more easygoing and so on, they accepted their opinion?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, not because they were the crowd. Not because they were more numerous. On the contrary—it’s obvious that they were more numerous. But the Jewish law was not ruled like them because they were more numerous. That’s exactly the dispute. Rather, despite the fact that they were more numerous, the Jewish law was ruled like them, I would say. And yes, generally the majority is wrong, unless proven otherwise. It was because of their methodology. Because they were willing to listen to Beit Shammai, to seriously weigh Beit Shammai’s reasoning, and then make decisions. Not because they were the majority. And that kind of methodology brings you closer to the truth. You know, Rabbi Shimon Shkop writes in the introduction to Shaarei Yosher that whoever doesn’t trust me, whoever doesn’t think highly of me, shouldn’t open the book. Why? Because many of the things you’ll read here will seem strange to you. I have a good friend who really can’t stand Shaarei Yosher; he says it’s “Gates of Crookedness,” that’s what he calls it. Everything is crooked there. In my opinion he is deeply mistaken; it’s a wonderful book. But Rabbi Shimon Shkop is speaking to him in the introduction. He says: whoever doesn’t properly appreciate me shouldn’t open the book. Why? Because many of the things will seem crooked at first glance. Now, I invested a lot of thought in this, he says. If you don’t appreciate me, the moment you decide it’s a stupid idea, you’ll leave it and move on. If you do appreciate me, you’ll think about it again. You’ll think about it again, and maybe discover that there is nevertheless something to what I’m saying. And then he adds and says: not that I’m asking you to accept everything I say because you appreciate me. Absolutely not. But rather that you not dismiss it at first glance because it seems illogical to you. If you appreciate someone, you’ll reconsider what he says, and then it may be that you change your mind. I told my students in Yeruham several times: the only dispute from which you learn is a dispute in which you were wrong, in which you lost. Because in a dispute in which you were right, you come out with the same position you came in with. Obviously you were right and the other person was wrong. What did you learn? You learned nothing from that. A dispute in which you lost is one in which you thought one thing and it became clear that you were mistaken, that the other person was right. Then you learned. Meaning it’s worth losing arguments—that’s how you learn. If you always win, you learn nothing. In the stock market it’s something else. In the stock market these aren’t disputes. But the basic claim is that listening to someone else’s reasoning—and many times that’s because I respect him, otherwise I don’t listen—adds to my ability to reach the truth. Even if I may be less brilliant, I have a higher chance of reaching the truth because I seriously weigh someone else’s position. And Beit Shammai, since they were sharper and thought highly of themselves, apparently were less inclined to listen to the positions expressed by Beit Hillel. And Beit Hillel, because they respected Beit Shammai, seriously considered Beit Shammai’s position, and only then formulated a position of their own. And then the wheel turned. Precisely the less brilliant came closer to the truth. There’s the Magen Avraham—you know it? In siman 156 or 6 in the Shulchan Arukh, where afterward—so the Magen Avraham there brings all the Jewish laws he doesn’t know where to place. There are lots of such laws there that he doesn’t know where to place, so he puts them there. One of the laws is that it is permitted to lie and say your own ideas in the name of a great person so that people will accept them from you—“so that they will accept it from him.” You’re allowed to lie, to state your own position and say, “Moshe Feinstein said this,” even though nothing of the kind ever happened, so that people will accept it from you. Because if you say it, they won’t accept it, but if you hang it on Moshe Feinstein—he who wants to hang himself should hang on a big tree.

[Speaker C] Yes, so then they’ll accept it, so you’re allowed to lie and say things in his name. There is—listen to me, look, if—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If you come along and you’re Beit Hillel, who were supposedly less wise, and you kept rolling until you arrived at Beit Shammai’s reasoning, then just accept Beit Shammai consistently and that’s the end of the story. No, I don’t accept Beit Shammai consistently. I seriously weigh their words and afterward formulate a position. In a moment I’ll finish here with the Magen Avraham and then it’ll be clearer, I hope. So the Magen Avraham says—yes, it’s really a Talmudic passage—that you’re allowed to lie and say things in the name of a great person so they’ll accept it from you. There’s a well-known story about Rabbi Shalom Schwadron, the famous Jerusalem preacher, that he once said he heard in the name of the Chazon Ish that it is permitted to lie and say things in the name of a great person so that people will accept them from you. And even about that he didn’t swear to them that the Chazon Ish said it. So that’s—but really it’s the Magen Avraham, not the Chazon Ish, and the Magen Avraham claims this. Now on the face of it this is absurd. Some ignoramus will come and decide that it’s permitted on the Sabbath to dig, because why on earth should it be forbidden to dig on the Sabbath? “Moshe Feinstein said this.” Now we’ll accept it from him because Moshe Feinstein said it. Really, we’ll accept it from him and that way everyone will desecrate the Sabbath—is it permitted to make people stumble through a lie like that? Such a thing is unthinkable. How can that be? The claim, in my opinion, is exactly the opposite. Why is it permitted to lie and say things in the name of a great person? Only if you know that the person you’re talking to will not accept the words merely because a great person said them. With someone who automatically accepts things when you say them in the name of a great person, of course it is forbidden to lie to him and tell him things in the name of a great person. Only with someone who will not accept the words merely because a great person said them. So you’ll ask: then what’s the point of the whole lie if he won’t accept them anyway? The answer is exactly like Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. You give reasons, and now you feel that the person you’re speaking to looks down on you; he says, “This guy’s an idiot,” and he doesn’t listen to you at all. The reasons feel good to you, and he pays no attention to you; he’s unwilling to listen. “Moshe Feinstein said this”—I lie to him. And the moment I lie to him—“Ah, Moshe Feinstein said this? Then it’s worth another thought.” Think again; let’s see, maybe there is nevertheless something to it. In the end, he’ll do what he thinks; he won’t accept what Moshe Feinstein said just because Moshe Feinstein said it. But he will reconsider it, because after all, someone who isn’t an idiot said it. It’s worth considering, even if at first glance it looks stupid to me—like Rabbi Shimon Shkop, yes? And therefore you attribute the words to a great person so that the other person will reconsider your position, because you have good reasons and he isn’t listening to you. You want him to listen to you. In the end he will make his own decisions. Because if he makes decisions—for example, let me open this parenthesis a bit—there was, as you know, at the beginning of the twentieth century, a forgery: someone forged the Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim. Right? Great polemics were written about this matter. There are famous myths about the Rogatchover, who claimed it was forged because there is a rule that in the Jerusalem Talmud, in every chapter, a sage appears who had not appeared until then. And that did not occur there in the Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim, and therefore he said it was forged. I don’t know whether that’s true or not, I don’t know whether the Rogatchover said it, I don’t know whether it’s true of the Jerusalem Talmud or not true; I tend to think not, but that’s what he claimed. A book was written about it, a book was also written trying to prove that the thing was forged. The Kli Chemdah wrote the book, I think; I don’t remember. In any case, the question is: why did everyone come with complaints against the forger? Apparently this is exactly what the Magen Avraham says. It is permitted to lie and attribute something to a great person so that people will accept it from me. The forger simply wanted people to accept his novel ideas on Kodashim, so he wrote it as a Jerusalem Talmud. He was a talented fellow; he wrote it as a Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim. Right? But why indeed did they come with complaints against him? Simple answer: because the Talmud has authority. If the Talmud says something, I accept it; I cannot disagree with the Talmud. Therefore you may not forge Talmudic texts. You are forbidden to lie in a place where you stand before someone who will accept it automatically if you lie. When is it permitted to lie? Only when you know that the person standing before you will reconsider the reasons you are presenting. Fine—but afterward he will make his own decisions. He will weigh those reasons. But in a situation where you are lying to someone who will automatically accept what you say, clearly it is forbidden to lie in such a case. So this Magen Avraham is, in a roundabout way, the opposite. This Magen Avraham is proof that one should not accept things even if a great person says them. What you should do is simply reconsider his words. Nonsense he did not speak. After that, you have to decide whether you agree with him or don’t agree with him. In the end, you have to decide. Okay, back to our matter. So the final claim of Rabbi Yosef Karo, the author of the Shulchan Arukh, who has a book called Kelalei HaGemara, is that they ruled the Jewish law like Beit Hillel because the truth was with them. Because someone who seriously weighs the position of the one who opposes him, and only afterward formulates a position of his own, has a higher chance of hitting the truth. And therefore the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel. In short, for our purposes, Rabbi Yosef Karo read this Talmudic passage in a monistic way, not a pluralistic way. Right? Rabbi Yosef Karo basically said that there is one halakhic truth, and when they say “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” it means they were right, that the truth is with them. And then the question returns: fine, so how did he read the first clause? What does “these and those are both the words of the living God” mean if there is one halakhic truth? And the heavenly voice said that the halakhic truth is with Beit Hillel. So in what sense are the words of Beit Shammai the words of the living God? How does the monistic reader read the first clause of the heavenly voice? We said that pluralism gets tangled up with the second clause and monism gets tangled up with the first clause. Okay? How do we understand this? To understand this matter, I’ll make a conceptual introduction. Usually—I’ve spoken about this several times—I usually present it through a story that happened. A true story, a true story. Yes. When I lived in Yeruham, “True” is the first name and “Story” is the family name. When I lived in Yeruham, I was there in the Haredi community, and they asked me—there was a group there that went every afternoon to pray Minchah and Ma’ariv at Midreshet Sde Boker, which is a branch of Ben-Gurion University near Sde Boker, near the kibbutz. There was a new synagogue there; Safra built some very magnificent synagogue there. There was no one to pray there because everyone there was secular. There was one traditional fellow there—the doctor there was traditional—and I think the person in charge of the farm was traditional. Among the faculty there, the academic people, no one was even traditional, let alone religious. In a moment you’ll understand why. And when that group came, those two traditional people asked the people from Yeruham—they arranged transportation for them—and asked them to come pray Minchah and Ma’ariv there and give some lesson between Minchah and Ma’ariv or something like that. At some point the people there in the Sde Boker institute lost their bearings and launched a public struggle: “They’re imposing religion, trying to convert us, forcing religion on us, closing our streets on the Sabbath,” and all kinds of things of that sort. So that happened, and they went public with it; it reached the press, and there were stories and legal claims and all kinds of things like that. So the people from Yeruham asked me to go speak with that group, to try to arrive at some common ground, to dissipate the tension a bit.

[Speaker C] A religious group, a secular group?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, there was no religious group.

[Speaker C] Really, everyone there was secular.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There were two traditional people who wanted these lessons. The group came from Yeruham. In Sde Boker there were no religious people. So anyway, the people from Yeruham asked me to go talk to them. In the first meeting I spoke with their committee; there was no one to talk to—they came only to deliver the ultimatum and go home. There was no one to talk to. But after two weeks, somehow, an approach came—I don’t even remember the details anymore—an approach came from the public in Sde Boker: they wanted to talk. So actually that was nice, it was interesting. One Saturday night we met and started talking like that. So the people there said, “Look, we’re not coming to you to convince you to light Sabbath candles and all kinds of things like that. Leave us alone and don’t come to us. There is pluralism; each person—and let the righteous live by his faith, or less righteous, doesn’t matter—let each person live as he understands. Every river follows its own course. Why are you coming to bother us?” So I asked them, “Why indeed don’t you come try to convince me not to light Sabbath candles? Why don’t you come?” And then all sorts of answers started coming up there. At some point it dawned on me that I had rejected all those answers, in my opinion, for exactly the same reason. Meaning, there is something built in here, that this is a question that cannot have an answer. I realized this in the course of the discussion, because every answer they raised I rejected in the same way. So let me show you a few examples. Some of them said: why should we come to you? What do I care—light Sabbath candles, do whatever you want, there’s no problem with it. I said, fine, so what’s the claim against me? I think that you should pray, therefore I come to convince you to pray. You don’t think that I shouldn’t light Sabbath candles, so you don’t come to convince me not to light Sabbath candles. What is the comparison between these two things? Then someone else said to me: fine, I think you’re talking nonsense with this Sabbath-candle lighting, but what do I care—do what you want, I don’t care about you. Fine—but what’s the claim against me? I do care about you. I want you to do the right things. So what’s so great about the fact that you don’t care about me? I think that’s much less worthy of appreciation than someone who does care about the other person. You’re coming at me with moral complaints so that I too won’t care about you the way you don’t care about me? Is that a moral claim?

[Speaker C] Don’t confuse me with that argument. Huh? Don’t confuse me.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I assume, yes, but someone else said to me: look, there’s no point in coming because in any case you won’t be convinced; you’re locked in. As though he himself was so open-minded—very persuaded by those fellows who come there to pray. But he says to me: you won’t be convinced, you’re locked in, so what’s the point? I said to him: very good, so what’s the claim? I think I will succeed in convincing you, therefore I come to you. So you’re not wasting your time because you won’t succeed in convincing me. What’s your claim? Now you’re laughing, but this was a real discussion. Do you have a real answer? No, no need—I laughed too. This is a real discussion. I really think their arguments don’t hold water. It’s not a joke. I don’t know, you’re laughing, but there’s nothing funny here. This is a substantive discussion. I really think all those arguments are irrelevant arguments. One person says to me, I don’t have the energy to coerce you; or someone else says I won’t succeed in convincing you; someone else says I don’t care about you; someone else says to me, what do I care—light Sabbath candles, don’t light them, there’s nothing wrong with either, there is no truth and falsehood here, do what you want. Now I think there is truth and falsehood. I think what you’re doing is wrong. There is no basis. You say to me, you don’t come to me, therefore why are you coming to me with complaints about why I’m coming to you? But all the reasons you raise for why you don’t come to me don’t exist for me. I come to you because I don’t think any of those reasons exist. I do think you’re mistaken, I do think I can influence you, I do care about you. In short, everything you raise as reasons not to come does not exist from my point of view. So what is the claim that if you don’t come to me, I shouldn’t come to you? In parentheses I’ll just add: the very claim, “Why are you coming to me to convince me at all?” is an absurd claim. The claim of tolerance and pluralism applies to coercion. If I come to coerce you, you can claim: that’s not okay, why are you coercing me? But if I come to persuade you—you’re an adult, not a child. I come to persuade you; either you’ll be persuaded or you won’t be persuaded. If you don’t want to, don’t come listen. No problem, everything’s fine. What is intolerant about coming and trying to persuade someone that he is mistaken? On the contrary, if I see someone who is mistaken, certainly I ought to try to persuade him. What kind of claim is that? There is some sort of feeling that if I come to try to persuade someone that I’m right or he’s wrong, then I’m not okay. What’s not okay about that? I think I’m right and you’re wrong. The most okay thing there is would be to try to persuade you. If I were coming and coercing, I understand the claim—why are you coercing me, it’s not okay to coerce. Try to persuade. But I came to try to persuade, and that’s not okay? Why isn’t it okay? What isn’t okay? Are you little children? They were all professors there, by the way. A bunch of kollel fellows who hadn’t finished second grade come to them, and they’re professors—and they’re terribly afraid that maybe they’ll persuade us. It’s bizarre. Now the claim—nobody was planning to move there into the neighborhood; there wasn’t a single religious person in the whole area. What Haredi person would move to a place like that? And there wasn’t a single religious person there. Why? I told them: tell me, if I want to come be a faculty member at Ben-Gurion, right? Will you accept me? I want to be a faculty member at Ben-Gurion and live there in the institute as part of the faculty. This isn’t your private place; it’s a university. It’s a public place. “Certainly,” they said, “no question—if you meet the criteria.” I said to them: nonsense. Not a single religious person met the criteria? There isn’t one religious person in the entire institute. There are dozens, hundreds of faculty members there; not one religious person. So just by chance no one met the criteria? There isn’t one religious person there because of exactly what you’re saying now—because you’re intolerant. And you’re coming to me with complaints that I’m intolerant. Now the problem, beyond the story, is what lies behind it. What lies behind it is a difficult theoretical question. So basically, why be tolerant? When I say “what is tolerance”? Tolerance means that I basically see that you’re behaving in a way that I think is wrong, and I have a position of my own; I think I know what is right, and what you’re doing is wrong. Tolerance basically demands that I accept that you are behaving in a way that is wrong. Now I ask: why should I accept that? So let’s say now I told them: come on, let’s leave aside—not talk about persuasion. Let’s talk about coercion. That’s the question of tolerance. Why not coerce? Then all the arguments came back. Why not coerce? We don’t coerce you. Why don’t you coerce me? We don’t coerce you because we won’t succeed; in any case you won’t listen to us. So that’s not a reason not to coerce; it’s just a reason not to waste your time. But if you could succeed, then yes, you would coerce. Right? He says no, I don’t care about you. Thanks a lot—that’s not some moral distinction either. He says, fine, everyone has his own truth; I’m a pluralist. Fine, if you’re a pluralist then of course you won’t coerce. Why should you coerce if I’m just as right as you are? Why coerce me? But I’m not a pluralist. I think you’re wrong and I’m right. So what—do you understand? The whole discussion now returns again also regarding the question whether to coerce, not only whether to persuade. But in truth, the question here is a difficult one. Because I ask myself—I too see myself as tolerant. I believe in the value of tolerance. And then I asked myself: wait a second, something here doesn’t fit for me either, because I too believe in the value of tolerance. But the question is why be tolerant? If you think you’re right and the other person is wrong. So I say, what will you answer? That his mistake does no harm? Fine—if it does no harm, then it isn’t really a mistake; it’s uninteresting, do what you want. That’s not called tolerance. Tolerance is when there is harm from that mistake, when it affects me, when I care about you, when I’m not afraid of you, when I have a chance to influence you. All that has to hold, because if one of these things doesn’t hold, then obviously I won’t go influence you—but not because I’m tolerant; simply because there’s no point. Right? So this is what comes out. It comes out that if I am tolerant, then first, I have to believe that what you’re doing is wrong and what I’m doing is true. Because if I don’t think what you’re doing is wrong, then it’s not tolerance that I allow you to do what you’re doing, right? And in order for me to be tolerant, I must not be a pluralist. Someone who is a pluralist cannot be tolerant. Someone who is a pluralist—that is, someone who thinks there is a plurality of truths, someone who thinks that I’m right just as you’re right, that there is no right and wrong here—cannot be tolerant. Because tolerant means that I tolerate, am willing to tolerate, something that in my eyes is wrong. But if there is nothing in my eyes that is wrong—if I’m a pluralist—I cannot be tolerant. The words tolerance and pluralism are often perceived as synonymous, but it’s the opposite. Not only are they not synonyms; they are simply one hundred and eighty degrees opposite. A tolerant person cannot be a pluralist, and a pluralist cannot be tolerant. It’s impossible. Because if you’re a pluralist, that means you think he’s right just like you. If he’s right just like you, then what tolerance is there in letting him behave as he behaves? Fine, he’s right, so what’s the problem? Just as right as you. For you to get moral credit for being tolerant, you need not to be a pluralist; you need to be a monist.

[Speaker C] Why is what you’re saying right? Meaning, I—who says that your opinion, the one you came with—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s what I think. Maybe I’m not right, but that’s what I think, fine. So what? Therefore what? I think I’m right and he’s wrong.

[Speaker C] And then he’ll convince you?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No problem—let him convince me. If he convinces me, I’ll think otherwise; everything’s fine. As long as he hasn’t convinced me, that’s what I think. And if I think that way, then someone who thinks otherwise is wrong.

[Speaker C] Do you agree that what happened on October seventh is exactly what this was? We went head-to-head and it couldn’t move until a heavenly voice came and said, “You didn’t want to do the—”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, that heavenly voice, in my opinion, won’t succeed, so it’s a shame to discuss that interpretation. No, no—it’s not succeeding even now, and after the war even less. But that doesn’t matter; that’s another discussion. No, I don’t agree, but it doesn’t matter; I don’t want to get into those matters. So the point is that in the end, if I accept the value of tolerance, then notice what I’m accepting. When I am tolerant toward someone else, several conditions have to be met. All those conditions have to be met; if one of them isn’t met, I’m not tolerant. First, I have to be a monist; I must not be a pluralist. Meaning I have to believe that I’m right and the other is wrong; otherwise it’s not tolerance. If he’s right just like me, then what tolerance is there in letting him do what he wants? Okay? I have to believe that I’m right and he’s wrong. I have to believe that his mistake is harmful, because if his mistake isn’t harmful, let him do what he wants—why should I interfere in his life? His mistake is harmful—to himself, to others, to me, doesn’t matter. Third, I have to care about him, because if I don’t care about him, that’s not tolerance; I simply don’t interfere because I don’t care. Tolerance is a moral value, and I get moral credit if I am tolerant. If I don’t care, I don’t get moral credit. Meaning, he has to be mistaken in my eyes, his mistake has to be harmful, I have to care about him, my intervention has to be able to succeed. If my intervention won’t succeed, then come on, there’s no point wasting time; it won’t work. Right? Everything has to be in place. And I’m also not afraid that he’ll come back and do the same thing to me, because if I do it out of fear, then again that’s not tolerance. Right? So now tell me: I see someone who in my eyes is mistaken, I have the ability to influence him, I care about him, his mistake is harmful, and I’m not afraid of anything he’ll do to me. So why on earth shouldn’t I intervene?

[Speaker B] Don’t you need both a harmful mistake and caring? Isn’t one of them enough? What? Meaning, you need a motive to stop him.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If the mistake isn’t harmful, then even if I care about him, let him do what he wants—it isn’t harmful.

[Speaker B] But I care for his sake; isn’t it harmful to him?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, by harmful I mean to him too. That’s why I said harmful means to him, to others, to me, doesn’t matter—to everyone. If it has no consequences, then I don’t care that it’s a mistake; what difference does it make for marriage betrothal law—so it’s not… So notice: everything is in place, so why not intervene, for heaven’s sake? Meaning, he’s wrong, his mistake is harmful, I care about him, I have the ability to influence him, and there is nothing stopping me because of fear or anything like that. So why not intervene? This is the theoretical problem that arises here. The reasons I raised are, in my opinion, all correct reasons. The arguments they raised are not arguments in favor of tolerance. Definitely not. And in that I think I was completely right. What? I didn’t understand.

[Speaker D] Tolerance is not a sin but a kindness…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then there is no value of tolerance. And I claim there is—

[Speaker D] Not a sin but a kindness…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Those are just words. Is there a value to tolerance? Is there a value to tolerance? I’m asking: is there a value to tolerance? There is. What is it? What is it?

[Speaker D] Everything you said is words.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then tell me what it is. What does a person need to do in order to be considered tolerant? I see someone who is wrong, I can influence him, I have the power to influence him, his mistake is harmful, and I care about him. Now explain to me: do I intervene or not intervene? I don’t intervene. Why? Because of the general value. What is the general value? That’s what I’m asking. All the reasons not to intervene—once you understand reasons, then it’s no longer tolerance. These words “the general value” don’t help me. You need to give me a concrete explanation of why not to intervene.

[Speaker H] Because he doesn’t want it? He—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He doesn’t want it. So what? Of course he doesn’t want it.

[Speaker H] You have to respect what he wants.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why should I respect what he wants? He’s mistaken and I care about him; he is harming himself, others, me, doesn’t matter. Why should I respect that?

[Speaker H] There’s a value to what he wants, like in democracy.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Like in democracy? That’s an English-English dictionary, so I’ll ask about democracy too. Do you know the difference between an English-English dictionary and an English-Hebrew dictionary? In an English-Hebrew dictionary, you have one word you don’t understand, and they explain it to you with a few words you do understand. In an English-English dictionary, you have one word you don’t understand, and they explain it with ten words you understand even less. Meaning, when you tell me, “It’s like democracy,” you’re just telling me, “Okay, so I also don’t understand why they do it in democracy.” So how does that help me? It’s like saying, “We’ll explain ‘these and those are both the words of the living God’ through quantum theory.” Great, I have an explanation: quantum theory. I don’t understand quantum theory either, so how does it help me explain “these and those” with it?

[Speaker K] No, there is a value of autonomy… Ah! Ah!

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I think the only possible way out in this matter…

[Speaker K] So what happened in the end?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So I’m saying—

[Speaker K] What—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What came out at the end was what I described to you here; that’s where we left it, and that was the end of the story. No, it’s not that they weren’t convinced—they didn’t change their position. That’s something else. I’m not sure they weren’t convinced, but they weren’t willing to compromise on the practical conduct. Fine, in any case, I actually think it was a good discussion, because there really was listening there. Yes, right, exactly. So in short, look, I want to… the important point is what comes now; leave all the stories aside. The point is: how can there even be an argument that grounds tolerant behavior? That’s the question. Is a tolerant person necessarily an idiot, basically? That’s the question. Somebody who acts without reasons, because the moment he has reasons he’s no longer tolerant. So what—does that mean a tolerant person is necessarily… Now understand that every value is like this. Every value is like this. This paradox doesn’t exist only with respect to the value of tolerance; it exists with respect to any value whatsoever. Say I’m humble. They ask me, “What does the value of humility mean?” To behave modestly, not to boast. Right—here I say: if I have nothing to boast about, like the Kotzker on Mount Sinai, then that’s not humility. I have nothing to boast about, right? So what do I have? Something to boast about. And there’s also a reason to boast, right? Meaning I can point to all kinds of results—so in practice everything is there, so why not boast? Every value, understand, every value is exposed to the same attack. It’s a theoretical problem regarding all values. Because the moment there’s a justification for behaving according to that value, then it’s no longer value-based behavior; you’re doing it because of the consideration you used to explain why. But then the question becomes: when do you deserve moral credit for how you behave? Not when you calculate your interests correctly. And the answer is that when the explanation is an interest-based explanation, it really can’t work. The only explanation that can work is a value-based explanation, not an interest-based one. That is, if I now behave patiently toward someone whom I think is mistaken—not because of some interest-based consideration like I don’t have the energy, I don’t care, or I can’t influence him, or I don’t think he’s mistaken, or things like that—that’s all interest-based reasoning: why waste time? But if my consideration isn’t interest-based but value-based, then I deserve moral credit for what I’m doing. If I behave patiently toward someone who is mistaken, and I care about him, and the mistake isn’t harmful, and everything else—why? Because I believe in the value of autonomy. Because I believe that a person should act as he thinks. That’s a value: to act as one thinks. I respect his autonomy, okay? Now, against that kind of reasoning you can’t come and say, well, if that’s why you’re doing it then it’s no big deal, then it doesn’t count as tolerance. No—because that’s not interest-based reasoning. If I explain it in terms of interests—there’s no point intervening because it’s just a waste of time, or because it doesn’t matter, or because I don’t care about him—that doesn’t give you moral credit. But if I conduct myself this way because I have a value, in this case the value of autonomy, let’s say, then I deserve moral credit for that conduct. I’m willing to absorb the damage involved, and the lack of truth involved, and all of that—why? Because I believe that a person should act as he thinks. For that, I deserve moral credit. That is the only explanation there can be for the value of tolerance. What does that actually mean?

[Speaker C] Yes, that is, respect for the other person’s autonomy is the basis for the value of tolerance. But what we discover here—notice this—is that tolerance and pluralism are not synonymous; in fact, they’re opposites. What? I didn’t understand. You’re basically convincing him of something, and in the end everyone is convinced of it and that’s the truth. What? I didn’t understand. You take some truth and you convince the entire public that it’s the truth.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no convincing of everyone—there are people who don’t agree. Now the question is whether I will behave toward them tolerantly or not. I wasn’t talking about persuasion; the question is whether to coerce them. We coerce people regarding commandments, don’t we? I want to coerce everyone to observe commandments and not commit prohibitions—yes, there are many people in Israel today who think that way. They try; they can’t always do it, but they try as much as they can to coerce. The question is whether that’s right or wrong. I believe in the value of tolerance; I’m against coercion, and in the religious context too I’m against coercion. But the reasoning for tolerant conduct cannot be interest-based reasoning. Because any interest-based reasoning gives you no moral credit; you don’t deserve moral credit if you do it from interest-based considerations. Only value-based reasoning can give you credit, right? The value-based reasoning for tolerant behavior is respect for the other person’s autonomy. That’s all. And that does not mean not trying to persuade him, by the way—of course try to persuade him. We’ll try to persuade him so that he makes decisions—but on his own. The decision he ultimately makes, that I will respect. I’ll try to persuade him, if he’s mistaken, that he’s mistaken, fine. In the end, if he decides differently from what I think, I’m supposed to respect that—that’s the value of autonomy. And if I act that way, it seems to me that I deserve moral credit because I’m acting according to the value of tolerance, or autonomy—yes, it’s the same thing. What does that actually mean? Yes, it means respect for the other person’s autonomy is the basis for the value of tolerance. But what we discover here—notice this—is that the value of tolerance, tolerance and pluralism, are not synonymous; in fact they are opposites. Now why are they not synonymous? There’s a very basic argument that can show this. Tolerance belongs to the conceptual world of values, right? The semantic field of the term tolerance is a field of values. Pluralism has nothing to do with values at all. If you think there are multiple truths, that’s a philosophical view. You think there are multiple truths—what does that have to do with morality? It has nothing to do with morality. The question whether you think there are many truths or whether you think there is one—that’s a philosophical question. He thinks so—what does that have to do with it? How can one identify tolerance with pluralism? Even on the conceptual level, they belong to two completely different categories. How can you identify the two? Now I’ll say more than that: not only can’t you identify them, they are actually opposites. Because if, on the philosophical level, you are… a pluralist, then on the moral level you cannot be tolerant. Because if you think the other person is just as right as you are, then the fact that you don’t coerce him—of course you don’t coerce him, because in your eyes he isn’t mistaken. What credit do you deserve for not coercing him? The moment you are a pluralist, tolerance becomes unnecessary; it has no place. What’s the point of being tolerant? What’s the point of valuing tolerance? Not what’s the point of being tolerant—you’re not tolerant; you simply think he’s as right as you are. In the Ministry of Education, for example, there’s always the annual theme around which people are educated, and it’s always either democracy or pluralism or tolerance or some linear combination of them. There’s nothing else. Now the claim is: they basically present this as though it’s a set of synonyms, but it isn’t. Tolerance and pluralism are opposite terms—not just non-synonymous. Completely opposite. Pluralism is a philosophical view—absurd in my opinion, but a philosophical view. Tolerance is a value.

[Speaker L] Pluralism makes tolerance unnecessary. Right.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. It makes it unnecessary.

[Speaker L] It doesn’t exist. Right. It’s not that you coerced him or didn’t coerce him; it’s simply not relevant—it was obvious.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If you—if you’re right, then why would I coerce you? Obviously. Yes. Therefore, someone who is a pluralist cannot demand credit for being a pluralist. That’s his philosophical outlook—what kind of credit do you get for that? Credit is something you get for moral conduct, for acting according to values. Yes, for some kind of concession, exactly. For that you deserve credit. A philosophical outlook—you’re this way and he’s that way—what does that have to do with morality? Either you think there is one truth or you don’t think so, fine, everyone has his own outlook—but what… Therefore, it’s a confusion. Now why did I make all these introductions? Maybe one more sentence actually—I need a bit more of this introduction. So anyway, what is the practical difference between pluralism and tolerance? On the practical level they look the same, right? Both the tolerant person and the pluralist don’t interfere in the other person’s life. Right? The motives are opposite. No. The pluralist doesn’t interfere because he thinks the other person is not mistaken; he is as right as he is. The tolerant person doesn’t interfere because he respects his autonomy. But practically, in life, it looks very similar. That’s also why people mix up the concepts, because on the practical level it looks very similar. Will there be a difference on the practical level between these two concepts? I say yes. In several respects. One respect is what I’ll call the value of openness or listening. After all, if you’re a pluralist, there’s no point at all in listening to the other person. Everyone is right, everyone is wrong, there is no such thing as truth or falsehood. So what’s the point of listening? Remember Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai, where Beit Hillel stated the words of Beit Shammai before their own? They listened and then formed a position. You simply cannot do that if you’re a pluralist. If you’re a pluralist, then no one is right and no one is wrong; even if you listen to him, you’ll be right and wrong to the same degree—there’s no point in listening. Those who remember the infamous Popolitika programs—people there…

[Speaker G] You still have that over on Channel 14.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Ah, I don’t know. In any case, those programs really disturbed people because of the lack of manners. People didn’t listen to one another. People didn’t listen to one another and just shouted and told jokes at each other’s expense and so on. Yes, it was Tommy Lapid and Shelly Yachimovich and Eichler—various creatures were there. So anyway, people didn’t understand what was happening there. It wasn’t bad manners. It was pluralism. Pluralism means, after all, that all of us are right. No one is going to be convinced by any argument. Therefore, when… one second. Therefore, when you come there, fine—you’ll say what you say, I’ll say what I say, and neither of us is going to be convinced anyway. What remains is to tell jokes about each other and mock each other. There’s no point in discussion because there is despair from the outset about the possibility of listening and being convinced, or convincing. No one is going to be convinced. If you’re Likud, you’re Likud; if you’re Labor, you’re Labor; no one is going to be convinced. In short, in the background sat a pluralist conception of multiple truths—everyone with his own truth. It’s basically an arbitrary decision, and you’re locked into it and no one is going to change it. Maybe under hypnosis. One second. Yes, yes, this happens in many, many contexts. And then what happens is that presenting arguments and debating is irrelevant, because no one is going to be convinced by that—that’s the assumption. So what you’re left with is to mock him. To tell jokes about him, to put him down.

[Speaker C] The public will hear the opinions, the performances…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But the public too, in any case—the moment there is no truth, then the public can’t arrive at the truth either.

[Speaker C] When they say, this opinion fits me better…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, “fits you better” again—that already means you’re moving away from pluralism. Meaning, if everyone is equally right because everyone is consistent with his own assumptions, then what’s the point of discussion?

[Speaker C] That they shift their opinions here…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] They shift pointlessly, because just as they invented the opinion in the first place, they shift pointlessly. In the pluralist conception there is no truth, so whether people shift or don’t shift is not interesting; it’s all arbitrary. That is pluralism in its pure form, and therefore all that remains is to attack each other. In a tolerant… monist conception, then you really can talk to him. Why aren’t you listening to him? It’s not a matter of manners. I’m asking why you aren’t listening to him. Maybe you can learn from him—it’s not a question of manners. Don’t be polite! But maybe you’re not right. Listen to him because he may teach you something and bring you closer to the truth. That’s a different claim from saying that you’re being rude. All those who complain that you’re being rude are assuming pluralism. The only possible reason, the only reason you have to listen to the other person, is in order to be polite. I say no. Because I am a monist, I think there is one truth. But I will listen to you because I’m not sure that the one truth is with me. And I’m not the wisest person in the world; maybe I’m mistaken. I want to hear different arguments in order to ultimately form a position that will be closer to the truth. So precisely if I am a monist who thinks there is one truth, I endorse the value of listening, of openness, because I want to maximize my chances of reaching that truth. And if I’m a pluralist, there’s no point in listening. What is there to listen to? In any case there is no truth and no way to get closer to it. So what difference does it make? So it turns out that one difference between a pluralist and a tolerant person—a tolerant person is always a monist. The difference between a pluralist and a tolerant monist is the question whether you are willing to listen. And whether you do it only out of politeness or whether you really listen in order to learn and maybe change your mind. A second difference is what I call the issue of radius. An essential pluralist is basically supposed to relate with the same indifference to any position whatsoever, however far it may be, because all are equally right. Yes, there is no boundary up to which I am pluralist and beyond which I am not pluralist. With tolerance it’s not like that. Tolerance means that I think you are mistaken, and your mistake is harmful, and I have the ability to influence things. But I respect—I’m not talking now about openness, I’m talking about coercion—but I respect your autonomy. You should act as… okay. But there may be a price to that. Not at any price. I respect my son’s autonomy to do things I don’t agree with. But if he is going to become addicted to drugs, I’m not sure I will respect his autonomy. Not at any price. In other words, when my non-intervention is the result of some tension between truth and respecting the autonomy of the other person—the truth and the damage caused by not following the truth, on the one hand, and respecting the autonomy of the other person on the other—there is a certain tension here. I’m not sure that at any price I still won’t intervene. The pluralist, at any price, will not intervene, because there are no prices. That is, everyone is equally right. So the very existence of a radius of tolerance is another marker that distinguishes a tolerant person from a pluralist. On the practical level, the tolerant person will not be tolerant about everything. Up to a certain limit. Yes, up to a certain limit. Not at any price will I be tolerant. The pluralist is supposed to be pluralist at every distance whatsoever. What determines this boundary? You can suggest several criteria for the radius up to which I am tolerant. One criterion is the level of damage. If the damage caused by your view, which in my eyes is mistaken, is catastrophic, then I will not be tolerant. There is a limit to the price I am willing to pay—also for yourself, by the way, not only damage to me. If I see a person committing suicide, I’m not going to respect that just like that. Okay? Therefore the claim is that the severity of the damage is one criterion that determines the radius of how tolerant I will be. A second criterion is the way in which you formed your position. You have a different position from mine. You listened to what I say and didn’t agree? I’ll respect that. You didn’t listen, you’re not willing to learn at all, not willing to hear, not willing to discuss? Then I won’t respect it. Once in Yeruham, a group came—there was a proposal called the Kinneret Covenant, a covenant for mutual respect between religious and secular people, and everyone would respect the other’s position. No, it wasn’t Gabi Zalmanson, it was something else. Around that period, but something else, yes. Some broader initiative. And a group from the Hartman Institute came dealing with this—religious people, secular people, and others—and they came to Yeruham and wanted to speak with me. They asked me to talk to them. So I told them that I would never sign that covenant. Never. You want permission from me to remain ignorant and unlearned? I’m not giving it to you. I’m not the master of the house; maybe I’m mistaken, maybe you’re right. I’m also not the person responsible here in the country for what everyone does and who is allowed to do what; I’m not the ruler. If you want my respect or my legitimacy, you won’t get it. The one who will get my legitimacy is someone who has heard my arguments, listened to them carefully, and ultimately concluded that he doesn’t agree with me. Excellent! And of course I also need to listen to him. The whole thing. And if in the end we reached the conclusion that you don’t agree with me, I’ll sign with you any covenant of respect you want. But if you want permission to remain an ignoramus without paying the price—for tolerance you have to pay. Tolerance has a price. If you want tolerant treatment from me… if some kid comes along who hasn’t thought for a single moment and says, I don’t know, we should kill all the Jews—am I supposed to be tolerant toward him? Wait a second, think—there are such considerations and other considerations. Why should I respect such a hasty position when you haven’t borne the price you were supposed to bear in order to form such a position? I’m willing to accept that people disagree with me, but for me to respect that they have to hear my arguments and decide to tell me, look, you didn’t convince me—or to offer other arguments, it doesn’t matter. And likewise the other way around: I also don’t ask them to respect me if I don’t listen to their arguments, of course. In both directions. So that’s another criterion. In other words, the seriousness you invested in forming your position, and the price of that position—those are what can determine how far my tolerance extends. And therefore, many times when people say, “These and those are both the words of the living God,” then why not Christians too? Or pagans? Or whatever—why not treat every view with respect? Why only Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai? Why only within the study hall? And the answer is in these two parameters—maybe there are more, but at least these two. One is the level of damage, and the second is whether you listened to the arguments, weighed them seriously, and reached the conclusion that you disagree. If so, I will respect any position of yours. Any position, including paganism and Christianity. But you need to hear my arguments, and I need to be convinced that you did so seriously and reached a conclusion different from mine. Then I’ll sign with you any covenant you want. And that means, in effect, that there are differences even on the practical level between tolerance and pluralism. On the practical level this is expressed in two planes: either in the plane of listening, openness to other views, or in the plane of radius—that tolerance has a finite radius; pluralism is not supposed to have a radius. And the radius is determined by these two parameters: damage and the degree of seriousness with which you formed your position. Now if I want to go back to the Talmudic text, then I basically want to make the following claim. We asked: according to Rabbi Yosef Karo, he gave what I called the monist reading, right? Of the Talmudic text. He basically said: Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because the truth is with them. So then what does “These and those are both the words of the living God” mean? There is one truth, right? That’s a monist reading. My claim is that “These and those are both the words of the living God” does not express pluralism, as people think, but rather expresses tolerance. What does tolerance mean? It means that if you think differently from me, it’s not that you’re as right as I am. I’m right—Beit Hillel, the Jewish law follows me, because the truth is with me. But if Beit Shammai reached a different conclusion and they are Torah scholars and they disagree with me, I will respect their autonomy and their reasoning; in my eyes that too is Torah. Not that they are right—they are not right. There is one truth. Therefore “These and those are both the words of the living God,” according to Rabbi Yosef Karo, is not interpreted in the pluralist sense that there are multiple truths. There is one single truth. But I also respect those Torah scholars, at least, who do not act in accordance with the halakhic truth in my opinion. They are mistaken, but I will respect that because of the value of tolerance, not because they are as right as I am. Therefore the “these and those” is interpreted not in a pluralist way but in a tolerant way, within the monist reading of the Talmudic text—that Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because the truth is with them. So the “these and those” is not read in a pluralist way but in a tolerant way. That’s the claim. Okay? From here on we’ll continue next time; I’ll still want to elaborate on this more. Up to here.