Disagreement and Truth – Lesson 13

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Opening: Three Topics and Defining the Role of an Ukimta
A Bound and Sleeping Slave: “A Slave Is Like His Mistress’s Courtyard”
Ukimta as a Laboratory State and Comparison to the Sciences
An Egg Laid on a Jewish Holiday: Preparation, a Jewish Holiday Following the Sabbath, and the General Principle
Rashi: “A Jewish Holiday Too Is Called Sabbath” and Preparation as a Classification of a Holy Meal
Rashba: Criticism of Rashi and an Alternative Reading of the Basis of the Prohibition
Ruling by the Power of the Ukimta Model and the Tension with Rashba
Comments on Brisk, Ruling, and Stringency
Continuation of the Egg Topic: “If So, Then on an Ordinary Jewish Holiday It Should Be Permitted?”
Moving to Burnt Leaven: The Problem of “Obviously” and the Problem of the Ukimta
A Principled Interpretation of Burnt Leaven: The Object’s Temporal Belonging and the Freezing of Status
An Analogy from Sukkah Wood: Time as Defining the Object, Not Just the Prohibition
Medieval Authorities (Rishonim) on Burnt Leaven: Meiri and Maharam Halawa

Summary

General Overview

The text presents a methodological view according to which an ukimta is generally meant to remove a side problem created by the example, while the original wording of a Mishnah or statement is precise and intends a general principle that applies to all cases. The author demonstrates this through the bound and sleeping slave and through an egg laid on a Jewish holiday, compares the ukimta to creating a “laboratory state” in science in order to isolate a general law, and shows how this understanding changes the reading of the Talmudic passage and sheds light on disputes among medieval authorities (Rishonim). He then analyzes the disagreement between Rashi and Rashba regarding the law of preparation and connects the Brisker tendency toward analytical depth with difficulty in reaching rulings, while insisting that one must use “common sense” in order to decide when needed. Finally, he opens up an interpretive direction for the passage of “burnt leaven” in Pesachim, in which the burning serves as a mechanism that creates a time-association for the object and makes it possible to understand the ukimta and the novelty in a principled way.

Opening: Three Topics and Defining the Role of the Ukimta

The text states that an ukimta generally deals with a side problem that makes it hard to demonstrate the principle, and does not change the meaning of the precise wording of the Mishnah or statement. The text presents three examples: the bound and sleeping slave, an egg laid on a Jewish holiday, and leaven that was singed before Passover and eaten after the time of prohibition. The text assumes that the Mishnah seeks to convey a general idea, but almost always does so through a specific case in a casuistic method, and therefore the reader must extract from the case the principle behind it.

A Bound and Sleeping Slave: “A Slave Is Like His Mistress’s Courtyard”

The text attributes to Rava a general principle according to which a slave is like the courtyard of his master or mistress, and the example of placing something in the slave’s hand expresses acquisition through courtyard-acquisition. The text argues that the novelty is not in the laws of acquisition regarding a bound and sleeping slave, but in the general status of a slave, while the ukimta of “bound and sleeping” is needed only to neutralize side problems of a “moving courtyard” and the requirements of a “courtyard guarded with the owner’s awareness.” The text notes that this principle could also affect laws beyond acquisition, such as the possibility of “it shall not be seen” if the slave is holding leaven, because the slave is considered like the master’s courtyard.

Ukimta as a Laboratory State and Comparison to the Sciences

The text presents the ukimta as the creation of an artificial situation that simulates a “Platonic world” in which the general law can be observed without interference, similar to an experiment in a laboratory that isolates variables through conditions such as vacuum and low temperature. The text states that the goal is not to study the laboratory case itself, but to identify a general law that is always true, and only “other principles” in reality hide it. The text adds that if there is not even a remote practical possibility for the example-case, the Talmud will demand another example so that the demonstration will “hold water.”

An Egg Laid on a Jewish Holiday: Preparation, a Jewish Holiday Following the Sabbath, and the General Principle

The text brings the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel at the beginning of tractate Beitzah, where Beit Hillel are stringent and prohibit an egg laid on a Jewish holiday. The text presents the Talmud’s conclusion that this is a hen designated for laying eggs and that there is a problem of preparation, and therefore an ukimta is needed of a Jewish holiday following the Sabbath because the egg “finishes forming” the day before, so that the Sabbath is preparing for the Jewish holiday. The text argues that the Mishnah intends every Jewish holiday, and the example of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath is only meant to establish a case in which the egg is seen as “not prepared,” while the novelty is a general rule that on a Jewish holiday one may not eat food that was not prepared.

Rashi: “A Jewish Holiday Too Is Called Sabbath” and Preparation as a Classification of a Holy Meal

The text quotes Rashi: “A Jewish holiday too is called Sabbath, and its meal requires preparation, and its preparation must be on a weekday,” and explains that according to Rashi, the meal of a holy day requires weekday preparation, while an ordinary weekday meal is not considered important enough to count as preparation. The text concludes that according to Rashi, the prohibition of the egg on a Jewish holiday following the Sabbath stems from the fact that the egg was prepared on the Sabbath, and preparation on one holy day does not count as preparation for the meal of another holy day. The text connects, in Rashi’s words, preparation to set-aside status through his wording: “for set-aside does not apply to it.”

Rashba: Criticism of Rashi and an Alternative Reading of the Basis of the Prohibition

The text quotes Rashba opening with “And I am astonished by this wording,” and objects that if the Sabbath meal requires weekday preparation, it follows that “even the Sabbath does not prepare for itself,” whereas in Eruvin it says, “The Sabbath prepares for itself.” The text presents Rashba’s suggestion that the Sabbath and Jewish holiday meals are “important enough to require preparation,” and therefore there is a prohibition on one holy day preparing for another holy day, though they “prepare for themselves.” The text formulates an inquiry according to which the dispute between Rashi and Rashba depends on this: according to Rashi, the flaw is in the day on which one eats, because one ate food that was not prepared, whereas according to Rashba, the flaw is in the preparing day, because the Sabbath may not serve as preparation for another day.

Ruling by the Power of the Ukimta Model and the Tension with Rashba

The text argues that by virtue of the conception of the ukimta as merely a solution to a side problem, Rashi is “unequivocally” correct, because according to Rashba the novelty ends up depending on the ukimta itself and on the Sabbath, which is not written in the Mishnah, and thus “the main point is missing from the text.” The text suggests that one is allowed to rule against medieval authorities (Rishonim), and rejects an approach according to which “everyone is right” and the whole purpose of study is to reconcile every view with every difficulty. The text presents a position according to which in the end one must ask, “Who seems more reasonable to you,” and that there is “someone who is right and someone who is mistaken.”

Comments on Brisk, Ruling, and Stringency

The text brings a story about Rabbi Chaim, who sent a question to Rabbi Yitzhak Elchanan and asked for an answer “just yes or no,” without reasons, because for every reason one can bring counter-reasons. The text argues that the Brisker method tends to stop at the analytical understanding of each view without reaching a ruling, and therefore “Briskers don’t know how to decide” and tend to be stringent “in a hysterical way” in order to satisfy every possible view. The text quotes George Orwell: “There are stupidities that only intellectuals can believe,” and connects this to the idea that a consistent structure can be detached from common sense.

Continuation of the Egg Topic: “If So, Then on an Ordinary Jewish Holiday It Should Be Permitted?”

The text analyzes Abaye’s objection, “If so, then on an ordinary Jewish holiday it should be permitted?” and explains that according to Rashba, the objection stems from the fact that the Mishnah cannot possibly be speaking only about a Jewish holiday following the Sabbath, and therefore Rabbah is not making an ukimta but rather giving a reason for the general prohibition through a decree “because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath.” The text quotes Rashba’s wording: “It is difficult for me: how can he say ‘we are dealing with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath,’ for even on an ordinary Jewish holiday it is because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath,” and explains that the phrase “we are dealing with” sounds like the initial thought of an ukimta that is then rejected. The text explains that according to Rashi, the objection can be understood as a traditional or practical claim that in fact they prohibited an egg on every Jewish holiday, and therefore one needs a decree, whereas according to Rashba, the very reading of “Jewish holiday” in the Mishnah conceptually requires prohibition on every Jewish holiday.

Moving to Burnt Leaven: The Problem of “Obviously” and the Problem of the Ukimta

The text moves to the Mishnah in Pesachim: “At any time that it is permitted to eat… it is also permitted for benefit; once its time has passed it is forbidden for benefit,” and notes that the Talmud asks, “Permitted for benefit? Obviously.” The text brings Rava’s ukimta: “If one singed it before its time, it is permitted for benefit even after its time,” and emphasizes a double difficulty: the Mishnah gives no hint of singeing, and the distinction between singeing before the time and after the time seems incomprehensible if singed leaven is considered leaven or not considered leaven. The text suggests that from the difficulty one should learn that the Talmud is seeking another general principle beyond the triviality of “permitted when permitted and forbidden when forbidden.”

A Principled Interpretation of Burnt Leaven: The Object’s Temporal Belonging and the Freezing of Status

The text suggests that the novelty is that leaven has a “temporal belonging,” and leaven that belongs to a time when it is permitted is not the leaven that becomes prohibited, such that the timeline defines not only the prohibition but also the definition of the object “leaven.” The text explains that singeing creates an intermediate state that is neither complete ash nor ordinary bread, and thus “freezes” the status of the leaven at the moment when it was still bread, so that it remains “Hanukkah bread” and not “Passover bread.” The text states that if the singeing is done before the time of prohibition, one may eat the item on Passover, whereas if the singeing is done after the time of prohibition, it remains associated with the prohibited time and is therefore forbidden. The text emphasizes that the practical case of singeing is intended to allow the appearance of the general principle of temporal belonging, because ordinary bread baked early still remains “current leaven” if it continues to be bread over time.

An Analogy from Sukkah Wood: Time as Defining the Object, Not Just the Prohibition

The text brings an objection from later authorities (Acharonim): someone who sits in a sukkah in the rain is called a “fool,” though apparently he is using sukkah wood without performing a commandment, and so should have been considered “violating a prohibition.” The text brings in the name of Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman that time defines the object: during the festival it is a “sukkah,” and after the festival it is a “pergola,” and therefore there is no prohibition on using sukkah wood after Sukkot even though the wood itself has not changed. The text brings Rashba in Beitzah regarding making a stipulation about sukkah wood and asks how this fits with the idea of “intrinsic sanctity,” answering that the sanctity does not disappear; rather, the object ceases to be a “sukkah” after its time. The text uses this analogy to strengthen the model in which, with leaven, the timeline defines the very concept of the leaven relevant to the prohibition.

Medieval Authorities (Rishonim) on Burnt Leaven: Meiri and Maharam Halawa

The text quotes Meiri, who explains that “if one singed it before its prohibition” this removes it “from the category of food” and establishes it as “mere ash,” but sharpens that “anything singed after its time is forbidden… for once the prohibition of leaven has taken effect upon it, its prohibition does not lapse until after complete burning.” The text quotes Maharam Halawa, who states that “after its time, once it has been prohibited even once as leaven, it is forever forbidden… unless he burned it completely until it became ash,” and explains this as a mechanism in which deriving benefit from the singed item is considered deriving benefit from the leaven that had already become prohibited before the singeing. The text concludes by presenting these two formulations as different explanations that still fit along the axis of understanding the ukimta and the gap between “ash” and an intermediate state in which the name of bread is preserved by virtue of its past.

Full Transcript

[Speaker A] Okay, let’s begin.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] We started dealing with the topic of ukimtot, and last time I presented three passages through which I illustrated the idea of ukimtot. One passage was the bound and sleeping slave, the second passage was a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath with an egg laid on a Jewish holiday, and the third passage was leaven that was singed before Passover and eaten after the time of prohibition. The general claim was that when we make an ukimta, usually what that is supposed to do—maybe always, even—is remove a side problem. And the wording of the Mishnah or of the statement to which we apply the ukimta is supposed to be precise wording. If it says “Jewish holiday,” that means every Jewish holiday, not only a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. If it says “slave,” that means every slave, not only a bound and sleeping slave. So why do you need a bound and sleeping slave, or a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, or something like that? Because the example through which we wanted to show the general principle doesn’t work because of some side issue that touches it, so that’s what the ukimta solves. We saw, for example, regarding the slave, my claim was that what Rava wanted to say is that a slave is like the courtyard of his mistress, yes, of his lady. That is true of every slave, not only if he is bound and sleeping and so on, every slave. Except that the Talmud’s way is to present general principles through examples, private cases, what’s called the casuistic method, through cases, and not through general principles. It doesn’t say, “A slave is his master’s courtyard”; instead it says, “If you put something in his hand, his master acquires it.” Whereas of course what that really means is that the slave is his master’s courtyard; he acquires by the law of courtyard-acquisition. But the Talmud’s way—and I’ll say more about this later—but the Talmud’s way, actually the Mishnah’s way more than the Talmud’s, is that on the one hand it is clear to us that whenever the Mishnah comes to say something, it comes to say a general idea and not a specific law in one certain case. On the one hand. On the other hand, it always brings, or almost always brings, that general rule through a case and does not state it directly. Yes, it’s somewhat connected to the Oral Torah; I’ll talk about that later. But it always brings it through a case, and we understand—this is the basic approach, not something we learn only from this passage, but part of the general methodology—we understand that when the Mishnah presents a case, what it really intends is to demonstrate through that case a general principle. When I read Rava’s statement—granted, it’s an Amoraic statement, not a Mishnah, but it’s the same idea—that he is really speaking about the slave acquiring the bill of divorce for his mistress, it’s clear to us that this is not about a bill of divorce at all, nor about anything of that kind. It is about the relationship between a slave and his master or mistress. And what the Talmud wants to say is that the slave is his master’s courtyard. It says it through a case—how do you say that he is his courtyard? If they place it in his hand, then he acquires it under the law of courtyard-acquisition. But we did not come here to tell you stories in the laws of courtyard-acquisition; there are passages that deal with courtyard-acquisition. We came to tell you something about a slave—what is the relationship between the slave and his master? He is his courtyard. The implication is that he acquires through courtyard-acquisition, but there can be other implications too: “it shall not be seen”—if he has leaven in his hand, maybe the master would violate the prohibition of “it shall not be seen,” because there is leaven in his courtyard. That has nothing to do with acquisitions. Okay, I’m just raising the possibility. I’m only saying that on the conceptual level, when we read Rava’s statement, Rava was speaking about every slave, so that means what he wanted to say applies to every slave, not to a bound and sleeping slave. And if so, it’s clear he isn’t talking about the laws of acquisition, because acquisition works only with a bound and sleeping slave, since it has to be a guarded courtyard with the owner’s awareness, and so on. So what is he talking about? Apparently he is talking about the status of the slave in general, regardless of whether he is bound and sleeping or not. Except that the example he chose is the example that says the slave acquires; through that he expresses the idea that the slave is his master’s courtyard. But the fact that the slave acquires gets us into tangles, because in the laws of acquisition it is not true that every slave acquires, since he is a moving courtyard and not guarded with the owner’s awareness. Fine, so it’s a bound and sleeping slave—don’t confuse me with the details. Okay, leave me alone with the nitpicking right now. I’m telling you something about every slave, and you say, fine, but this case—okay, so he’s bound and sleeping. Yes, but the novelty of Rava’s statement is not a novelty about a bound and sleeping slave; he isn’t talking about a bound and sleeping slave, he never dreamed about a bound and sleeping slave, it isn’t interesting at all. He’s talking about every slave. The example he gives is just a way of making the point. Think about if I were to say: You know that with a slave you can acquire, that a slave can acquire by courtyard-acquisition for his master? If I said that to you, nobody would bat an eye, right? And then you’d say, wait, but the slave is a moving courtyard. Fine, so he’s bound and sleeping. I’m not talking about that now. I’m telling you in general that a slave is his master’s courtyard. That’s what I want to tell you. Right? So that would not have raised any problem. So think about reading Rava’s statement from that point of view—then the ukimta raises no difficulty at all. It’s not a forced answer. It’s obvious. I talked about this in the context of science books too, Sir James Jeans. There too, you state the general scientific law, but it never actually works. You need ukimtot in order to see it. Fine, okay, so make ukimtot. I’m not getting into the details now. I’m telling you the principle. The principle is always true. Fine, that is basically the meaning of an ukimta. To my mind, this is a completely smooth explanation. There is no problem at all, of course, if you accept the assumptions. And the assumptions are two: first, that the Talmud always wants to say a general principle; and second, that even though it states a private case, behind that it always wants to say a general principle. Casuistry. I’ll return to these things later. But first of all, assuming we accept those two assumptions, then the phenomenon of ukimta is simple. Now I want to show implications. So with Rava we saw that this conception really does explain the ukimta well, meaning it neutralizes the difficulties. Because the difficulty is: why suddenly “bound and sleeping”? Rava didn’t mention any of that. Because he didn’t need to mention it. It’s obvious. In the passage about the egg, there is an additional advantage. In the passage about the egg, I’ll show you that it gives you a tool for understanding the sugya itself, not just for justifying the ukimta. Once you understand what the ukimta is supposed to do, suddenly you understand the passage completely differently. And that’s what I want to show through the example of the passage in Beitzah. Okay? And this is a rule that I checked on other passages too—when we learned here Beitzah, by the way, that’s where I started with this passage. And after that, every page where we came to an ukimta, I showed the group that when you look at it this way, the whole sugya opens up. Suddenly you see that the whole story—all the difficulties disappear, everything is wonderful. You just need to understand the Talmud’s assumptions when it approaches reading a Mishnah or an Amoraic statement. Once you understand that, it’s really remarkable. And all the examples they’ve given me until now, it seems to me all of them passed the test. I haven’t gone through the whole Talmud to check every ukimta, but all the examples—people challenged me with all kinds of examples, there are also things written about this—it always works, from what I’ve checked. Even when it seems not to. You force it until it works. Until he says, “I want to.” Anyway, let’s get back to the passage. So we have the egg that was laid. Let me remind you again: the egg laid on a Jewish holiday—basically, Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, a dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Beit Hillel say it may not be eaten, Beit Shammai say it may be eaten. Yes, this is one of the places where Beit Hillel are stringent. There are several like this at the beginning of Beitzah. Which teaches you that the goal is not to be stringent from the outset. Even if Beit Shammai were stringent, it’s because that’s how it came out, not because they came and said, now we have to be stringent. Okay, let’s see what the strictest position is, and that’s what we’ll do. It doesn’t work that way. There are halakhic decisors for whom it sometimes looks like that’s what they are looking for. That’s not how it works. A person should not be aiming to be stringent or to be lenient; a person should say what is correct. Afterward, scholars can come and say whether he is stringent or lenient. Fine, maybe he has a tendency toward stringency, maybe a tendency toward leniency. But the person is not supposed to make that a direct halakhic consideration. I want to be stringent, or I’m stringent and therefore I’ll rule this way. No—rule according to what you think. It’s the scholar’s job to see whether you are stringent, lenient, conservative, original. Those are all descriptions for the scholar studying you, not for you. You yourself should do what you think. Preferably you shouldn’t even be aware of all these things. Let the scholar write his articles—he needs a livelihood too. So that can’t be your consideration. Anyway, back to our issue: Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed about an egg laid on a Jewish holiday. Beit Hillel say it may not be eaten; we are speaking according to Beit Hillel. Yes, why may it not be eaten? There are all kinds of discussions there—set-aside status and so on, whether the hen is designated for eating, designated for laying eggs. There are all kinds of possibilities in the Talmud. In the end the Talmud reaches the conclusion that we are speaking about a hen designated for laying eggs and the egg was laid on a Jewish holiday. And therefore there is a problem of preparation. Why? There is no problem of preparation on an ordinary Jewish holiday. So we have to say that this is a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. Then what? The assumption is that an egg always forms, or finishes forming, the day before it is laid. Okay, now if I took the egg that was laid on the Jewish holiday—it was laid because the Sabbath prepared it for the Jewish holiday, and therefore it is forbidden to eat it. And again, that is of course an ukimta, because the Mishnah does not mention that this is a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. It says, “An egg laid on a Jewish holiday.” If the Mishnah means a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, then why doesn’t it write that? “An egg laid on a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath—may it be eaten or may it not?” No, it says, “An egg laid on a Jewish holiday.” Why? Then afterward the Talmud makes an ukimta: this is a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. The same question, the regular question about ukimtot. I want to make the following claim. I want to claim that with “on a Jewish holiday,” the claim is that the person, the man, will do it? No, no—the claim is not that. There can also be preparation by Heaven or preparation that happens on its own. The Talmud discusses that there. But it has to go through some kind of preparation. So I want to make the following claim: if the Mishnah speaks about a Jewish holiday in general and not a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, then it intends to speak about every Jewish holiday. Exactly as I said with Rava, it intends to speak about every Jewish holiday. And an egg laid on any Jewish holiday is forbidden to be eaten. Why? Again, we are not talking about an egg; the egg is an example, right? They want to say a general principle and use an example. What does the example say? Since the egg was not prepared, it may not be eaten. But they are not talking about an egg; rather, food that was not prepared may not be eaten—or food prepared on the Sabbath may not be eaten on a Jewish holiday. There is a general rule that food eaten on a Jewish holiday has to go through preparation. That is really the law. But general rules are not stated in the Mishnah, right? It says it through an example. What example? Let’s take an egg laid on a Jewish holiday. Wait—but an egg laid on a Jewish holiday did go through preparation, so what’s the problem? Suppose the holiday falls on Wednesday, then it was prepared on Tuesday and everything is fine. No, no—it’s a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, leave me alone with side issues now. It’s a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, fine. But notice: when I set it up as a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, what does that do? It shows why this egg laid on a Jewish holiday did not go through preparation. The novelty is not about a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath; the novelty is about every Jewish holiday—that the food you eat on it must have gone through preparation. And that is true of every Jewish holiday. What does it mean that it must have gone through preparation? No, that’s another question—what counts as preparation? Those are complicated issues; don’t drag me into that now. The whole beginning of the first chapter of Beitzah is exactly about that. Preparation by Heaven, preparation by man—we won’t get into that now. If it was available for preparation already beforehand and then they cooked it, and if it wasn’t available for preparation then indeed if you cook it on a Jewish holiday there might be a problem if it wasn’t food that could have been eaten beforehand. But fine, that’s another discussion; I won’t get into the issue of preparation now. In any case, for our purposes, the claim is that really the aim of the Mishnah, or the message, the novelty of the Mishnah, is that one may not eat on a Jewish holiday food that was not prepared. That’s all. That’s what the Mishnah says. Now there may be food that doesn’t need preparation from beforehand, and then you don’t need to set it up as a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. On an ordinary Jewish holiday, if it didn’t go through preparation, it may not be eaten. The Mishnah chose the example of an egg, because that was probably the common example—an egg laid on a Jewish holiday. Yes, but with an egg this doesn’t work because it was prepared the day before, and if the day before is a weekday then what’s the problem? Fine, then it’s a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. I’m talking about an egg that was not prepared—leave me alone. If the egg was not prepared, then it may not be eaten on the Jewish holiday. How can it be that it was not prepared? For example, if the Jewish holiday is on Sunday. But that’s just an example. It’s like with Rava: I want to tell you that the slave is his master’s courtyard, but then I say it through the example of acquiring. Wait, but he can’t acquire—it would have to be bound. Bound, then. Fine, so a bound slave. But the novelty they want to say is not about the case marked by the ukimta. The novelty is a general novelty that is true in all cases. The ukimta always deals with a side problem connected to the example, not to the principle being demonstrated. In the example itself there is always a problem—in the laws of acquisition, for instance. I want to tell you that the slave is his master’s courtyard; I have a problem in the laws of acquisition, not in the laws of the slave. Fine, are acquisition laws bothering you? Bound slave. Right now I’m talking to you about food prepared on the Sabbath; food eaten on a Jewish holiday has to be prepared, and if it isn’t prepared, it may not be eaten on the Jewish holiday. That’s the general principle; it’s a law in the laws of the Jewish holiday. Yes, but specifically with an egg, it is prepared the day before, so what do you want? Fine, then it’s a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. That’s in the laws of the egg, not in the laws of preparation. Okay? That’s not interesting. There can also be food on a Wednesday Jewish holiday that would be forbidden to eat because it did not go through preparation. It’s just that with an egg, that doesn’t happen, because with an egg it does go through preparation the day before. That’s all. Here, for example, if an egg were to form on the same day—suppose that happened not the day before but on the same day, let’s say the physiology worked that way—then no, on the contrary, there would be a problem even on a Wednesday Jewish holiday, because the egg had not gone through preparation. It has to go through preparation the day before. Yes. That’s the question of the relation between “newly produced” and the law of preparation. It’s similar. Very similar. In simple terms, preparation is Torah-level and “newly produced” is rabbinic, but yes, it’s similar. So therefore this law is true also on a Jewish holiday that falls on Wednesday—that’s not the point. But it’s true that the specific example of an egg requires us to set it up as a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. Fine, so I’ll set it up as a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. Or in other words, I’ll say it like this: an egg that was not prepared may not be eaten on a Jewish holiday. Any Jewish holiday—Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. It’s just that usually on a Jewish holiday the egg is prepared. Fine, then the example you want, where it’s not prepared, is when the holiday falls on Sunday and on the Sabbath it was not prepared. But really what they want to tell you is not specifically an egg laid on a Sunday holiday, but rather an egg laid on a Jewish holiday in such a way that it did not go through preparation—it may not be eaten. You ask: when did it not go through preparation? For example, when the egg is on Sunday. Or in the case of an egg that happened to be ready early and is prepared on the same day it is laid. I don’t know, maybe there’s some hen here that prepares her eggs—she’s an expert chef, she prepares the eggs in seconds. Fine, then for that hen it would also be forbidden on Wednesday. Or eggs that form over three days instead of one day. Then also an egg laid on Wednesday would be forbidden to eat, because it was prepared on the Sabbath from three or four days earlier. It doesn’t matter whether it’s Sunday or not Sunday, because that doesn’t touch the novelty itself that we wanted to convey. It’s only the practical case through which we can see the novelty. Yes, in order to—let me explain, one second—I explained this last class. I said that the ukimta is basically creating a laboratory situation. A situation in our world, which is always complex and in which you never see the idea in its pure form. But if I arrange the lab with filters and it’s clear of air, vacuum, temperature zero or as close to zero as possible, and so on, I can simulate the Platonic case, the abstract world in which this law really appears and can be observed practically. So the laboratory situation is exactly what we are doing in an ukimta. The ukimta is trying to create for us a slave who doesn’t walk and doesn’t do this and doesn’t do that—fine, a hypothetical slave who can acquire by courtyard-acquisition. In the Platonic world, every slave acquires by courtyard-acquisition. In the practical world there are problems that interfere, because it has to be a courtyard guarded with the master’s awareness, and so on, with the master’s awareness. Fine, so he is bound and sleeping. But that is just creating the laboratory. It’s like in the laboratory I empty the test tube of air so there will be a vacuum, I lower the temperature to zero, and then I say this law is true of this substance. What do you mean? But there’s temperature and there’s… No, no, we’re talking about where I removed the temperature and there is no air and nothing at all and everything is fine. That’s an ukimta. The laboratory is simply making an ukimta. That’s what a laboratory does. Okay? And that’s what we do in an ukimta. But the purpose of an experiment in science and the purpose of an ukimta in the Talmud are the same. The purpose is not to examine the laboratory case; the laboratory is only a case that tries to help me diagnose the general law, and that general law is always true. It’s just that in places that are not laboratory situations, other principles got mixed in there and prevent this law from appearing. That’s all. Therefore I need to create a laboratory. But after I create the laboratory, the lesson is a general lesson, not just for the laboratory case. There is some general law here, like Newton’s first law and all the examples I gave. And an example has to hold water—what does that mean? You tell me he acquires; if a slave can never acquire, then don’t give me that example, give me an example that works. And he says to you: yes, there is a slave who acquires if his legs are tied and he is asleep.

[Speaker H] Because the Talmud wants it to be a general law,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] because it wants to understand—you demonstrated the general law through an example, and if that example can never work, then it isn’t a good example. He says no: if he’s bound and sleeping, then it does work. Or if the Jewish holiday is after the Sabbath, then it does work. But again, it’s not that I’m coming to tell you something about that particular situation. Just as a laboratory experiment is not trying to check what happens at zero temperature with no air. It is trying to check what happens in our real world. It’s just that the way to do that, to neutralize all the things that mask it, to see only the particular case we want to deal with, is to strip away the other things and try to create a very artificial situation, which is not the real thing. But the goal is to understand the general law that is true of all the real situations too. And that is exactly what happens in an ukimta. So there are implications.

[Speaker I] Even for determinations that no longer have practical implications.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean? Suppose I hadn’t succeeded in making an ukimta and it turned out that a slave never acquires in any case,

[Speaker I] then they wouldn’t demonstrate through it?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, then they wouldn’t demonstrate through a slave. That’s why they ask—after all, the slave doesn’t acquire. Otherwise there would be no need to ask. What is the Talmud asking? It says: if there is no practical possible case, don’t demonstrate it through this example; give me another example. Otherwise it just confuses me. He says: but if there is some possible case, even if it is far-fetched, fine, not terrible.

[Speaker J] And is there a practical implication to what Rava says there, if it’s not in the laws of acquisition?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Obviously, like I said. For example, with “it may not be seen.” Look at Rashi in the highlighted passage: “And a festival day does not prepare for the Sabbath.” Rashi explains: “A festival day too is called ‘Sabbath,’ and its meal requires prior preparation, and that preparation must be on a weekday. But an ordinary weekday meal is not considered important, since the idea of preparation does not apply to it. Therefore, on an ordinary Sunday we have no reason to prohibit an egg laid on that day because it was prepared by Heaven, since for a weekday meal the Merciful One did not require prior designation while it was still day, because the category of set-aside does not apply there.” First of all, the Talmud says that just as the Sabbath does not prepare for a festival day, so too a festival day does not prepare for the Sabbath. Meaning, if a festival day falls on Friday and an egg was laid on the Sabbath, it is forbidden to eat it, because it was prepared on the previous day, the festival day. Right, it’s symmetrical. In other words, it doesn’t matter which comes first and which comes second; a festival day too is called “Sabbath.” That’s why Rashi begins, “A festival day too is called Sabbath.” The point is that in either case it is forbidden to eat the egg, whether it is a festival day after the Sabbath or the Sabbath after a festival day. Meaning, whether the festival day is on Sunday or on Friday. Okay? “And its meal requires preparation.” What does that mean? A meal of a holy day, whether Sabbath or festival day, requires preparation, yes—“preparation” here means readiness. It requires preparation. “And its preparation is on a weekday.” Meaning, the preparation specifically has to be done on a weekday. So if the preparation for the festival meal is done on the Sabbath, or the preparation for the Sabbath meal is done on a festival day, that’s no good. That is not called preparation. It was not prepared. Okay? Because preparation on a holy day is not called preparation.

But then, with an ordinary weekday meal—now Rashi has a difficulty here, there’s a kind of subtext—Rashi’s difficulty is: what follows from this? That if I eat an egg laid on Sunday, that too should be forbidden, because it was prepared on the Sabbath. What difference does it make whether that Sunday is a festival day? Let it be a regular weekday—it was prepared on the Sabbath. So he says no: “An ordinary weekday meal is not significant, and the notion of preparation does not apply to it. Therefore on an ordinary Sunday we have no reason to prohibit an egg laid on that day because it was prepared by Heaven.” What is he saying? On a regular Sunday, with no festival day involved, there would seemingly be room to forbid the egg because it was prepared on the Sabbath, the previous day, and that should be forbidden. An egg prepared on the Sabbath is not considered prepared, so it is not prepared. But why should I care? On Sunday there is no rule that one must eat something prepared. A weekday meal is not significant and does not require preparation. So why should I care that it was prepared on the Sabbath? Okay? And therefore he says: “For a weekday meal the Merciful One did not require designation while it was still day, because the category of set-aside does not apply there.” Rashi here links preparation to set-aside; this is somewhat connected to the question of something newly generated. Yes. In any case, the question is whether this is only an indication or whether it’s an actual equation, but we won’t get into that here. In any event, that is his claim.

What is Rashi actually saying here? It seems that this is what I said earlier—he prophesied by divine inspiration what I was going to say—and he said that the problem is basically that on the festival day you are eating food that was not prepared. If it was prepared on the Sabbath, that does not count as preparation, so you are eating food that was not prepared, and the problem is that it is forbidden to eat food that was not prepared. Okay? That is Rashi.

Now look at the Rashba. The Rashba says: “And I am puzzled by this wording, that the Sabbath meal requires prior preparation while it is still day and on a weekday.” This is Rashi—he is quoting Rashi, yes?—and expressing astonishment at him. “If so, then even the Sabbath does not prepare for itself. Yet in ordinary law, on a standalone Sabbath or festival day, an egg is permitted.” What happens with an egg laid on the Sabbath or on an ordinary festival day, when they are not adjacent to each other? By law, that is permitted, right? “And on a festival day after the Sabbath, were it not that it was completed yesterday, it would still be permitted.” Let’s say the festival day was after the Sabbath, but the physiology worked faster, so an egg laid on the festival day was also prepared on that same festival day. It doesn’t take twenty-four hours; it takes less. Let’s suppose that for the sake of discussion. Then it would be permitted. How do I know? Because the Talmud itself, in order to explain to me why this is forbidden, needed to say that were it not completed yesterday, it would be permitted, right? Meaning, if it had been prepared that same day, then it would have been fine.

Now, if preparation on a holy day is not preparation, then even if it was prepared on that same day it should still be forbidden to eat it. At the end of the day it was not prepared. It has to be prepared on a weekday, right? And we require preparation on a weekday. But this did not undergo preparation on a weekday. So why did the Talmud need to say that we are dealing with a festival day that fell after the Sabbath and that an egg takes twenty-four hours to be prepared? Why do we need that second part? Even the first part would be enough, according to Rashi. Even if I were to say this is just a regular festival day, not one that falls after the Sabbath, without any forced interpretation at all—just without the assumption that an egg takes twenty-four hours to be prepared. Let’s say it is prepared within an hour. It was laid, and an hour earlier it had already been ready. From the Talmud it sounds like that would be permitted. Why then did the Talmud need to say that it needs twenty-four hours? Because without that, it would have been permitted. But according to Rashi it would not be permitted, because it was prepared on a holy day. Preparation on a holy day is not preparation, so you are eating something that did not undergo preparation. If you eat this egg on the festival day and it was prepared an hour earlier, then it did not undergo preparation, because preparation on a holy day is not preparation. So why do we need this “it was completed yesterday”? And that drags us into forced interpretations and things like that.

Now, it could be that that is in fact true—that it was completed yesterday; the reality is what it is, that is the physiological reality. It’s not as though the Sages decided that it was completed yesterday in order to create a forced interpretation, yes? They understood that this is really what happens. But still, why do we need it? Put it on an ordinary day; don’t get into all these physiological questions at all.

So he says: “Rather, this is its meaning. And in tractate Eruvin we say: the beginning of the day acquires the eruv; the Sabbath prepares for itself.” Besides, there is a Talmudic passage against Rashi. The Talmud itself says that the Sabbath prepares for itself. The Sabbath—you do not need the food for the Sabbath to have been prepared yesterday; the Sabbath prepares for itself. Fine. So the Rashba rejects Rashi’s explanation of the Talmud—what the problem in preparation is. So what does he propose? The Talmud still said something, and on a regular Sunday after all it is permitted to eat the egg. How does he explain it?

So he says like this: “Rather, this is its meaning: the meal of a festival day and of the Sabbath is important enough to be considered as having preparation.” That much he accepts from Rashi. Only a Sabbath or festival meal is an important meal. Meaning, it requires preparation. Okay? Or rather—not that it requires preparation, sorry—but that preparation toward it is considered preparation. According to Rashi, it is important and therefore it requires preparation. According to the Rashba, it is important and therefore preparation toward it is called preparation. And then what follows from the fact that it is called preparation? “Therefore, whenever such preparation exists, it is not fitting for the Sabbath to prepare for a festival day nor for a festival day to prepare for the Sabbath—but they do prepare for themselves.” What is he saying?

If there is a festival day after the Sabbath, the egg is laid on the festival day and was prepared on the preceding Sabbath, the problem is not that today I am eating—meaning, why do we need today to be a festival day? Is it because specifically on a festival day you need to eat something prepared, and if you ate something unprepared you violated a prohibition? No. That’s not the reason. So why does today have to be a festival day? Because only a festival meal is significant—and then what follows? Then the egg that was prepared on the preceding Sabbath was indeed prepared, because for an insignificant meal, preparations toward it are not considered preparations. You just do whatever you want, you grab whatever is there. On a weekday, I pass by the fridge and take something. Sure, it went through cooking—someone cooked it yesterday and all that. But we don’t call that “they prepared it for today.” There was food in the fridge and I took it. But if I sit down to a meal, and it’s an important meal—a festival, the Sabbath, a celebration, whatever—then the preparations for that meal are preparations for that meal. Meaning, they are preparations. It’s not just that I cooked food to have around; I prepared it for that meal. If that happens on the Sabbath, then I violated the Sabbath—not the festival day. Because I performed preparation, something that is preparation for another day, on the Sabbath. So why, on a normal week when the egg was laid on Sunday, did I not violate anything? The Sabbath prepared the egg for Sunday—not okay; that harms the Sabbath even more. Fine, if it prepared for a festival day—but it prepared for an ordinary weekday! That’s an even greater disgrace. No. Because a weekday is not a significant meal. So what happened on the Sabbath is not called preparation for Sunday’s meal. On Sunday I grab whatever is in the fridge; it isn’t that it was prepared for Sunday. By contrast, if it is a festival day, then preparations for the festival meal are indeed preparations. And if that happens on the Sabbath, it is forbidden to make preparations on the Sabbath.

But what if the Sabbath prepares for itself? According to Rashi, that should come out forbidden, because in the end it was not prepared. According to the Rashba, it does not need to be prepared—that is not the point. The point is that preparation on the Sabbath cannot be done for another day, because that is an affront to the Sabbath. So if the Sabbath prepares for itself, that is not an affront to the Sabbath. It prepared for itself; it did not prepare for someone else. That does not harm the Sabbath. I am not using the Sabbath for the sake of another day.

In other words, let me put it this way: when a festival day falls after the Sabbath, there is a dispute between Rashi and the Rashba as to what the problem is, how to understand the law of preparation. According to Rashi, the problem is that on the festival day I ate food that was not prepared, because preparation on the Sabbath is not preparation. Bottom line, I ate food on the festival day that was not prepared. It is forbidden to eat unprepared food. Whom did I offend? The festival day. The festival day, because on a festival day you need to eat food that was prepared. If it was not prepared, it is forbidden to eat it on the festival day. That is the honor one must show the festival day: prepare the festival meal. Okay? According to the Rashba, the problem is the reverse. The offense is not against the festival day but against the Sabbath. If there is preparation on the Sabbath for the sake of a festival meal, that is an affront to the Sabbath, a degradation of the Sabbath. What, the Sabbath serves other days? The problem is not the festival day but the Sabbath. So why specifically the Sabbath before a festival day, and not just the Sabbath before a regular Sunday? Because on a regular Sunday, it is not a significant meal, so the fact that the egg is completed on the Sabbath is not considered preparation for another day. There is no such thing as preparation for an ordinary day. Preparation exists for festive meals.

Yes, a practical difference would be, for example: what happens if I have a wedding on Saturday night, or on Sunday—a regular weekday? May I serve an egg? At a Sunday wedding, it would be forbidden to serve an egg that was laid on Sunday. Why? Because a wedding meal is certainly an important meal, and preparations toward it are considered preparations. So according to the Rashba, if I serve it on Sunday, it turns out that the Sabbath prepared for Sunday, and you cannot say this is not an important meal so it doesn’t count as preparation. A wedding meal—people prepare for it. Okay? According to Rashi, there is no problem. Because according to Rashi, there is no rule for a wedding meal that I must eat prepared food. On a festival day there is such a rule; with a wedding meal there is no such rule. True, when there are preparations for a wedding meal, those are preparations—but it’s not that there is a requirement to prepare something for wedding meals. There is no such requirement. Bottom line, it is important, and therefore what is made for it counts as preparation. So according to the Rashba, this would be forbidden, and according to Rashi, it would be permitted. What happened—

[Speaker M] At a wedding, it’s forbidden to serve an egg that was laid on the Sabbath, for example. Why?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because it was produced beforehand.

[Speaker M] So if it was prepared beforehand, that’s excellent.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What’s the problem? On a weekday.

[Speaker M] Very good.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s exactly what is needed. You need to prepare on a weekday the food that is eaten on the Sabbath. What’s the problem? It doesn’t specifically have to be on the Sabbath—on the contrary. What the Rashba says is that even if it was prepared on the Sabbath, that also works; all the more so if it was prepared on a weekday, that’s fine. Only according to Rashi it comes out that if it was prepared on a weekday, that’s fine, but if it was prepared on the Sabbath itself for itself, that too should have to be forbidden, because in the end you are eating something that did not undergo preparation, since preparation on a holy day is not preparation. Okay.

Of course, Rashi could reject that. Rashi could say that if the Sabbath prepares for itself, that does count as preparation. It is not considered a holy day relative to itself. Something like the Rashba’s reasoning—but the conception still remains the opposite one. In other words, there is a dispute here between Rashi and the Rashba as to the foundation of the prohibition of preparation on a festival day after the Sabbath or on the Sabbath after a festival day. According to Rashi, the offense is against the day for which one is preparing, and according to the Rashba, the offense is against the day doing the preparing. Okay? Good.

Now I ask you: who is right? Right? Unequivocally, Rashi. Understand: according to the Rashba, the law they are trying to teach is a law about the preparing day. Meaning, when you frame it as a festival day after the Sabbath, the novelty is in the laws of the Sabbath, not in the laws of the festival day. That is a far-fetched forced interpretation. So what does the Mishnah say? “An egg laid on a festival day may not be eaten.” Ah, and the forced interpretation is that this means a festival day after the Sabbath. The whole novelty is only about a festival day after the Sabbath. So why doesn’t the Mishnah say that it is talking about a festival day after the Sabbath? According to Rashi, it’s not like that. According to Rashi, it is exactly what I said. The novelty is about the festival day, and the novelty is that on any festival day it is forbidden to eat food that was not prepared—not only on a festival day after the Sabbath; it is every festival day. As for the egg, it is usually prepared, unless the festival day is after the Sabbath, that’s all. So I frame it as a festival day after the Sabbath, but the novelty applies to every festival day.

But according to the Rashba, this whole forced interpretation is absurd. According to the Rashba, the novelty lies in the forced interpretation itself. Meaning, I inserted the Sabbath into the picture even though it is not mentioned in the Mishnah, and the novelty concerns that Sabbath which I inserted. That is not just solving some side issue. The novelty is that itself: that if there is a Sabbath before the festival day, you offended the Sabbath if you ate the egg on the festival day. But that leaves out the main point entirely. If you want to teach me a novelty that concerns a festival day after the Sabbath, then say in the Mishnah that you are talking about a festival day after the Sabbath.

In other words—notice, this is an important point—according to the approach we learned earlier, we have a way to decide who is right. If we understand the idea of a forced interpretation, that means that Rashi is right and not the Rashba. There, I’ve decided that dispute just from understanding how a forced interpretation works. And now I’m talking about things that are not connected to forced interpretation at all—I’m talking about the laws of preparation. How did I decide the conceptual question? I would have presented it as a conceptual question: when a festival day falls after the Sabbath, is this a law about the festival day—that one may not eat something unprepared—or is it a law about the Sabbath—that one may not prepare for another day? A dispute between Rashi and the Rashba. Well, now I have a simple decision. If I understand the mechanism of forced interpretation, that settles the conceptual issue. There is no room for this conceptual question.

Fine, so what do we do with the Rashba? First of all, a preface, or a side remark in parentheses: what one does with the Rashba is say that one disagrees with him. That’s all. What’s the problem? Is there any issue with that? In my opinion he is not right. It could be that I am mistaken—on the contrary, if someone can explain him, I’d be happy—but one is allowed to decide. Our assumption is not that this is some kind of game in which the medieval authorities, or even later authorities, disagree but everyone is right; no difficulty can remain because they all thought of everything, and therefore now we just play some game of how to reconcile each one with all the objections. We have no initial assumption—here we return to the question of dispute and truth—yes, we have no initial assumption that says: no, we want to decide. Let’s see who sounds more reasonable.

Do you know the story about Rabbi Chaim? I brought it in the analytical-study class in the evening. By the way, there won’t be the evening class today, if anyone here participates, because it’s Jerusalem Day—they finish at six. I found that out this morning. New insights—there is no study hall without some new insight. So the claim is—there is a well-known story, a famous myth—that Rabbi Chaim sent a question to Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan, a halakhic question, who was the leading halakhic decisor of the generation in Kovno, and he told him: answer me only yes or no, without reasons. Because any reason you give me, I will bring ten reasons against it—meaning, I’ll explain to you why it isn’t necessary. Just tell me yes or no, and that’s all.

Now that is either an example of the Brisker form of attitude, maybe the Lithuanian one more generally, over time. The assumption is that what we do in analytic study is try to understand each view fully, and that’s it. We stop there. How does one decide Jewish law? Do you understand that if I understand each view fully, I have no way to decide? They both remain logical. There is no difficulty against either side, because all the difficulties have been resolved. If we have sufficiently good analytic ability, as Rabbi Chaim had—and even more so after him—no difficulty will remain. And therefore Briskers do not know how to decide. They do not know how to decide. Their analytic ability is too high. Plain common sense is usually a bit too low. Very often one comes at the expense of the other. He has high analytic ability; as George Orwell said, there are stupidities only intellectuals can believe. Meaning, someone with good analytic ability often loses contact with common sense. He builds a coherent structure, everything is wonderful, entirely consistent. But it doesn’t hold water at all—it’s idiotic. Yes, common sense is absent there.

So many times in Brisk it is like that. You have all these distinctions—law in the person, law in the object—each one according to his own approach, all the practical differences, all the implications, a magnificent structure to explain the Rashba, a magnificent structure to explain Rashi. Okay, now who is right? Don’t know. Each one is consistent with himself; who knows who is right? Yes, postmodernism: narratives. Everyone has his own narrative. There is no right and wrong. Okay? That is Brisk in its purest form.

By the way, that is why Briskers are stringent. Do you know why Briskers are stringent? It isn’t only because of fear of Heaven. Maybe there is also fear of Heaven—I don’t want to slander them—but it isn’t only because of fear of Heaven, and not mainly because of fear of Heaven. It is because they cannot decide. They are incapable of deciding. If you are incapable of deciding, then you have to be stringent according to all views, because who knows? Maybe he is right, maybe he is right; you have to satisfy every view. Therefore they are stringently hysterical according to every opinion, because they are incapable of deciding.

[Speaker N] It’s not that every single thing gets a forced interpretation.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Not specifically forced interpretation; rather, they analyze everything in that sort of way. This comment isn’t about forced interpretation in particular, but about the fact that they set up every issue in this manner. And in that sense it is an impressive analytic skill. You can explain a wonderful structure that answers all objections against the Rashba and also all objections against Rashi. Only once you have set everyone up and they are all wonderful and consistent—then who is right? I have no way to decide. Fine, they’re both right; everyone has his own narrative. Okay? That is postmodernism, basically. Postmodernism is founded on excessive analytic ability. Once your analytic ability gets too high, you can justify any position. No problem at all. What has to keep working is common sense, to say: okay, I can justify it, it’s consistent—but this is nonsense. That is possible too, yes.

You say you need a few people with common sense, not only legal analysts. Could be, yes, could be. Of course that has its disadvantages as well. Yes, but fine, could be. In any case. What?

[Speaker O] What you presented is the opposite of a Brisker, because if I look at the forced interpretation in order to expose the principle behind it, that is actually very good for finding the truth.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, that’s true. Brisker analysis is very helpful in this method, but one must not be a Brisker in the sense of stopping there. Meaning, you should use it in order to understand the views well—that is very important—and some people stop there. They are incapable of deciding. And after I understand the views well, I then use my head and say: who is more plausible? Briskers never ask that. Who is more plausible? Or what does it mean, which one is the Jewish law? They don’t conceive of it that way as a method in Jewish law; they conceive of it as a method in analytic learning. And that gap between Jewish law and analytic learning is a distortion. Because ultimately the goal of analytic study is to try to determine who is right. And there is right and there is wrong.

Now of course, if the Rashba said something, it is worth thinking about. He also wasn’t just some reed-cutter in the swamp. It is worth thinking about why he said it. And certainly there is room to discuss it. But at the end of the day, ask yourself who seems more reasonable to you. And that’s fine. I don’t mean to say that if the Rashba said something that seems unreasonable, we should just toss him out and that’s it. It is worth investing more thought in it in order to understand—soon we’ll do that too—in order to understand what he is saying. Okay? But first of all I want to stop here before moving on. Okay, we’ve reached this conclusion, so Rashi is right and that’s that. That too is fine. That is also a conclusion.

[Speaker F] What about Brisk?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So now I nevertheless want to continue and show you that the Rashba is not talking nonsense either. A Brisker? No. As they say, you can take the person out of Brisk, but you can’t take Brisk out of the person. Yes. Okay. They’ll smell Brisk in a legal discussion.

Look, later in the topic—look, this is really interesting. See how understanding what a forced interpretation is sheds light here on the whole progression of the Talmudic discussion. First of all, you see that the dispute between Rashi and the Rashba is illuminated in a totally different way. Now look at what comes next. Abaye said to him: “If so, then on an ordinary festival day it should be permitted?” So you explained to me that this is a festival day after the Sabbath, and because of preparation it is forbidden to eat. So Abaye says: fine, then on an ordinary festival day it should be permitted.

Let’s stop here for a second. Okay, permitted—what’s the problem? What is the question? But obviously, that’s exactly what I told you, no? He says to you: an ordinary festival day is permitted; the Mishnah is talking about a festival day after the Sabbath. So he says: no, no—wait, what? “Then on an ordinary festival day it should be permitted?” According to your view, that’s a question, yes? According to your view, an ordinary festival day on Wednesday comes out permitted. Obviously. Isn’t that what I told you? So what kind of question is that? Ah—so apparently the law had been to forbid it, right? That is basically the claim.

[Speaker G] What?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Apparently there was such a tradition—the law had been to forbid it. So—

[Speaker G] I want to claim—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, I want to argue—what do you mean? The Mishnah is talking about a Jewish holiday, not specifically a Jewish holiday that falls after the Sabbath. If the Mishnah says that an egg laid on a Jewish holiday may not be eaten, that means on any Jewish holiday. Why are you narrowing it down to a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath? Your interpretation is not logical. That’s how the Rashba reads it. Your interpretation isn’t logical precisely for the reason I said earlier about why the Rashba is not wrong. Because it comes out that your interpretation is the very novelty. That’s how the Rashba reads it. It can’t be, because the novelty—you’re telling me it has to apply on every Jewish holiday, right? Because if the Mishnah says “a Jewish holiday,” then it means a Jewish holiday, not a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. The interpretive narrowing comes only to solve some side problem. Ah, so if the Mishnah just says “a Jewish holiday,” then it ought to be forbidden on every Jewish holiday. And according to your approach, on an ordinary Jewish holiday it should come out permitted. Now if you read it through Rashi’s glasses, there’s no problem, right? It’s not true that on an ordinary Jewish holiday it’s permitted. The egg itself would indeed be permitted, but every Jewish holiday requires preparation. But look through the Rashba’s glasses. The Rashba really says, wait a second, we reached the conclusion that this is an interpretive narrowing—to a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. The Rashba explains: because it damages the preceding Sabbath. That’s what the Talmud asks according to the Rashba. After all, the narrowing isn’t logical. How can they be coming to teach you a novelty about the Sabbath when that whole Sabbath enters the picture only through the narrowing? The Mishnah doesn’t mention the Sabbath. That’s what the Talmud is asking. Therefore the Talmud says it can’t be; it must be that it is forbidden on an ordinary Jewish holiday as well. Because it can’t be only a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, since otherwise the Mishnah would have spoken about a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath—if you don’t read like Rashi. According to Rashi there’s no problem. If you don’t read like Rashi but like the Rashba, that’s what the Talmud is asking. It must be, after all, that an ordinary Jewish holiday is also forbidden, because it can’t be that this is an interpretive narrowing, to a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, because that narrowing is not logical. So it’s not a narrowing. Then an ordinary Jewish holiday also has to be forbidden. And according to your approach it comes out permitted. That’s what the Talmud is asking. So precisely this question of the Talmud works out beautifully according to the Rashba, not according to Rashi. You have to keep reading.

Now the Talmud says: a decree because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. The foundation is a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, and there it is forbidden by Torah law, because of the law of preparation. Now an ordinary Jewish holiday or an ordinary Sabbath are also forbidden—why? Should an ordinary Sabbath be permitted? A decree because of a Sabbath after a Jewish holiday. A decree. That’s rabbinic, yes? Now practically, I ask you: so when is an egg—an egg laid on a Jewish holiday—when is it forbidden? On what Jewish holiday, when? Every Jewish holiday. A Jewish holiday after the Sabbath is forbidden by Torah law. A Jewish holiday not after the Sabbath is rabbinically forbidden, because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. Right? That’s what it says. So now when we read the Mishnah, do we need an interpretive narrowing? No. It’s talking about every Jewish holiday. An egg laid on a Jewish holiday may not be eaten. Why? A Jewish holiday after the Sabbath is a Torah prohibition, and an ordinary Jewish holiday is a decree because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. But if you actually ask me what the Mishnah is talking about—not a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, but every Jewish holiday. Meaning: what Rabbah says about a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath is not meant to create an interpretive narrowing of the Mishnah at all. He is coming to explain the law of the Mishnah. It’s not a narrowing. He is coming to explain the law of the Mishnah. Why may an egg laid on a Jewish holiday not be eaten? On every Jewish holiday. A decree because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, and Rabbah’s law of preparation taking shape the day before, and all those things. It’s not a narrowing; it’s not that the Mishnah is talking about a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. It’s an explanation of why the Mishnah says, regarding every Jewish holiday, that an egg laid then may not be eaten. It’s not a narrowing at all. That’s how the Rashba reads it. And everything is fine. There is no narrowing. Really, to see it as a narrowing is not logical according to the Rashba. And that’s what the Talmud is asking here. Because on an ordinary Jewish holiday, should it be permitted? Meaning, according to the Rashba, Rabbah’s narrowing is really not logical as a narrowing.

So why doesn’t the Rashba explain like Rashi? He explains differently, and it’s not good—it doesn’t fit with everything. Because he sees the Talmud’s question immediately afterward. Right after that the Talmud asks exactly this. According to Rashi there is no room for the Talmud’s question. Because according to Rashi it’s clear that on an ordinary Jewish holiday it would not be permitted—sorry, on an ordinary Jewish holiday it would be permitted, but that doesn’t bother me. The Mishnah speaks about a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, or about every Jewish holiday, but in the case of the egg it’s only a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. So there’s no question: then on an ordinary Jewish holiday it should be permitted? Right. An egg on an ordinary Jewish holiday should be permitted. The prohibition of preparation exists on every Jewish holiday, but the example of the egg applies only to a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. When the Rashba reads the continuation of the Talmud, there is a difficulty there. That means the Talmud is not willing to accept “a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath” as a narrowing. So then why is it really forbidden on an ordinary Jewish holiday too? The Talmud answers: because it is a decree. And then Rabbah’s statement is not a narrowing but an explanation.

Now look at the Rashba himself: “Rather, Rabbah said: we are dealing with a hen designated for eating, and with a Jewish holiday that falls after the Sabbath.” “It is difficult for me: how can he say, ‘we are dealing with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath,’ for even on a plain Jewish holiday it is because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath.” What is he asking? He says: Rabbah’s wording doesn’t fit for me, says the Rashba. Because in Rabbah’s wording it sounds like he is making a narrowing. But in the conclusion, as we saw, that’s not how the Rashba reads it. In the conclusion, after all, it isn’t a narrowing; it is only an explanation. So it isn’t “we are dealing with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath,” but rather “we are dealing with every Jewish holiday because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath.” We are not narrowing the Mishnah so that the “Jewish holiday” there means a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. No. It means every Jewish holiday. It’s just that a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath is the reason—the decree because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath is the reason why on every Jewish holiday it is forbidden. But the Mishnah deals with every Jewish holiday. So the Rashba says: the Talmud’s wording, “we are dealing with,” is what bothers me. Apparently once the Talmud asks the question and continues, apparently you really have to drop the phrase “we are dealing with.” At first they thought this was a narrowing, and on that basis they asked the question. But that can’t be, because then on an ordinary Jewish holiday it should be permitted. And then they understood that this is not a narrowing at all; rather, there is a decree, and the Mishnah deals with every Jewish holiday, and the phrase “we are dealing with” is really irrelevant. That was the initial assumption that got discarded. At the stage of the initial assumption they thought Rabbah was making a narrowing. But no. In the conclusion it is clear that this is not a narrowing, because the narrowing is not logical the way the Rashba explains. So the wording is not precise. And I think that according to the Rashba you have to say that this wording came up at the initial assumption stage, because then they still thought it was a narrowing. But afterward they challenged it: it can’t be a narrowing. So they said, right, that wording is really not relevant. The point is that because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath they prohibited it, not that “here we are dealing with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath.” That’s not how you should read it. They just thought at first that this was a narrowing, but later they backed away from that because it can’t be—it isn’t logical.

What? According to Rashi, the whole question? Ah—so according to Rashi, according to the Rashba the Talmud reads well. But according to Rashi the wording is better. Because after all it appears as a narrowing: “Here we are dealing with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath.” So if it’s a narrowing, says Rashi, you have to say that the problem is apparently with the Jewish holiday, not the Sabbath. Then the Talmud asks: “If so, on an ordinary Jewish holiday should it be permitted?” That’s probably not because of the language of the Mishnah. The Rashba says it’s because of the language of the Mishnah, because it says “a Jewish holiday,” not “a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath.” And according to the Rashba that can’t be a narrowing. So if it says “a Jewish holiday,” then it means every Jewish holiday. Then the Talmud asks: so on an ordinary Jewish holiday should it be permitted? According to Rashi you have to say what you said at the beginning: that “on an ordinary Jewish holiday should it be permitted” means we have a received tradition that on every Jewish holiday this is forbidden. You tell me that the Mishnah deals only with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath, but tradition—we see around us that every egg laid on any Jewish holiday is not eaten. That’s what happens in practice. How do you explain that if you say the Mishnah is only talking about that kind of Jewish holiday? So he answers that it’s only that kind of Jewish holiday in terms of the prohibition of preparation, right? The decree explains the common practice, but the Mishnah dealt with the prohibition of preparation, and therefore the Mishnah is indeed narrowed to a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. That is a narrowing. According to Rashi, even in the conclusion this remains a narrowing. According to the Rashba, the Mishnah never dealt with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. More than that: according to the Rashba it may be that Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel both agree that on a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath there is a prohibition of preparation and the egg may not be eaten. There is no dispute about the law of preparation between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. The dispute is only about whether there is a decree on an ordinary Jewish holiday. Because the Mishnah deals with an ordinary Jewish holiday, never with a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. So Beit Hillel, who prohibit it, say it is a decree because of a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath. Beit Shammai, who do not prohibit it, may well agree that on a Jewish holiday after the Sabbath it is forbidden, but they do not enact a decree regarding an ordinary Jewish holiday. Okay?

So that is how Rashi reads the Talmud, and that is how the Rashba reads the Talmud, and according to both of them the reading of the Talmud works. Okay? Now we can go back and ask: okay, so who is right? That is already less clear—much less one-sided now. So I’m not saying at the moment that I have a clear position on which of the two is right. But I do think it was very important to see the movement of the Talmud according to each one of them, and that once we understand how the narrowing works, everything becomes clear. Every stage in the Talmud is just perfect. Whether according to Rashi or according to the Rashba, we understand very well what the basis of the dispute is. And all of it is only because we understood how interpretive narrowings work. Someone who reads the Talmud naively, simply, won’t understand any of this. Because he doesn’t understand that there is a difficulty with the narrowing according to the Rashba, while according to Rashi the narrowing is straightforward. Then he’ll ask himself, wait, so what does “if so, on an ordinary Jewish holiday should it be permitted?” mean? Then he’ll explain it the way you explained it—but also in the Rashba’s approach—and that’s not right. The whole story is wrong. So why does the Rashba say that there should not be any narrowing here at all? Because according to this reading, the Rashba also has a narrowing? No. According to the Rashba, in the conclusion there is no narrowing here. None. They didn’t make a narrowing here. Yes, true, and the phrase “we are dealing with” is difficult for him. It may be that “we are dealing with” came up at the earlier stage when they still thought it was a narrowing, but in the conclusion it is clear to everyone that it is not. Therefore there is no narrowing; it is only an explanation of why they made the decree. That’s all.

So it seems to me that this topic is a wonderful example of the added value of understanding how a narrowing works. The moment I understand how a narrowing works, the whole movement of the Talmud is clear. Every stage in the Talmud. You understand what is bothering it, you understand how they answer, you understand how Rashi read it, how the Rashba reads it, what the problems and advantages are in each of their readings of the Talmud. Fine, so that is one example. By the way, there are many examples like this, and this whole thing is really eye-opening. When you look at topics through these lenses—when the topics make interpretive narrowings, and a large portion of Talmudic topics do make narrowings; it does not always appear explicitly, but a large portion of Talmudic topics do make narrowings—always, always look for the general idea that stands there and why the narrowing is not the source that teaches the general idea. The narrowing always comes to solve some side problem. What is written in the source being interpreted is always precise. You don’t need to change anything. It says exactly what it says there—that is what it wants to say. And when you look at topics in that way, you will understand the narrowings, the questions, the answers, excellently. The whole story looks different. You will understand the idea the topic is coming to convey, not the case the topic is coming to state, but the idea. There are wonderful examples—other wonderful examples. Let’s take a quick look at the topic of charred leavened food; there too there is a fascinating story. It’s always like a scientific discovery. Someone involved in scientific research knows that when you suddenly discover some general law, some general idea, inside a specific case, it is always an Archimedes moment—Archimedes’ “Eureka.” You jump like that, jump with joy. So now, when you look at the topic through these lenses, you suddenly discover what general idea the topic wanted to say, not what specific case it deals with. What idea is that case coming to illustrate? And it is always like that. There is always a general idea, and the case is only an illustration of it. Okay? Let’s look at the Talmud in tractate Pesachim, page 5. What? One has to think whether I have a position; if I don’t have a position, then maybe it will remain a doubt—fine, one can discuss it. Why assume there must always be a decision because of this? I’m showing you that at every stage I could have decided who seems more plausible. The thing is, when I look at the whole topic, it turns out that at first Rashi is more plausible, and afterward the Rashba is actually more plausible. So that’s why I’m in a dilemma. There is no one here who has a clear advantage between Rashi and the Rashba, and now one has to think where I stand in the laws of doubt, or whether I will decide for other reasons, from other topics, from other considerations—it doesn’t matter. Okay? It’s not that this will always lead you to a decision. What I wanted to note earlier is that the fact that I decide in favor of one side does not disqualify me. You’re allowed to decide too. If I remained with “this requires further analysis” on the Rashba, that would mean Rashi is right—that’s all, nothing terrible happens. In the end I did not remain with “this requires further analysis” on the Rashba. Each of them has advantages and disadvantages. I’m only saying: even if it had been like that.

Fine. So let’s look at the topic of charred leavened food. What happens with that charred leaven? Let me remind you of the story for a moment. Here. “As long as it is permitted to eat, one may feed it to livestock, wild animals, and birds, and sell it to a gentile, and it is permitted for benefit. Once its time has passed, it is forbidden for benefit.” It’s talking about leavened food, yes? “Once its time has passed, it is forbidden for benefit.” Meaning: as long as it is permitted to eat the leavened food, he may feed it to livestock, wild animals, and birds, and sell it to a gentile, and do whatever he wants with it. Meaning, on Hanukkah it is permitted to sell leavened food to a gentile and feed leavened food to animals. An interesting novelty: meaning, you don’t have to finish all the doughnuts yourselves; you can also give them to animals and to a gentile. And it is permitted for benefit. Once its time has passed—if Passover has arrived—it is forbidden. Only on Hanukkah is it permitted; on Passover it is forbidden. That’s what the Mishnah says. The Mishnah says: when it is permitted, it is permitted; when it is forbidden, it is forbidden. Thank you very much, I know that too. What kind of thing is that?

So the Talmud says: “Permitted for benefit”—isn’t that obvious? Fine, if there is no prohibition, if it’s not Passover, then it is permitted, obviously. The Talmud says: no, it is needed in a case where he charred it before the time when benefiting from it becomes forbidden, before its time. And it teaches us in accordance with Rabbah, for Rabbah said: if he charred it before its time, it is permitted for benefit even after its time. Okay, that is a bizarre narrowing. The Mishnah is talking about all leavened food, right? All leavened food. In the Mishnah, right? All leavened food is permitted for benefit before the forbidden time; after the forbidden time it is forbidden for benefit. Excellent, great—and it’s so great that it’s obvious. Fine, what are you teaching me? That leavened food is forbidden only on Passover and not on Hanukkah? What’s the novelty here? Therefore there is no choice, says Rabbah—we must make a narrowing. What is the narrowing? It’s talking about leavened food that I char on the fourth hour, while it is still permitted to eat leaven on the eve of Passover. I char it then and eat it the next day. That is permitted. If I charred it before the forbidden time, it is permitted. From here we learn that if I charred it on the eighth hour, after the sixth hour when it begins to be forbidden, then it is forbidden to eat.

Now, this is a big novelty. Make up your minds: is charred leavened food still leavened food or not? If it is leavened food, then why should I care when I charred it? It is forbidden to eat leavened food on Passover. Okay? If it isn’t leavened food—if it is already ash, no longer leavened food, already something else—fine. Then why does it matter when you charred it? And wait—if it’s inedible now, if afterward it’s disgusting? It’s already charred leavened food, it’s charcoal. And if it is edible, then even if he charred it? But why? It’s not leavened food now, so why should I care when it became what it is? I charred it, I charred it—it is now charcoal. No, but if you reached the form of that charcoal— I didn’t understand. Is this charcoal leavened food or not? You tell me. Leavened food? No—charred. If it is charcoal, then it isn’t leavened food. So it isn’t charcoal, but inside it isn’t charcoal. Ah, so the inside isn’t leavened food? Then why, if I charred it before the forbidden time, is it permitted to eat? After all, if I charred it before the forbidden time, it is permitted to eat during Passover, and if I charred it after the forbidden time, it is forbidden to eat during Passover. What? I don’t understand. Decide: if this charred thing still counts as bread, still as leavened food fit for eating, then it is forbidden—what difference does it make when you charred it? And if you tell me: no, it’s already ash, already charcoal, no longer leavened food—then it should be permitted in any case. How can there be a situation where if I charred it before the forbidden time it is permitted, and if I charred it after the forbidden time it is forbidden? Good question. And since it is a good question—and I assume the Talmud noticed it too—then that is probably the sting in the tail. Something here is hinting to us where the problem lies.

Now first of all I want to make clear: here too we have the problem of narrowings, right? You are talking about all leavened food, and suddenly you give me some fantasy scenario: no, I took leavened food before the forbidden time, charred it, and ate it after the forbidden time, and that is what the Mishnah is talking about. There is not a word of this in the Mishnah. “As long as it is permitted to eat, it is permitted; and once it is forbidden, it is forbidden.” All leavened food, yes? All leavened food. Where is there any hint here that you charred it before the forbidden time and are eating it after the forbidden time? And where does this distinction between charring before and charring after even come from? If it is leavened food, then it is forbidden in any case; if it is not leavened food, it is permitted in any case. Where does this whole story come from? It’s bizarre. Here it is bizarre in a double way. It’s bizarre, first, because of the narrowing—the problem of the narrowing. The Mishnah does not mention that it is talking about charred leavened food. Here there is a double problem: not only is the novelty unclear, but even if that is the novelty, why doesn’t the Mishnah say it? That is the problem of the narrowing. Okay? But that gives us the clue to the solution. Let’s try to think in the same pattern. We’re practicing now; this is an exercise. Okay, here are examples for practice. So now let’s try to think in the same way we thought about the earlier examples. If the Mishnah is talking about all leavened food, then it probably means all leavened food. It is not making a narrowing. It doesn’t say there “he charred it before”; it is talking about all leavened food. Now let’s try to think what it is coming to teach me. In light of the narrowing, I am trying to understand how the Talmud understood the Mishnah. Meaning: what, according to the Talmud, is the general idea the Mishnah wanted to teach us? Surely the general idea is not that leavened food is permitted at a time when it is permitted and forbidden at a time when it is forbidden; we have already encountered greater novelties than that. That is not the novelty the Mishnah is coming to teach us. That is the Talmud’s “isn’t this obvious?” Therefore the Talmud asks: obvious. So what, then? I want to suggest the following: the Talmud wanted to claim that leavened food that belongs to the pre-Passover period is not leavened food—it may be eaten even during Passover. Time gives leavened food an affiliation. There is leavened food of Wednesday, leavened food of Thursday, leavened food of Friday. Let’s say Passover begins on the Sabbath, then the leavened food of Thursday may be eaten on Passover. Fine? I’ll explain, I’ll explain slowly—don’t jump. That is the claim. The claim is that leavened food has a temporal affiliation.

Now, I say: the leavened food of Wednesday is not leavened food; leavened food from Hanukkah is not leavened food. Right? That’s the trivial thing we said. No, it’s not trivial, because I am claiming that the leavened food of Hanukkah may be eaten on Passover because it is not leavened food. On Passover only leavened food is forbidden, but leavened food of Hanukkah is not leavened food. That is the novelty of the Mishnah. Wait, I’ll explain how. First understand that the novelty of the Mishnah is not that when it is permitted to eat, one may eat leavened food on Hanukkah, and when it is forbidden one may not eat it. I know that too. Rather, what the Mishnah is saying is something else: that the leavened food of Hanukkah is not leavened food. Not that on Hanukkah it is permitted to eat leaven because it’s permitted—that I also know. Rather, that leaven of Hanukkah is not leaven. What practical difference does it make if it is not leaven? That even on Passover it is permitted to eat it. Take bread from Hanukkah—Hanukkah bread—you can eat it on Passover, because it is not leaven. But there is a problem. What is the problem? If I take bread baked on Hanukkah—let’s say I froze it and it didn’t turn to stone, okay?—and now I want to eat it on Passover, in what sense is this “leavened food of Hanukkah”? It is leavened food of Passover. There is bread here; I’m eating it now, so it is leavened food of now, not leavened food of—wait a second—it isn’t leaven of Hanukkah; it is leaven of Passover. So what if it was baked on Hanukkah? The bread is the bread I am eating now. Therefore the problem the Talmud is dealing with is that the time to which they assign the leaven and the time when I eat the leaven always go together. If I am eating the leaven, then it is leaven of now. How can there be a situation where the leaven is leaven of Hanukkah even though I am eating it on Passover? How can that happen? If I am eating it on Passover, that means it is leaven that exists now, so it is leaven of Passover. What do you mean “leaven of Hanukkah”? Exactly what you asked. And here is the answer: if you char the leaven on Hanukkah, and after it is charred it is no longer bread—it is already well done, yes? Almost charcoal. By the way, the medieval authorities (Rishonim) say it is not ash; if it were ash, this would not be relevant. It is a very well-done toast, okay? Yes, to the point that inside too it is all completely charred—but not ash. There is still burnt bread here. Fine? That means that in essence this leaven is no longer really leaven. But what does it mean that it is no longer really leaven? It is leaven of Hanukkah. Meaning, the last moment when it was actually leaven was Hanukkah, because then it was charred. From then on, its state was frozen. Now it is leaven of Hanukkah. Now I come to eat it on Passover. Permitted, because it is not leaven. Not because charcoal is not leaven. Charcoal is leaven. Charcoal is leaven. If you had charred it during Passover itself, it would be forbidden. Why? Because it is leaven of Passover. So that means charcoal is, in principle, still leaven. It is just that leaven is forbidden only if it is leaven of Passover, not leaven of Hanukkah. If I charred it on Hanukkah, then although it is indeed leaven, it is leaven of Hanukkah, and leaven of Hanukkah is not leaven—eat it on Passover, bon appétit. Do you have the rule “you shall eliminate leaven”—haven’t you violated “you shall eliminate”? No, no, this is not leaven. You can eat it. Of course you don’t have to eliminate it. You can eat it.

How did it suddenly change physically? So I’m saying: if this bread did not undergo any process, if it is ordinary bread that was baked on Hanukkah and I eat it on Passover, of course it is forbidden. Why? Not because it is just leaven in some generic sense. If it were generic leaven but of Hanukkah, it would be permitted. Rather, if it is still bread, then it is not merely leaven of Hanukkah; it is leaven of Hanukkah and leaven of Passover and leaven of all the days in between as well. So it is also leaven of Passover, and therefore forbidden to eat. It is leaven of now. Fine? But if I burned it—sorry—and if I did nothing. If I burned it completely, turned it into ash, then it doesn’t matter whether I did it on Hanukkah or on Passover, because now it is ash, so it is irrelevant. Then it is not that it is leaven of Hanukkah or leaven of Passover; it is simply not leaven at all. Okay? When can there be a situation where something is leaven but has a temporal affiliation? It is not ash, but on the other hand it is not just ordinary bread either. Rather, it has some connection to a certain moment in time. When I char it. If I took the leaven and turned it into well-done toast, then the last moment when it was really leaven was Hanukkah. Then I charred it. From then onward it is still leaven, but it is leaven of Hanukkah. And leaven of Hanukkah, if you eat it on Passover, no problem—you may eat it. The idea is that leaven is not just forbidden to eat on Passover; rather, leaven is defined as forbidden only if it is leaven of Passover. Only then is the object itself called leaven. Not only does the prohibition exist on Passover, but the very definition of the forbidden object—the leaven that one is forbidden to eat on Passover—is also time-dependent. Not only is the prohibition time-dependent; the definition of leaven is time-dependent too. And if the leaven is assigned to a time that is not the time of prohibition, then it is permitted to eat it. Leaven assigned to a time when the prohibition does not exist.

Now understand: this is the plain meaning of the Mishnah. Leave aside the explanatory difficulties. This is the plain meaning of the Mishnah. What does the Mishnah say? “As long as it is permitted to eat, one may feed it to livestock, wild animals, and birds, and sell it to a gentile, and it is permitted for benefit. Once its time has passed, it is forbidden for benefit.” What does the Mishnah mean to say? Obviously when it is permitted to eat, it is permitted to eat, and when it is forbidden, it is forbidden. The Mishnah is saying exactly this: if there is leaven belonging to an hour when it is permitted to eat, then it is permitted to eat it—on Passover. Not before Passover; before Passover, obviously. Rather, if it is leaven of an hour when benefit from it is permitted—“as long as it is permitted”—if it is leaven of an hour when benefit from it is permitted, then it is not leaven. It is permitted to eat it. When? Afterward, on Passover itself. It is permitted to eat it. Because it is leaven of an hour when eating is permitted. Do you now understand the novelty? That is the novelty of the Mishnah. The Mishnah is not coming to teach me that when eating is permitted, eating is permitted, and when eating is forbidden, eating is forbidden. It is coming to tell me that there is leaven that belongs to an hour in which eating is permitted. And such leaven is not forbidden to eat even if you eat it on Passover. That is already a novelty. You can’t say “isn’t that obvious?” about that. After all, it is leaven—how can that be? You are eating leaven on Passover. A tremendous novelty. That is the novelty of the Mishnah. The novelty of the Mishnah is that there is leaven that may be eaten on Passover, if it is leaven of Hanukkah. That is the mechanism. The mechanism is that with leaven, you gain this texture of leaven— No, it’s not texture; texture is not what determines it. That is exactly the point. Texture does not determine it. The texture in time, the temporal state—that is what determines it. Leaven as it lies before us, the timeline of Passover versus not-Passover—let’s say Hanukkah just for simplicity—plays two roles in the prohibition of leaven. That is the novelty of the Mishnah. That is what the Mishnah is teaching us. And it is written in its language. It is written in its language. Completely straightforward plain meaning. That is what is written here: the timeline plays two roles in the prohibition of leaven. One: there is a time when it is forbidden to eat leaven and a time when it is permitted. On Hanukkah you may eat leaven; on Passover you may not eat leaven. We all understand that, right? We knew that even before the Mishnah. And that is why the Talmud asks: obvious. Because the Talmud thought that was what the Mishnah was trying to teach. I know that on Passover it is forbidden to eat leaven and on Hanukkah it is permitted. That is obvious. The Talmud says: no. Of course that is obvious. We are coming to teach you another role the timeline plays in the prohibition of leaven. There is an affiliation of the leaven on the timeline—to what moment in time the leaven belongs. And that matters too. Because the definition of the concept “leaven”—not just the prohibition of leaven, when it exists or does not exist—the definition of the concept “leaven” also depends on time. And if this is leaven defined in relation to a pre-Passover time, it is not the leaven that was forbidden. Even if it is leaven. But it is leaven of Hanukkah. So that may be eaten on Passover, because it is not leaven. Not because there is no prohibition of leaven, but because the object is not leaven. The timeline does that too.

I’ll give you an example—now I remembered an example. If I come with the utensil, it’s more about understanding. On Passover—right now it is Passover. Right now there is a prohibition, correct. Fine, but this was prepared, this utensil—no, I said, it’s like a piece of bread you come to eat. A piece of bread you come to eat—even if it was baked on Hanukkah—it is leaven of Passover, not of Hanukkah. Why assign it to Hanukkah? Nothing happened. It is bread on Passover just as it was bread on Hanukkah. If it was charred on Hanukkah, then when I arrive on Passover it is no longer bread. When was the last time it was bread? On Hanukkah. That means it is leaven of Hanukkah. Why should I care that the dish absorbed it? The question is about the leaven, not where or when the plate absorbed it. The leaven itself did not undergo any change before or after. So it is leaven of Passover, not of Hanukkah. So what if it is absorbed? But absorbed leaven is also forbidden, otherwise there is no question. The whole discussion is that absorbed leaven too is forbidden. Do you hear? Hello—the absorbed leaven is leaven in every respect, just like if I eat a slice of bread now. The slice of bread I eat now, even if it was baked on Hanukkah, is leaven of Passover, not of Hanukkah.

I’ll give you an example, look. I’ll give you an example for instance: I turned it into what? I froze its status. If its status was leaven on Hanukkah and I charred it, then it is no longer really bread. It is not ash. You can’t say the name “leaven” fell off of it. But it was frozen. It is leaven of that moment when I charred it—leaven of Hanukkah. And now its status is like leaven of Hanukkah. Even on Passover you may eat leaven of Hanukkah. Look, look—for example, here is an example I just remembered. There is a question raised by the Oneg Yom Tov, and several later authorities (Acharonim) ask it. You know that it is forbidden to use the wood of a sukkah? It is forbidden to use the wood of a sukkah, right? “A festival for God,” and therefore it is set aside for God—“the festival of booths for God”; “a festival for God,” and therefore it is set aside for God. No, that is a Torah prohibition, not merely a rabbinic law of set-aside. It is a Torah prohibition. It is like a festival offering. It is holy. It is like consecrated property. There is a Torah prohibition on using the wood of the sukkah—not the decorations. Decorations are a rabbinic law of set-aside. The wood of the sukkah. So this is, straightforwardly, a Torah prohibition. The later authorities ask: then why does the Talmud say, and the Shulchan Arukh also brings it, that someone who remains sitting in the sukkah in the rain on the Sabbath is an idiot? He isn’t an idiot; he is violating a prohibition. He is using the wood of the sukkah that is protecting him from the rain, and he is not fulfilling the commandment of sukkah. When you fulfill the commandment of sukkah, you sit in the sukkah—that is the commandment. But now you are not fulfilling the commandment, because after all there is no commandment in the rain. So if there is no commandment, you are violating the prohibition of using the wood of the sukkah. The same with women. You tell a person: yes, let your wife sit with you in the sukkah, even though it is a positive time-bound commandment. But why? What do you mean? She is using the wood of the sukkah, and she is not fulfilling the commandment of sukkah. She has no commandment of sukkah. So there is a prohibition, yes, to use the wood of the sukkah. So why does the Shulchan Arukh write that he is an idiot? He isn’t an idiot, he is a transgressor. An idiot is someone who performs a commandment even though there is no commandment. No—he is a transgressor, not an idiot.

So Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman, in tractate Beitzah page 30 in Kovetz Shiurim, says: the prohibition against using the wood of a sukkah is a prohibition against using the wood of a sukkah. When is it “wood of a sukkah”? What happens after Sukkot? Is there a prohibition against using the wood of a sukkah? Sukkot is over, finished. Can I now use it? There are those who are stringent not to do so, not to throw it away perhaps, like something set aside or something, but according to the law it is permitted. Why? The Torah prohibition certainly no longer exists. Why? But this is sukkah wood—one may not use it. No, it is not sukkah wood. It is wood of a sukkah, but it is not sukkah wood. Because exactly—when the sukkah is being used for the commandment, then it is a sukkah. After the festival, it is a pergola. It is not a sukkah. So there is no problem using its wood. These are exactly the same pieces of wood. Meaning that time does not define only when I am prohibited from using sukkah wood; it defines the very concept sukkah. This structure during the festival of Sukkot is called a sukkah. After the festival of Sukkot, this structure is a pergola. And there is a Rashba in tractate Beitzah page 30 in that same topic. He asks there, the Talmud discusses whether one can stipulate in advance concerning the use of sukkah wood. He says: “I am not setting them aside from myself during twilight,” and therefore I may use the wood; the prohibition of using sukkah wood will not take effect if I stipulate beforehand. So the Talmud discusses that. The Rashba asks: but we know that sanctity inherent in the object cannot be made conditional. Sorry, there is a dispute of Abaye and Bar Pada in tractate Nedarim page 29 whether sanctity inherent in the object can be made conditional or not. Abaye’s position is that it can. The Rashba asks: why don’t they challenge Abaye from our topic here, where we see that one cannot stipulate regarding sukkah wood? After all, sanctity inherent in the object does not simply disappear on its own. Yes? What is a stipulation, basically? That after a day the sanctity will just fly away by itself? No—sanctity inherent in the object is something attached to the object; it does not vanish by itself. Through an act of misuse of sanctified property you might remove sanctity, but not automatically, not just like that. So the Rashba assumes, in effect, that sukkah wood has sanctity inherent in the object, and therefore he says: why didn’t they challenge Abaye from here, where we see that sanctity inherent in the object does not vanish on its own? Here we see it does not vanish on its own; you cannot stipulate away from it.

I ask about the Rashba: do you really think this is like sanctity inherent in the object? Then how does it disappear on the eighth day? What happens on the eighth day? Here the sukkah is standing; nothing happened. Only time passed, and poof—nothing. You may use the wood of the sukkah, do whatever you want. But sanctity inherent in the object does not vanish automatically. Exactly. What if I have an offering with sanctity inherent in the object and two days later it evaporates? Then I say: sanctity inherent in the object does not vanish automatically—how can that be? Sanctity inherent in the object does not just disappear. It requires an action. No—the sanctity did not disappear, the object disappeared. There is no object. It is not that there is still an object, only now it is not holy. There is no object. The sukkah after its time is not the same object minus sanctity. The object is gone. What exists now is not a sukkah; it is a pergola. A pergola has no prohibition on using its wood; only a sukkah does. Understand: this is exactly like the leaven. I am basically saying that the time of sukkah does not merely define when I have a commandment to sit in the sukkah and when not; it defines the object-status of the sukkah. Only at that time is it called a sukkah. After that time it is not called a sukkah. If it were called a sukkah, it would be forbidden to use that wood even after Sukkot, because one may not use sukkah wood. That is not specifically tied to Sukkot; one may not use sukkah wood. Here time defines the concept sukkah, not the prohibition or commandment to use the sukkah. And that is exactly what I want to claim regarding leaven. Time also defines the concept leaven, not only the time at which it is forbidden or permitted to eat and derive benefit from leaven.

But what does the charring do? The charring freezes the status, or assigns it to a time. Because now it is no longer bread. I say: this thing is bread of Hanukkah. No—if it turned to ash, then an entirely new entity has come here, so there is nothing left, so it is no longer relevant. But it did not turn to ash; that is exactly what the medieval authorities (Rishonim) write—charring is not ash, it is something in between. Meaning, it is no longer really fit for human consumption, but it has not turned into ash, so it still preserves the name it had when it was bread before. But when was it bread? On Hanukkah. So now what remains is a frozen status: bread of Hanukkah. Such bread—even though it is bread, but bread of Hanukkah—you may eat even on Passover. There is no problem. And if I remove the ash from the bread on Passover? No, all of this is ash—don’t remove the ash. You are going back to the bread inside the toast. No, it is all charred. If there is bread inside, then it is bread, and it is forbidden to eat. And it has to be charred all the way through— No, it is charred, not ash. It is charcoal. It still has the form of bread; it has not turned to ash; this is not “an entirely new thing has come here.” It is still bread, but bread of Hanukkah. It was frozen at that moment, yes—it froze in the fire. The moment we charred the bread, its status froze. It is now bread of Hanukkah. The name “bread” did not fall off of it. If I had turned it into ash, the name “bread” would have fallen off. But here its status froze; it is bread of Hanukkah. Bread of Hanukkah may be eaten even on Passover. But if—just one second to finish—but if I charred it after the forbidden time, then it is forbidden to eat. Why is it forbidden to eat? Not because it is bread of now when I am eating it. It is bread of the moment of charring, only at the moment of charring it was also Passover. So it is bread of Passover, and it is forbidden to eat.

And what about moldy bread? Moldy bread—if it was bread and leaven and became charcoal, then it is not fit even for a dog’s consumption. Fine, but here it is still not like that; it is not like moldy bread. Here charring means it is unfit for human consumption, but is it still fit for a dog? No, “dog’s consumption” is only rabbinic. Something not fit for human consumption is permitted by Torah law. Rabbinically it also has to be unfit for a dog’s consumption, but by Torah law it is only human consumption that matters. But I’m talking about Torah law. This distinction is a Torah-level distinction. So in short you can eat toast on Passover—that is the novelty. But toast, obviously, not when inside the bread is still bread, but when all of it is toast, yes? Meaning—

If all of it is toast, that is called charring? No, ash means it is completely burned. This is not ash. It still has the form of bread, but all of it is burned. If on Passover eve I take a few pitas and char them, can I eat them on Passover? Yes, yes. That is what the Mishnah says. That is the law as ruled in the Talmud, in the Talmud and afterward in Maimonides. You can look it up. It is all ruled as law. This is the Talmud—here, we just read the Talmud. That is what it says. Now just one remark in conclusion—we have two more minutes. In practice, completely in practice. Why not in practice? Today, today—practically today. Why are you all startled? It is written in the Talmud, ruled in all the legal authorities. What? Certainly. Right, granted. Therefore I say: this permission is not so simple, but it is not charcoal in the sense of ash that is no longer— It still retains the name “bread,” even though it is in bad shape. If charring does not remove the name “bread,” then let’s define it as leaven on Passover. No—if the name “bread” fell off, but the status, the time froze— better put, it’s not exactly that. But it is not charcoal in the sense of ash that is no longer anything at all. It still retains the name “bread,” even though it is in bad shape. What? If the name “bread” remains on it, then let’s define it as bread and not as charcoal? No, the name “bread” remains on it, but the time froze. But the time froze because it is no longer bread that truly has a current identity; it is not ordinary bread. It has a residual name “bread” because it was bread, and it has not yet undergone enough change to remove that old name. But it is still frozen—it is bread of Hanukkah. That is the claim. It is bread by virtue of what it was, not bread by virtue of what it is now.

Look, there are two formulations among the medieval authorities (Rishonim). I just want to finish. No, it is not obvious. If it was charred during Passover, it is forbidden to eat it. If it was charred during Passover, it is forbidden to eat even in that state. This is not obvious at all. It is leaven; it is forbidden to eat if it was charred during Passover. If it was charred before Passover, it is permitted. Then it is permitted. Yes, but if it was charred completely—no, that is not the obvious point. Because if it were obvious, then even if it was charred after Passover it should be forbidden to eat—permitted to eat, what is the problem? You didn’t eat leaven. No, that is exactly the tension I’m talking about. If it was charred after Passover, it is still forbidden to eat even in that state. Why? Because it is leaven of Passover. No, it is leaven of Passover. It was charred on Passover, so the time to which the leaven is assigned is Passover time.

Look at two formulations among the medieval authorities (Rishonim); I’ll do this quickly and finish. The Meiri explains it this way: “And that it later mentions ‘and it is permitted for benefit’ was not needed at all. Therefore the Talmud explained [that this means] even after the time of prohibition, and in a case where he charred it before its prohibition, enough so that it left the category of food, meaning that it became charred even inside, and it is permitted for benefit, for example as fuel or for anything else. And the same law applies to eating—it is also permitted to eat, because after it has left the category of food, its eating is not an eating, and no prohibition takes hold of it at all, since it is merely ash.” So apparently it just turned into ash—what’s the problem? The big question, of course, is then why not after Passover? Why not when he says: “but if he charred it after its time, it is forbidden for any benefit, because once the prohibition of leaven has taken effect on it, its prohibition does not depart until after complete burning, meaning until it becomes coals or ash. Then it becomes completely permitted, because with all things that must be burned, their ash is permitted, and coals have the same law as ash. But if it did not reach that point, even though it became thoroughly charred, it remains forbidden, because the prohibition of benefit has already taken effect upon it and does not depart.” You see? That is exactly the claim. It froze. It did not turn into ash; it froze the status of the time of charring, and now its name is the same name it had in the moment before.

Now compare that to the explanation of Maharam Halawa: “Abaye said: if he charred it before its time, it is permitted for benefit after its time,” meaning that he charred it until it left the category of bread and became unfit even for a dog’s consumption; then it is permitted for benefit after its time. And he used the phrase ‘for benefit’ because it is not fit for eating, and therefore he spoke in the usual way. That is why he said ‘permitted for benefit,’ because for eating it is not fit, but the same law applies if one wanted to eat it—it is also permitted to eat. The phrase ‘permitted for benefit’ is not because eating is forbidden, but simply because ordinarily something like this is not fit for eating, so one speaks about benefit. And specifically if he charred it before its time.” Now look at the highlighted part: “But after its time, once it was prohibited once because of leaven, it is forbidden forever.” Why? “Because then he is benefiting from that which was forbidden to him, unless he burned it completely until it became ash, for then it is permitted.” That is not the same explanation as the Meiri. He means to say this: suppose I burned it on Passover itself, and now I eat it. Why is that forbidden? It is forbidden because when I eat it now, I am benefiting from the leaven as it existed before the charring. After all, this thing was bread on the first day of Passover. I charred it and ate it on the second day. On the first day of Passover it was bread from which one was forbidden to benefit, right? Now I charred it—so what happened? Now I eat it on the second day. The eating on the second day constitutes benefit from the bread that existed yesterday. How did I benefit from yesterday’s bread? I did a trick—I charred it and ate it in charred form. So the benefit is not from the charred bread; this is simply a clever way of benefiting from the bread that existed yesterday. I did it through a stage of charring and then eating. So in effect I ate yesterday’s bread. Now no—but yesterday it was bread, so I ate the bread that existed yesterday. That is not like the Meiri. The Meiri said the mechanism I explained to you earlier. Maharam Halawa says no—I eat yesterday’s bread; how do I eat it? I perform a trick: I simply char it. By the way, according to Maharam Halawa I think it would be forbidden to eat such a thing even after Passover. Maybe. At least there is room to say so, because in the end I ate that leaven after all. Yes, exactly. The charring is in effect the eating, not the eating itself. When I charred it, I enabled myself to eat it, so in effect the charring was the eating. What, you think you can pull a fast one on me? You charred it, but the charring is the eating. You didn’t really destroy it; you created a way to eat it, so the charring is the eating. And then even if I ate it after Passover, it may still be forbidden. So it is a different mechanism from the Meiri’s mechanism, but still it seems to me that on the level of the narrowing, it is a similar explanation. You made this law put a great emphasis on what is forbidden from the object.

Disagreement and Truth – Lesson 13

Table of Contents

Summary

General Overview

Opening: Three Topics and Defining the Role of the Ukimta

A Bound and Sleeping Slave: “A Slave Is Like His Mistress’s Courtyard”

Ukimta as a Laboratory State and Comparison to the Sciences

An Egg Laid on a Jewish Holiday: Preparation, a Jewish Holiday Following the Sabbath, and the General Principle

Rashi: “A Jewish Holiday Too Is Called Sabbath” and Preparation as a Classification of a Holy Meal

Rashba: Criticism of Rashi and an Alternative Reading of the Basis of the Prohibition

Ruling by the Power of the Ukimta Model and the Tension with Rashba

Comments on Brisk, Ruling, and Stringency

Continuation of the Egg Topic: “If So, Then on an Ordinary Jewish Holiday It Should Be Permitted?”

Moving to Burnt Leaven: The Problem of “Obviously” and the Problem of the Ukimta

A Principled Interpretation of Burnt Leaven: The Object’s Temporal Belonging and the Freezing of Status

An Analogy from Sukkah Wood: Time as Defining the Object, Not Just the Prohibition

Medieval Authorities (Rishonim) on Burnt Leaven: Meiri and Maharam Halawa

Full Transcript

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Table of Contents

Summary

General Overview

Opening: Three Topics and Defining the Role of the Ukimta

A Bound and Sleeping Slave: “A Slave Is Like His Mistress’s Courtyard”

Ukimta as a Laboratory State and Comparison to the Sciences

An Egg Laid on a Jewish Holiday: Preparation, a Jewish Holiday Following the Sabbath, and the General Principle

Rashi: “A Jewish Holiday Too Is Called Sabbath” and Preparation as a Classification of a Holy Meal

Rashba: Criticism of Rashi and an Alternative Reading of the Basis of the Prohibition

Ruling by the Power of the Ukimta Model and the Tension with Rashba

Comments on Brisk, Ruling, and Stringency

Continuation of the Egg Topic: “If So, Then on an Ordinary Jewish Holiday It Should Be Permitted?”

Moving to Burnt Leaven: The Problem of “Obviously” and the Problem of the Ukimta

A Principled Interpretation of Burnt Leaven: The Object’s Temporal Belonging and the Freezing of Status

An Analogy from Sukkah Wood: Time as Defining the Object, Not Just the Prohibition

Medieval Authorities (Rishonim) on Burnt Leaven: Meiri and Maharam Halawa

Full Transcript

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