The Role of Logic in Halakha, Lesson 3

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So then don’t touch anything. If that was said only about the latter one, then don’t touch the first one either.

[Speaker G] Because then you lose everything. So that’s exactly it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But why decide in favor of the latter one? I mean, what is there about the latter one? Because it’s a smaller loss? But the chance of failing is the same chance as with the first one. I think you could also explain the Rosh this way, I’m not… I don’t think so.

[Speaker F] Apparently it could be like he says, that… as if the essence of giving up everything, the loss involved in giving up everything in essence is greater than…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, that’s the Rashba’s explanation. I’m only saying that even according to the Rosh, I’m not sure you can’t fit this approach into the Rosh as well. I understand that this could also be an explanation in… one of the proofs, for example: the Talmud says that with something that will become permitted later, I’m just mentioning this parenthetically, since you asked about nullification by majority, so the Talmud in tractate Beitzah 3a says that with something that will become permitted later, we are stringent. What does that mean, we’re stringent? If it’s a rabbinic-level doubt, we still go stringently and not leniently. And with nullification by majority, where even in a Torah-level prohibition one can be lenient, here no. If it is something that will become permitted later, then no. “Something that will become permitted later” means something prohibited only temporarily. For example, muktzeh. Say muktzeh fell into a mixture. The question is whether I can take and eat that thing or not. Is muktzeh relevant to eating? An egg laid on a Jewish holiday, or something like that. The question is whether I can eat it or not. And the Talmud says no. Why? After all it is nullified by majority; it fell into a thousand other eggs. The Talmud says correct, but instead of eating it in prohibition, eat it permissibly. Wait until tomorrow. And the Talmud doesn’t say this explicitly—that’s already how the medieval authorities (Rishonim) explain it. The Talmud says that something that will become permitted later does not… it is not nullified. Meaning, wait until tomorrow; tomorrow there is no more muktzeh and you can eat whatever you want. Why do you need to eat it now? Now, if the point really were that nullification by majority means it was never prohibited at all, then what does “instead of eating it in prohibition, eat it permissibly” mean? It’s permitted. What’s the problem? So that would also be a proof that with nullification by majority, it’s not that the prohibition disappears, as some later authorities (Acharonim) say. Otherwise, why forbid something that will become permitted later? Rather, the point is not that. It is a prohibited thing, but the Torah permits you to eat it because it says: look, I’m not demanding that you pay such a price for a doubtful prohibition. So what do I demand? One piece I’m willing that… one more, meaning if you have one prohibited piece against two, I require you to give it up. Meaning, if it fell into one additional piece and now there are two, then that’s because… since the prohibition is really equal to the permitted item, I say: why privilege the permitted one? So refrain from both. But if there are already three, then I tell you to follow the majority. That, of course, is the line. The Sages then extended this further—that’s already one in sixty and various other things. So therefore… but the principle is really that the Torah permitted it because it does not demand that sacrifice from us. At least that’s how it seems to me. So that is basically the laws of doubt and also… now… I’m going back to reasoning. I wanted to explain why a doubtful logical inference is treated stringently according to the Pnei Yehoshua. So what does reasoning really say? That this thing is problematic—that is the essence of reasoning. Reasoning points to something problematic. When reasoning says you need to recite a blessing before food, what is it really saying? That there is some point to making a blessing; there is no command, after all. All the reasoning says is that it is proper, that one should do it, that it is appropriate to do it. Exactly. Therefore, in a case of doubt, we go stringently, since it has substantive content even though there is no command, and a doubtful substantive issue is treated stringently. Therefore the Pnei Yehoshua says that in a case of doubt we go stringently, and he is right—even though it’s not fully Torah-level, in terms of the idea it is like a Torah-level doubt, and therefore, therefore, in a case of doubt we go stringently.

[Speaker F] I also saw in Ben Ish Chai, I think, that he writes that one should say “Blessed is the Merciful One, by whose word everything came to be”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Without God’s name and kingship.

[Speaker F] Yes, he should make the blessing in a different formulation.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, where does he say that?

[Speaker F] I looked there in—I don’t remember in which weekly portion of his, it’s arranged by the weekly portions. The Pnei Yehoshua?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Ben Ish Chai. Ben Ish Chai. I don’t know.

[Speaker F] There he writes that one should bless in… I’ll check, I’ll send it to you.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay. Okay, now what the Pnei Yehoshua is actually saying—so what is the Pnei Yehoshua saying? I’m just closing the circle. So what the Pnei Yehoshua says is that the blessing before eating is Torah-level. Now in Maimonides’ categories this would not be Torah-level; it would be rabbinic, because there is no command, only substance, and Maimonides requires both command and substance for something to be Torah-level. First of all, that is only Maimonides’ view; most of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) do not agree with Maimonides. And they disagree with Maimonides because, in their view, even an exegetical derivation is a command. But they do agree that there must be a command for it to be Torah-level. So what is the Pnei Yehoshua saying? It seems to me that what he wants to say is: after all, for a blessing we do not punish, because it is not a prohibition. So what practical meaning is there to the question whether it is Torah-level or not Torah-level in terms of punishment? There is no punishment here at all. Rather what matters is the obligation to act. The obligation to act really is Torah-level, and even in doubt one should be stringent, since there is here problematic content or essence like actual Torah law, so it is Torah-level in every relevant respect. If this were a prohibition, even the Pnei Yehoshua would not say it is Torah-level, because we would not punish for it without an explicit warning. But here that is irrelevant. In all the relevant respects, it is Torah-level. So let him bless.

[Speaker F] What? Let him bless with God’s name and kingship.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, without God’s name and kingship.

[Speaker F] Why? It no longer clashes—this is Torah-level and that is Torah-level, so let him bless.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But if you are in doubt, there is a possible prohibition of “You shall not take [God’s name in vain].”

[Speaker F] Yes, but that possible prohibition of “You shall not take” is Torah-level, and on the other side you have the obligation to bless, which is also Torah-level.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now the question is whether one is allowed to bless in such a situation. You may fail and violate a prohibition—just as you may fail by eating without a blessing, you may fail by making an unnecessary blessing; that too is a failure. So passive omission is preferable: you do not bless.

[Speaker F] And this is not a positive commandment overriding a prohibition? The positive commandment to bless overriding the prohibition?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s a major question. In the Sdei Chemed there are several sections about what happens when a doubtful positive commandment confronts a doubtful prohibition. And I think there is even a section where he asks what happens with a doubtful positive commandment against a definite prohibition. Because, after all, if there is in fact a positive commandment, then the prohibition is overridden. If there is no positive commandment, then the prohibition is not overridden. So even if the prohibition is definite, and facing it is a doubtful positive commandment, that doubtful positive commandment in effect also puts the prohibition into doubt, because if there is a positive commandment, then there is no prohibition. So therefore even if it is a definite prohibition, it may still be possible to override it. So it’s a dispute; there is a dispute there among the halakhic decisors. I don’t remember which views he brings there, but it’s there.

[Speaker H] What is the significance of doubts in monetary law? There too there is reasoning, right? “Why do I need a verse? It is logical.”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In what context? For example, there is the rule: “One who seeks to extract money from another bears the burden of proof.”

[Speaker H] Okay, so in general is there some significance to this issue of doubt or possible doubt—can it play a role in…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In monetary law, the laws of doubt are what is called “a monetary doubt is ruled leniently for the defendant,” because lenient for one is stringent for the other; there is no abstract leniency and stringency here. If I go lenient for one, it is stringent for the other, and vice versa. So the rule is: lenient for the defendant. In other words, that is the same as saying: “One who seeks to extract money from another bears the burden of proof.” Meaning that if we are in doubt, it stays with the defendant; the money stays with the defendant. Now what happens if I have doubt about whether he is considered in possession, say? Then that would be a kind of doubt—there is reasoning about it. Doubt whether he is in possession—that’s an interesting question. I need to think of what kind of case there could be where there is doubt whether a person is in possession. There is a Talmud in Bava Batra, chapter three, Chazkat HaBatim. The Talmud says something interesting there; I heard this not long ago. The Talmud says there that suppose I am sitting on land. The whole Talmud at the beginning of the chapter discusses all kinds of cases of the presumption of ownership after three years. A person is sitting on land and he claims that, say, Itzik was the owner of the land. It is known that he was the owner of the land, and now I am sitting on that land, right? Now Itzik comes to me after four years and says, what are you doing on my land? I say, I bought it from you. Where is your deed? I already threw it away. You have to protest within three years in order to preserve your rights and force me to keep the deed so that I can prove I own the land. Now what happens if I also lived in Itzik’s apartment and I claim that I bought it, and after three years he comes and asks me, what are you doing in this apartment? I bought it. In principle, I win, right? Now he brings a new claim. He says: I lived with you in the apartment. I lived inside in some inner room, and I was there the whole time; you didn’t live there alone. I was there with you the whole time. Okay, now in that situation there is a dispute between Rava and Rav Nachman in the Talmud. Rav Nachman says: “Go clarify your use.” Meaning, prove that you sat there. Suddenly the burden of proof is on me. Usually I win; with the three-year presumption my hand is uppermost. Here Rav Nachman says: “Go clarify your use.” Why “go clarify your use”?

[Speaker H] What does that mean in principle?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What does he need to go and prove? Prove that he didn’t live there. That he didn’t live with you? Yes. Or that you bought it. Meaning, either bring the deed that you bought it—doesn’t matter. One way or another.

[Speaker H] If there were a deed there wouldn’t have been a problem.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, I’m saying: if you can bring proof—either proof that you have a presumption of ownership or proof that you bought it—then you win. “Go clarify your use” means bring proof of the presumption, not of the deed. Clarify that you used it for three years—“used it” meaning you consumed the produce of the property for three years. That is called “go clarify your use,” and then you have proof that you bought it, yes? So that is a dispute between Rava and Rav Nachman, and the ruling follows Rav Nachman: in a case of doubt, the original owner has the upper hand.

[Speaker H] Meaning he has to bring proof that the other guy didn’t live with him, not proof of the three-year presumption, because the three years he already established.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He was there for three years; everyone agrees, even Itzik agrees that I lived there for three years. He just says: I lived there with him, and therefore I did not protest. I simply lived with him and agreed that he should be there—why should I care?

[Speaker H] In principle he should have had to bring the proof.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Who is “he”?

[Speaker H] In terms of the reasoning—the original owner.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. That’s why I’m bringing this example. So there are commentators there who explain—there are big questions here—why in fact here the presumption does not mean that he is the one trying to extract? I sat there for three years; you want to claim something against me? Prove it. For example, if you claim that you protested within the three years and I claim you did not protest, then you have to prove that you protested. That’s in the Talmud, explicitly. You have to prove that you protested. But here, for some reason, not. And already the medieval authorities (Rishonim), and the later authorities (Acharonim), all ask: why not? So they say: because here you are undermining the very basis of my possession of the land. When you protest, I sat on the land for three years—there is no dispute that I am in possession of the land. You only claim that you protested, and therefore where is my deed? And since I don’t present a deed, there is evidence against me, and despite the fact that I am in possession, they will take the land from me. But I am the possessor—that is agreed. It’s just that because you protested, evidence is created against me: where is my deed? Because if you protested, I should have kept the deed. I would not have allowed myself to throw away the deed if you protested and said, look, we’re going to end up in court. But here he attacks the possession itself. He is not attacking the purchase. He says: you do not have possession. The three years you sat there—you didn’t sit there, or you didn’t sit there alone. And if you don’t sit there alone, it is not called possession. Sitting with me is not possession. That is the assumption; leave aside for the moment why. So here, for example, this is a doubt about possession, right? Meaning, he claims I am not in possession, and I claim… so our dispute is over who is in possession; the dispute is not over the substance of the matter itself. Usually the dispute is over the substance of the matter, and I claim that because I am in possession, you have to believe me about the substantive issue—that I bought it. Okay? Or something like that. But here the dispute is whether I am in possession, not whether I bought it.

[Speaker H] There is also still a dispute whether I bought it, but okay. So maybe that’s a doubtful possessor? Also in a protest there is an attack on the possession, because what is he saying? I protested within the three years, and therefore from the time of the protest you should have held it for another three years.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, but why would I have had to keep it for three years? That’s the question.

[Speaker H] No, I would have had to keep the deed from the moment you protested. That’s it. But afterward, if three years passed—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If another three years passed, then certainly I would win. But I’m saying that another three years did not pass. Three years passed total; you protested after one year. Now you come after three years, meaning two years after the protest, and you say to me, hold on, get off my land—or out of my apartment, okay? So I say, what do you want? I bought it from you. So the claim is that I am the possessor. I sat on the land for three years, and nobody knows whether you protested or did not protest. And you claim you protested—prove it. Why? Because even if you did protest, I am still the possessor. I am still the possessor. It’s just that if you protested, then when I claim that I threw away the deed, they will ask me where the deed is, and when I claim that I threw it away, that will become evidence against me, because they won’t believe me that I threw it away. So even though I am the possessor, he will win—not because I’m not in possession. Meaning, the claim that he protested does not attack the fact that I am in possession. Exactly. I am in possession; it just creates evidence against me that can remove it from me despite my possession. But where he attacks the very fact of my being in possession, then you have a doubtful possessor. Okay? And the assumption here, as you see from the Talmud, is that a doubtful possessor is not considered a possessor. So that’s in connection with what you asked. I said that here there is doubt about that reasoning. For example, clearly… what is there? “The mouth that forbade is the mouth that permitted,” because I don’t know what a doubtful “the mouth that forbade” would mean. A doubtful “the mouth that forbade”? Is there a doubtful migo? Ah. Yes, that’s it. So “the mouth that forbade,” I don’t see a case immediately; one would need to think about it. That’s an interesting question. One has to think whether there is such a case. “The mouth that forbade” is not clearly the same as migo; that is a dispute among medieval authorities (Rishonim). Anyway, that’s okay, so that is the… I’m just closing the point about the Pnei Yehoshua and the Tzelach. I now want to continue a bit with the issue of… the issue of reasoning. Maybe specifically in this context I… I’ll jump for a moment to the end. There is another kind of reasoning. So he says as follows: there is… Elchanan Wasserman writes in Kuntres Divrei Sofrim, he says this: “And by this one can explain the intention of the verse in Jeremiah 19: ‘And they built the high places of Baal to burn their sons in fire as burnt offerings to Baal, which I did not command, nor speak, nor did it enter My mind.’” “I did not command, nor speak, nor did it enter My mind.” What is the difference between these three things? Three halakhic categories. And its explanation in the Targum: “which I did not command in the Torah,” yes, I did not command this in the Torah, “and which I did not send by the hand of My servants the prophets,” yes, I did not communicate it through a prophet, “and it was not My will beforehand.” “Ra’ava” means will, yes? Behold, in this verse it is explicit that there are three parts of Torah: that which is called command, that which is called speech, and that over which there is neither command nor speech, but only the will of God. And these are all the rabbinic commandments. He wants to claim that this is a source for rabbinic commandments. I’m not sure he is right, but still, his interpretation here of the verse is an interesting one. And I thought to suggest, in an article I wrote about this—I mean not the article about reasoning, another article I once wrote in Tzohar about a special kind of reasoning called “the will of God.” And the source is from here. What is that? Ordinary reasoning is substantive reasoning. Meaning, reasoning that says: the spirit of the Torah—or, just as the verse prohibits this, the same logic applies here too. So therefore the content—that’s what I said earlier. So therefore the content, this thing has substantive content even though there is no command. And therefore maybe even in doubt it should be treated stringently, and so on. There is reasoning that is not about the substance of the matter itself; rather, the reasoning says that the Holy One, blessed be He, expects this of me—even though I do not see what value there is in this act. Meaning, the reasoning does not tell me that this is an act of value, or of negative value if it is a prohibition—it doesn’t matter—but it does not speak to the substance of the matter itself. It speaks only to the fact that I have some source or another indicating that the Holy One, blessed be He, expects me to do this. I’ll just give one example to sharpen the point. The subject of that article in Tzohar was separating terumah. With terumah from wheat… the rule is that one grain exempts the whole heap. Meaning, there is no minimum quantity for terumah. If you separate one grain, that is enough on the Torah level. The Sages established a measure. What measure? One-fortieth for a generous eye, one-fiftieth for an average eye, one-sixtieth for a stingy eye. Fine? Three measures. And then you see in the Talmud, in Gittin and in parallel sources, you see there that the Talmud says one should separate terumah generously. And it derives this from a verse. Now, what does “separate… generously” mean? The grain that you give should be separated generously? “Generously” means one-fortieth—that is a rabbinic law. How do you derive that from a verse? How do you derive from a verse that one must separate the amount of one-fortieth, which is a rabbinic measure in the first place? The verse? One grain exempts the whole heap. And this is astonishing, because I… there is a Maimonides on this and all sorts of others—the Rash and more. And they all… Rashi asks this there in place, and says yes, that means one-fortieth. What do you mean, one-fortieth? One-fortieth is a rabbinic measure. So how does the verse itself say to separate—and this is a full derivation from the verse. It is rather strange that this is a full derivation; it is not just an asmachta. Although someone, because of the difficulty, suggested saying that it is an asmachta, but plainly it is a full derivation. It seems to me that what is written there is exactly this idea. The Torah calls it terumah. Terumah, like Rashi at the beginning of the portion of Terumah says, is something from the generosity of the heart. Something that comes from generosity of heart is called terumah. That is what it calls terumah. So if it calls it terumah, what does that mean? That the Torah is basically expecting me, apparently, to separate more than a single grain. One grain exempts the whole heap, but the Torah expects that I will do more. Fine? I don’t know why; I don’t know whether this… why it helps or whom it helps; it depends on other things too. Meaning, simply speaking, it is not intended to help the priests. Terumah, as is remembered, comes from the table on high; terumah is a gift to the Holy One, blessed be He, not to the priests—unlike the tithe, for example, which is for the Levites. There are all kinds of ideas here; at least according to Maimonides it is quite clear that this is so. There is no commandment at all to give to the priests; only the separation is to the Holy One, blessed be He, and the Holy One, blessed be He, says: go ahead and give it to the priests so they can eat it, as it were—what am I going to do with wheat? But essentially it is a gift to Him. In any case, I therefore do not understand why one really needs to separate more, but I do have indications that the Torah expects this of me: the fact is that it calls it terumah, and after all a single grain has nothing to do with generosity of heart. Apparently the Torah expects something more. So if that is the case, I claim that this kind of reasoning is basically Torah-level. This is reasoning that says—but the reasoning does not say “separate more because it’s unbecoming to separate one grain”; that would be reasoning about the substance of the matter. Rather, the reasoning gives me an interpretive inference that says that apparently the Torah expects more from me. Not commands me—because if it commanded me, that would also be indispensable; I would simply have to separate one-fortieth on the Torah level. No. One grain exempts the heap. The Torah law remains as it is, but the Torah expects that I will give generously, expects that I will give more. And therefore when the Sages set the measures—one-fortieth, one-fiftieth, and one-sixtieth—they were really determining what the Torah expects. This is not an ordinary rabbinic enactment, and there is clear evidence in Maimonides that this is so. Meaning, they determined what the Torah itself expects.

[Speaker F] Like the expectation to repent?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What? Yes, repentance too—I think I spoke about that once, right? There too I say something similar, yes. Meaning, there is… but there I also understand why. Meaning, there there is also reasoning about the substance of the matter itself. Here I want to claim that I have reasoning which only tells me that the Torah expects this of me. On my own, I do not know what value there is in this act, so from the standpoint of the act itself I do not know what to say about it. But I know, I see, I have interpretive indications of one sort or another that the Torah expects this of me. Okay. Now this is a different kind of reasoning, because earlier I spoke about why a doubtful logical inference is treated stringently, and I said that reasoning in its essence says that the same essence of the prohibition found in the Torah exists elsewhere too—that is what reasoning says. So it is really saying that this thing too has essence, despite the absence of a command. This reasoning is the opposite kind: it is reasoning that says that here too there is command, even though I do not see whether there is essence—I’m not sure there is. But command—what is command? Expectation. Meaning, here too the Holy One, blessed be He, expects me to do it. So here, for example, in a case of doubt, in my opinion we would be lenient. And by the way, parenthetically, that is, in my opinion, why the Sages set three measures for terumah. Where else do we find such a thing, that they establish—an olive’s bulk, some other quantity, a given measure? Like on Hanukkah, by the way, Hanukkah lights, right? Hanukkah lights—I once wrote in the context of Hanukkah lights, yes, that here too they established this, and there too I think it is the same idea. Where is that? Where did you write that?

[Speaker F] In that article over there in Eltzur. Is it in Eltzur?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s also on the website, yes. My claim was that really, why didn’t the Torah itself command it? Why does it leave it as an expectation? One grain is enough, but I expect more from you.

[Speaker H] Where is it written that one grain is enough?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The Talmud derives that one grain exempts the heap. I don’t remember from where, from which verse it learns it—I don’t remember. In any case, it’s more complicated to derive from the verse—it doesn’t matter, fine, it doesn’t matter. The Talmud there says—there are different textual versions—but the Talmud there says that one needs to separate generously, and this is written regarding the tithe-terumah, in the verse of tithe-terumah, not regular terumah; because tithe-terumah has a measure—it is a tenth of the tenth, meaning one-hundredth. A tenth of the Levite’s tithe is tithe-terumah. So that has a defined measure, and what does he say? Since that has a measure, obviously the verse is not speaking about that; it is speaking about the great terumah.

[Speaker F] Maybe it’s more remote.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Meaning, within this very derivation, the Talmud itself uses the fact that the thing being derived has no fixed measure—that terumah has no fixed measure—and because of that it says one should separate generously. So that really is self-contradictory. It’s not just that I happen to know from elsewhere that the law is that there is no measure, so then “generously.” The Talmud says no—precisely because there is no measure, that is why we say generously. So that is exactly what I am saying. Since it has no measure, why is it called terumah? Apparently the Torah expects me to give generously even though it has no measure. So why doesn’t the Torah command it? Why not command it if that is what it wants? Because it wants it to come from me. If it had commanded it, I would be doing it because of the command, and then it wouldn’t be coming from me. We once talked about the paradox of the scoundrel, yes—that “you shall be holy,” as Nachmanides says, means going beyond the letter of the law. But he does not count that in his enumeration of the commandments—he does not add “you shall be holy” as another positive commandment. Why not? Because if he had included it as a positive commandment, then it would not be beyond the letter of the law; it would be an obligatory commandment, and then it would no longer be “you shall be holy,” yes? Meaning, sometimes there is a situation where the commandment undermines itself. If the Torah expects us to do something voluntarily, then it cannot present it as a command, because then it will not be voluntary. On the other hand, it does expect it, so it has to convey to us some kind of indirect message that communicates the expectation. That expectation, without commanding—that is exactly the kind of reasoning I’m talking about here. Meaning, I basically have here a kind of reasoning that says there is command, but no essence. Or at least I do not know of any essence. In such a case, doubt would indeed be treated leniently, because a doubtful logical inference is treated stringently when the reasoning contains essence. But this reasoning is the opposite kind; this is reasoning in which there is command and no essence, so here doubt would be treated leniently.

[Speaker J] If the whole point is that it should be—that it should not be an actual command, then why did the Sages institute an enactment here?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I started to explain that and forgot to finish. Yes, I started to explain that, and then I opened a parenthesis inside a parenthesis. So I’m saying: why did the Sages set three different measures here? The Sages’ enactment is always like this: the Torah left something open—why are you stepping in? A rabbinic enactment always limits more than what the Torah left open. Here too they imposed a limit, but it’s interesting that they were careful to make three levels. Why? Because they wanted to preserve the voluntary dimension, certainly. The Torah itself expected us to do this voluntarily. Now the moment the Sages turn it into an obligation, they destroy what the Torah expects—so how have they helped me? Fine? So the Sages said: we are setting parameters, but to give people an idea, we say: look, it is between one-sixtieth and one-fortieth. Within that, give generously. But we still leave three levels, because even one-sixtieth is relatively generous compared to one grain. Fine? Now within that range you can express what you want to give, and that is why they established three measures. And by the way, the same thing is true of Hanukkah lights, since we’re already talking about it—that happens to be today’s topic, I just happened to land on it; I didn’t mean to. With Hanukkah lights too they established three levels: one for the basic law and two for levels of embellishment—the mehadrin and the mehadrin min hamehadrin. Why establish three levels here? Why establish levels of embellishment at all? In the whole Torah there is “This is my God and I will beautify Him”—one should beautify every commandment up to a third of the cost of the commandment. That is in Bava Kamma 9, there: beautifying a commandment up to a third. Okay, so why specifically by Hanukkah lights did they establish special beautification? Another point—I saw this in Rabbi Yogel in one of the talks where I was apparently asleep, but it appears in the book. So he writes there, he asks another question, actually several more questions. He asks why this goes beyond one-third. I no longer remember what he asked and what I added, because I use it also for my own line of thought, but some of it is there too. After all, beautifying a commandment is only up to one-third. With Hanukkah lights, instead of lighting one candle I light nine including the shamash, and eight on the last day—far more than one-third. Forty-four instead of eight. It’s not eight plus a third, which would be eleven if you like—ten or eleven. How did we get to forty-four? Or subtract the shamash candles—thirty-six. Fine? That doesn’t fit the standards of beautifying a commandment. So he says there—but there is the Pnei Yehoshua’s question, or the Beit Yosef’s, I’m not sure—the yeshiva folk sport, right, the Hanukkah questions. There are several such questions that people love to spin pilpulim around. One of them is Rabbi Tanchum bar Chanilai: from where do we know that for a Hanukkah lamp, above twenty cubits the eye has no control over it, and then they bring some midrash about Joseph in the pit. Rabbi Tanchum bar Chanilai said: Joseph in the pit—and there too there is already a whole story tying it to Hanukkah, with many pilpulim. So one of the questions is the Beit Yosef’s question, yes: why was the miracle needed at all, since impurity is permitted in communal offerings? Or I don’t remember whether that’s the Pnei Yehoshua or the Beit Yosef. Why was the miracle needed? The Beit Yosef asks: why do we light for eight days if the miracle was only for seven, yes? No—that’s the Pnei Yehoshua.

[Speaker B] The one with 400,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, it’s a folk sport, there are… apparently

[Speaker J] I think there’s a book collecting some 500 answers or something like that.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine? So it’s a well-known sport. So no, I think that’s the Pnei Yehoshua’s question—he asks why the miracle was needed, since impurity is permitted in communal offerings, let them use impure oil. Why do you need pure oil sealed with the seal of the High Priest? Let them use impure oil. Rabbi Yogel there wants to say—and this really is written there—that the miracle was done so that they could light in an embellished way. Because true, they could have lit with impure oil, but the miracle was done so that they could light in the most beautiful way. So with that I can explain what I said earlier. Because if so, then the remembrance of the miracle established embellishment, because all you want to remember here, to commemorate here, is the possibility of performing the lighting of the lamp in the Temple in an embellished way—the embellishment itself. So the commandment of Hanukkah lights was established with respect to embellishment, which is a special embellishment. It’s not from the law of “This is my God and I will beautify Him.” Rabbi Shabtai asked me yesterday, in connection with the kollel, what happens if someone lights 25 candles, just corresponding to the numerical value of “the 25th of Hanukkah,” twenty-five? He lights 25 candles. I told him that certainly he fulfills the obligation by doing that—it’s “This is my God and I will beautify Him,” ordinary beautification of the commandment. He does not fulfill the embellishment of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, but it is ordinary Torah beautification of a commandment, because it is more beautiful than one candle. Fine, so he is beautifying in another way, and that is not this specific embellishment. So I’m saying: then why did they get into our kishkes and tell us how to beautify it? They don’t determine anywhere else how to beautify—not only how much. Even with a sukkah—here, I beautify the sukkah. Not only do they not set an amount one must spend; they also do not tell you what you have to do. Do whatever you want, just make it beautiful, that’s all. So why here do they get involved and define what and how, and have those who embellish and the most scrupulous among those who embellish and everything? And it’s exactly the same idea as the three levels of terumah. Because basically, at the source, what we want to commemorate is the possibility of performing the commandment of lighting the menorah in the Temple in an embellished way. So as a remembrance of that, they established for all generations the lighting of candles in an embellished way. The embellishment itself is the law. Now what does that mean? That there is an obligation to light in an embellished way. You can’t just light—but on the other hand one does fulfill the obligation with one candle; that is clear, it says so in the Talmud. So what does that really mean? That there is an expectation to light in an embellished way, and everyone is really expected to do so—but they cannot command it, because if they command it, then it comes from me and not from you. Exactly as with the Hanukkah lamp. I want it to come from you, because it is a remembrance of embellishment. But on the other hand, I have to somehow convey to you the message that here embellishment is not merely from “This is my God and I will beautify Him”; here embellishment is part of the very commandment itself. The fact is that everybody really lights as those who embellish—I don’t know anyone who lights only according to the basic law; everyone lights as those who embellish. Why? Because everyone understands that basically we are expected to embellish. So why not command it? Then why not establish it as indispensable? Because if they were to establish it as indispensable, it would no longer be embellishment. So they want to leave it as embellishment, and exactly for that reason—just like the measures of terumah—here too they established three levels. Why? Because once the Sages have already determined what to do, they have drained the matter of its voluntary dimension. So what do they do? They establish several levels among which we can play, so that our voluntary dimension can still find expression. That is basically the same thing.

[Speaker F] Donation vouchers.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean?

[Speaker F] One hundred shekels or two hundred shekels.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, exactly, yes. They’re already showing you the direction of what we expect from you. It’s like when someone comes collecting donations, you know, and he has receipts. So the receipts already tell you what he’s asking for. Meaning, it’s not an open receipt saying “give me ten agorot.” He has receipts for ten shekels, he has receipts for twenty shekels—now decide what you choose. In any case, this is another type of reasoning, reasoning that tells us that there is a will of the Torah in this context. And this appears in Mesilat Yesharim, in the explanation of the trait of piety in chapter 18. So he says: “The trait of piety truly requires extensive explanation.” What is the trait of piety? What does it mean to be pious? It’s not “hasid” in the sense of the Baal Shem Tov’s Hasidism. “But the very nature of piety is something deep, to understand it properly.” By the way, Hasidism of the Baal Shem Tov does in fact anchor itself in this kind of piety; after all, for the Hasidim, the Ramchal is a very important source. He was before Hasidism, but they rely on him heavily. I assume that what he calls piety, they claim that is what they are doing. I don’t think there is any connection, but never mind—that is what they claim. “It is something deep, to understand it properly, and it is founded upon great wisdom and the refinement of action to the highest degree, which is fitting for every wise-hearted person to pursue, for only the wise can truly attain it. And so our Sages said: ‘An ignoramus cannot be pious.’ And we shall now explain this matter in order.” What is it to be pious? What is piety? “Now the root of piety is what our Sages said: ‘Happy is the person whose labor is in Torah and who gives pleasure to his Maker.’” That is the root of piety. What does that mean? “For behold, the commandments incumbent upon all Israel are already known, and the extent of their obligation is known. However, one who truly loves the Creator, blessed be His name, with true love, will not strive and intend merely to exempt himself with what is already publicized as the obligation resting upon all Israel in general. Rather, it will be for him like a son who loves his father—if his father would reveal his opinion only slightly, that he desires one of these things, the son would already increase in that matter and in that act as much as he could, even though his father said it only once and in half a statement, merely revealing that this is what he would want. That is enough for the son to understand where his father’s mind inclines, and to do for him even what he did not state explicitly, since he can infer on his own that the matter would give him pleasure, and he will not wait for him to command him more explicitly or to say it again. And behold, we see this with our own eyes, that it happens at every time and every hour among every loving friend, between husband and wife, between father and son. In short, among all those whose love for one another is truly strong, one does not say: ‘I was not commanded more than this; it is enough for me to do what I was explicitly commanded, no more than that; I have fulfilled my obligation.’ Rather, from what was commanded he infers the intention of the commander and strives to do for him whatever he can infer would give him pleasure. So too will it happen with one who loves his Creator with faithful love, for he too is of the category of lovers. And the commandments whose command is revealed and publicized will be for him only a revelation of intent”—the commandments are only a revelation of intent. I will do beyond the commandments. I want to do what the Holy One, blessed be He, expects of me, not only what He commands me. “To know toward what matter His will and desire, blessed be His name, inclines, and then he will not say: it is enough for me to do what is stated explicitly, or I will exempt myself with what is imposed upon me at all costs. Rather, on the contrary, he will say: since I have already found and seen that His will, blessed be His name, inclines to this, this will be for my eyes a reason to increase in this matter and broaden it in every way I can infer that His will, blessed be He, desires. And this is what is called giving pleasure to his Maker.” That is exactly the kind of reasoning I was talking about here. This is not reasoning that says this is the right thing to do. It is another kind of reasoning. It says that this is what the Holy One, blessed be He, expects me to do, which is something entirely different. Okay, for example, women who perform positive commandments dependent on time. What is that? Once the Holy One, blessed be He… after all, one who is exempt and still performs it is called a fool. Is that said specifically about sukkah? No. “One who is exempt from a matter and performs it is called a fool” is stated generally; the Shulchan Arukh brings it regarding sukkah. I think in the Talmud it does not appear specifically regarding sukkah, as far as I remember. The point is that the Holy One, blessed be He, has said that in His eyes this is a desirable act. So women, though they were not commanded, are also, in effect, expected to do it. You are not obligated; it is not imposed upon you as an obligation for one reason or another, but certainly this is an act that gives pleasure to its Maker. Meaning, the Holy One, blessed be He, expects that it be done. So they do it because they understand that this is what He wants. That is not called “one who is exempt and performs it.”

[Speaker F] Reasoning in relation to “do not add”? What? To do even more than what exists.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, “do not add” is when the Holy One, blessed be He, does not want it. Put five fringes on a four-cornered garment—He doesn’t want that; He wants four. Don’t be smarter than Him. But here He said that He wants it; you are just exempt. But you understand that this is a good act in His eyes, so fine, I want to do it voluntarily even though I’m exempt. That is exactly the difference. “Do not add” and “do not subtract” mean pretending to know better than the Holy One, blessed be He, what is good. That’s not this. But if He told you it is good, then do it. Now by the way, if there is something that I think is correct, then also ask: the reasoning of the first type—not this type of the will of God. Reasoning about the substance of the matter itself—say blessings. Why is that not “do not add”? That too is adding, I am adding beyond what the Torah commanded, adding another commandment. There is no “do not add” in a place where there is reasoning telling you that it should be done.

[Speaker K] So “do not add” is only when it’s completely arbitrary?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. “Do not add” means to add something else and attach it to the command. If you are not doing it as a commandment, you do not violate “do not add.” “Do not add” requires intention; the Talmud says that. In fact, the Talmud even connects it to whether commandments require intention or not, and then it is unclear within the Talmud whether this depends on the question of whether commandments require intention—so then “do not add” would also require intention in order to violate it—or whether “do not add” requires intention by its own definition, unrelated to whether commandments require intention. Because only if you intend to add a commandment have you violated “do not add.” If you do not intend to add a commandment, then you have not violated “do not add.” Now here, when you do something because it is genuinely fitting to do it, you are certainly not intending to add a commandment.

[Speaker I] Okay? That’s basically a kind of trickery. And what about the statement that a fool—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What, “one who is exempt and does it,” and that he is called a fool? You are doing something that the Holy One, blessed be He, did not say should be done.

[Speaker I] He didn’t command it, but I…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If you really understand that this is correct, then we don’t say, “One who is exempt from the matter and does it is called a fool.” When you act beyond the letter of the law, is that called “one who is exempt from the matter and does it,” and that he’s a fool? You’re acting beyond the letter of the law; that’s a virtue. We are expected to act beyond the letter of the law. “One who is exempt from the matter and does it” means in a place where there is no rationale that one should do it. If there’s a rationale that this is a proper act, then do it. For example, someone who is strict—this is a bit debatable—but someone who is strict, say, not to eat even in a mixture; we spoke earlier about nullification by majority, so I’m strict anyway not to eat even though there is nullification. There is room to say that this is a stringency with substance; it’s not something absurd, because the Torah does not expect me to give up all that meat because one piece fell into it. We talked about this at the beginning of the lecture. But fine, if I’m willing nonetheless in order to avoid the prohibition, that’s fine; it’s not a foolish stringency. Meaning, there are halakhic decisors who treat this as though it were a foolish stringency and say you may not do it.

[Speaker F] But to go back to the sukkah after you’ve left it—that too is being exempt? What? Someone who goes back to the sukkah after he already left it…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Because of rain. No, rain is something else. There, “one who is exempt from the matter and does it is called a fool”—that’s written in the Shulchan Arukh. Why? Because that isn’t the commandment of sukkah at all, so you’re just inventing a commandment. Just inventing one—that’s not it. But if you sit in the sukkah—say, I think I once told this story—the rabbi from Brisk, the Griz, was once seen drinking water outside the sukkah. It says in the Shulchan Arukh: a spiritually refined person should be strict not to drink even water outside the sukkah. So they said to him, “You’re one of the greatest of the stringent, meticulous about every jot and tittle in this area, and you drink water outside the sukkah? The Shulchan Arukh says a spiritually refined person should be strict.” Right, like the last of the Mizrachi crowd. What are you doing? So he answered, “What, I’m stringent? I’ve never been stringent about anything in my life,” says the compulsively stringent man, of course. “I’ve never been stringent about anything in my life. Rather, I always make sure to fulfill my obligation according to all the opinions.” These aren’t stringencies. I simply have to fulfill my obligation. So if there is some opinion of the questioner in the Raavyah that according to him one has to do it this way, then of course I’ll make sure to do it that way too. I’ll go around with 100 prayer shawls, like Rabbi Steinberg used to go, with 100 fringes according to all the opinions in order to fulfill my obligation. Those aren’t stringencies. That’s the main law, because there are opinions according to which I don’t fulfill my obligation if I don’t do it. That isn’t called being stringent. It’s called making sure that you fulfill your obligation. Something that by its essence is defined as a stringency—I am too small for that, I’m not on that level, I don’t do it. So he drank water outside the sukkah, because that is, from the outset, a stringency, because it is clear that it is not included in the obligation. We don’t do it because of doubt.

[Speaker B] There’s no opinion—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —that you don’t fulfill your obligation, or that you have to do it, but it is proper; a spiritually refined person should be strict. And I’m not on that level. But certainly that is not called “one who is exempt from the matter and does it.” That he would not say. About someone who is careful always to drink water in the sukkah, he would not say that he is a fool because he is exempt from the matter and does it. On the contrary, it explicitly says that a spiritually refined person should be strict. The same Shulchan Arukh that says “one who is exempt from the matter and does it is called a fool” when it’s raining, itself says that a spiritually refined person should be strict and not drink even water outside the sukkah. Why? The distinction is that the Torah’s intent is that you live in the sukkah. What obligates you is eating and sleeping—eating a fixed meal and sleeping. So fine, but clearly it would be proper to do everything inside the sukkah; it’s just not the obligation. That is beyond the letter of the law, a measure of piety. But when it’s raining, that’s not sukkah at all. There is no commandment of sukkah to sit in the sukkah then. You need “you shall dwell” in the manner that you live, and that’s not how people live.

[Speaker K] But people also don’t live that way in the sense that they don’t drink water outside the house. I don’t really see the distinction. If the claim is that you want to be strict about “you shall dwell as you live”…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that is how people live. You mean that you don’t drink water outside the house? Not that people never drink outside—that’s exactly the point. You do drink water in the house. True, it can happen that you also drink outside, therefore you are not obligated to drink in the sukkah, but it is still an act that you do in the house. But to sit in the house when it’s raining—you don’t… that isn’t called living there. People don’t do that at all. It’s a dwelling unfit for habitation. So how did we get to all this? Ah yes, you asked why this is not “one who is exempt from the matter and does it.” No—when there is a rationale, it’s not “one who is exempt from the matter and does it.” When I do it because it is something the Holy One, blessed be He, wants, or because it has a reason, there is no prohibition of adding here. The prohibition of adding is when you sit in the sukkah on a day from which you are exempt. That is called adding, because it isn’t Sukkot. Where are you getting the idea that this is even a proper act? It’s just nothing—no rationale, no source, nothing—so it is not God’s will. To sit in the sukkah on Shavuot? Maybe that’s adding, unless it’s not at the relevant time. If it’s not at the relevant time, it may be that there is no prohibition of adding unless you intend it. But if you decide that there is a commandment to sit in the sukkah on Shavuot, you violate the prohibition of adding. And just sitting in the sukkah ordinarily requires intention unless it is at the relevant time. Okay, so that’s regarding these rationales of God’s will. Now there are additional aspects of rationale, and maybe I’ll finish with this. When we learn a certain Jewish law from an exposition, then usually the tendency is… When I entered the world of exegesis—because I dealt with this for quite a few years—it was clear to me that there was some kind of logic here that had worked for us. Meaning, not that we remember… we no longer know how to use it, right? How to use the exegetical principles: verbal analogy, a fortiori, archetype derivation… a fortiori, yes, but archetype derivation or all kinds of things like that—we no longer do it, because we’ve lost the skill of using these principles. But I thought that if one did some kind of research, it might be possible to reconstruct how the logic of the matter works, and then in some distant vision you could even mechanize it. Meaning, this would really be like computer logic. You would need to program the computer according to the thirteen principles. That is, you’d give it the verbal analogy and it would find two identical words and know what to do with that and so on. In other words, there is a logic here exactly like the logics we know, the ordinary logic we know. Very quickly it became clear to me that this is not true. It probably cannot be true either. In every exposition, the exegetical principles are the triggers for expounding, but they do not tell me what to do with that trigger. Say there is a verbal analogy. So the verbal analogy tells me that if you find a word—the same word—in two biblical contexts, then you compare those two contexts. Compare them in what respect? I don’t know. Meaning, whatever you decide. There isn’t… The Torah tells me there is “to her” written regarding a slave and “to her” written regarding a woman, a maidservant. And “to her” is written regarding a woman. So there is a verbal analogy, “to her,” “to her”—slave and woman. There is a comparison regarding what? That both are released by a bill, for example, or something like that. Okay? And why not write a woman out by an eye like a slave? That too is written about an eye. Or whatever, just saying—you can compare whatever you want. Maybe to enslave the woman like the slave, same thing? Or the opposite—not to enslave. Okay, agreed, like that. Yes, or not to enslave the slave the way one does not enslave the woman, it doesn’t matter. It’s also a question of from which side to which side one learns. We don’t do that. Rather, what? This is “learn from it and from it, but leave it in its own place.” Meaning, there are certain things regarding which we understand that we need to compare, and there are things we do not. How do we understand that? What does “we understand” mean? Rationale. Now within every exposition there is rationale. There is no exposition in the world that does not have rationale behind it. The exposition merely tells me: here you must expound. Say, a generalization, specification, and generalization. The Torah says, “from cattle, from flock, from wine, from strong drink, and whatever your soul desires,” right? Concerning redeeming second tithe. So cattle, flock, wine, and strong drink are a specification. “Whatever your soul desires” is a generalization. Okay, so that is specification and generalization. Specification and generalization comes to include. Include what? There are major debates in the Talmud over what to include. But clearly, here one must include. What does that mean? That when the Torah formulates itself in the language of generalization and specification, there is a trigger here to include. That is what the principle says. It doesn’t tell me what to include. Now I have to decide what is similar to cattle and flock, wine and strong drink. How far do we go with this? Fish? Salt? Water? What do you buy there? That is a dispute in tractate Nazir, already in the Mishnah in Nazir. Okay. So this basically means that the exegetical principles give me a trigger to expound, but once there is a trigger, rationale always determines what to do with it. Rationale determines what to do with it. And therefore, rationale is actually involved almost everywhere. But here, really, were it not for the position of Maimonides, I would say, for example, that a law derived by exposition is Torah-level according to most opinions except for Maimonides. But there is, after all, an element of rationale here. True, but that rationale merely tells me what the verbal analogy means or what the generalization and specification mean. Therefore, here the rationale creates Torah-level law. Even though there is a rational element in every exposition, because that rational element functions as part of the exposition, it is basically part of the exposition. So in effect, this law is considered something I derived from the text, as something I interpreted from the text. So it will be fully Torah-level. Even though there is an element of exposition here everywhere. According to Maimonides, it really would not be Torah-level precisely because of this, because there is some element of rationale here. Where do you see this? There is a passage in tractate Pesachim, and in several other places too, but Pesachim for example. The Talmud says there, it brings some discussion whether one expounds the word “et,” yes? The word “et” is used to include additional things. So the Talmud says, “And the other one does not expound ‘et.’” There is a dispute among the tannaim whether to expound “et” or not. Then it brings: Shimon HaAmsuni, as it was taught: Shimon HaAmsuni, and some say Nechemiah HaAmsuni, would expound every “et” in the Torah. Once he reached “You shall fear the Lord your God,” he stopped. What does that mean? “You shall fear the Lord your God”—what can one include in relation to the Holy One, blessed be He? After all, nothing can be compared to the Holy One, blessed be He. So what am I going to include from “You shall fear the Lord your God”? He found nothing. So he stopped. But what does “he stopped” mean? “He stopped” means that he also abandoned his previous expositions, because he reached the conclusion that one does not include from “et.” Because clearly here there is nothing to include. And that undermined the whole conception that one should include from “et.” Okay, so he stopped. His students said to him: Rabbi, what will become of all the “ets” that you expounded? Up to this point you can see that he stopped not only from this one but in general from the principle that one includes from “et.” He said to them: Just as I received reward for the exposition, so I receive reward for the withdrawal. You have to be intellectually honest. If “et” doesn’t work, then no. So all the expositions I made were very nice, but I give them up. Until Rabbi Akiva came and expounded “You shall fear the Lord your God” to include Torah scholars. What did Rabbi Akiva do here? And by the way, that remains; the Talmud says, after all, that the dispute among the tannaim brought there in Pesachim is like the dispute between Rabbi Akiva and Shimon HaAmsuni. Meaning that Shimon HaAmsuni did not accept what Rabbi Akiva said. Rabbi Akiva proposed an interpretation, and Shimon HaAmsuni stuck to his own view. He had stopped. He was not persuaded. What does that mean? Why was he not persuaded? And here is the focal point of how rationale operates in the context of expositions. There is “et,” and the rule is that “et” comes to include. Right? Now after I know that there is a verse with “et,” now I need to think: what does it include? That I decide. That’s rationale, right? We said the trigger for exposition is an exegetical principle. Now I need to decide what to do with it. So what does it include? Shimon HaAmsuni says: I find nothing to include. So this undermined the whole matter; apparently this principle does not exist, one does not include from the word “et.” This is an interesting comment on the conception that the exegetical principles are a law given to Moses at Sinai, but I spoke about that once. Because he threw out the principle of inclusion from “et” because of that consideration.

[Speaker K] And that’s a principle? It could be that it’s not a principle but a variation of a principle.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] According to Rabbi Akiva, it is a principle. For Rabbi Akiva, it is inclusion.

[Speaker K] Ah. So then it’s clear why he didn’t accept it.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, inclusion from the crowns of the letters, from “et,” from “kol”—

[Speaker K] The inclusions—he didn’t throw out inclusion altogether, only inclusion from “et.”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, inclusion from “et”—that too is a principle. So now I’ll explain Rabbi Akiva here, and then you’ll see. What did Rabbi Akiva do? Rabbi Akiva also understands that there is nothing to include alongside the Holy One, blessed be He. Right? The difficulty is a real difficulty. What does Rabbi Akiva say? You must include something because there is an “et”; that is an exegetical principle. What do I do? Now here the rationale doesn’t tell me what it makes sense to include, but rather what is least unreasonable to include.

[Speaker F] All right?

[Speaker D] He says, I have to include something.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Now, I can’t—the rationale says you cannot include anything; nothing resembles the Holy One, blessed be He. But fine, the verse tells me yes, include something, so I choose what is least unreasonable. One could have included chairs, one could have included watches, one could have included—I don’t know—Torah scholars seemed to him the least unreasonable. So he says: if I already have to include something, I’ll include Torah scholars. Therefore Rabbi Akiva says: you cannot throw out an exegetical principle because it doesn’t fit you. An exegetical principle tells you to include. It doesn’t seem right to you? Then do what you can within those constraints; whatever is least unreasonable, that’s what you do. But what does this mean? It sharpens very much the difference—first of all, how exposition works with rationales, the rationale within expositions. An ordinary rationale, the one we’ve learned until now, is either a rationale that this is what the Holy One, blessed be He, wants, or a rationale that says the act in itself is a proper or improper act, in a straightforward rational sense. Here the rationale works differently. The rationale is an interpretive rationale about the exposition. The exposition tells me to include, and the rationale tells me what to include. But the rationale often does not tell me what to include; rather, it tells me what not to include, what to exclude. Because in fact the rationale—say there could be a situation, and this is the difference—for example, if I came just from rationale, I would say that it seems to me by rationale that one should fear Torah scholars, then this would not be an exposition, it would be rationale. Right? Rationale, or an enactment of the sages, or Torah-level law—the Tzelach or the Pnei Yehoshua, because it establishes a new law, so that is the dispute between the Tzelach and the Pnei Yehoshua—whether it would be Torah-level law or rabbinic law. But that is the ordinary rationale: it seems to me that one should fear Torah scholars, and therefore one should fear Torah scholars. But Rabbi Akiva does not say that. Rabbi Akiva learns it from the inclusion of “et.” If it’s rationale, then why do I need a verse? Rationale itself is enough. Why does he bring the “et”? Because he argues that the rationale is not that one should fear Torah scholars; there is no rationale to fear Torah scholars. That’s idolatry—what is this? To fear him as one fears the Holy One, blessed be He? There is no rationale to fear Torah scholars. But the verse tells me to include. So the rationale comes to explain what the verse says; therefore it is not a substantive rationale about the matter itself. It is not a rationale telling me: yes, I understand there is logic in fearing Torah scholars. On the contrary. It is a rationale that explains where the verse imposes itself on my rationales, against what I would otherwise think. It only tells me how I can blunt the sting of the contradiction as much as possible—the least unreasonable option. And that is exactly the difference between rationale as it appears in expositions and ordinary rationale. Ordinary rationale means an act that in itself I understand to be proper, or that the Holy One, blessed be He, wants it—we spoke earlier about two possibilities. The rationale within exposition may not at all be a rationale saying that the act is proper. On the contrary, I recoil from this instruction. It is idolatry to fear Torah scholars. But the rationale tells me: fine, but the inclusion from “et” must somehow be explained; the rationale tells me where to apply it. By the power of rationale itself I would not have said to fear Torah scholars—quite the opposite. Rationale itself says not to fear them. But rationale tells me how one can nevertheless include something from the verse. This is a rationale that comes to exclude what not to include; it does not tell me positively what to include. Because if there were a rationale saying to fear Torah scholars, then why do I need a verse? Rationale itself is enough. Then I would do it on the basis of rationale—at least according to the Pnei Yehoshua, who holds that even a novel law has the status of Torah-level law—so there would be no need for the inclusion at all. Why is the inclusion needed? The rationale says to fear Torah scholars. On the contrary, Rabbi Akiva tells us: no, there is no rationale to fear Torah scholars, but the “et” in the verse comes to include, so the rationale explains to me where to apply it. This is already a third kind of rationale. I said there is rationale that establishes a law, there is rationale that interprets a law, there is actually a fourth rationale: there is rationale that tells me this is God’s will, and there is rationale that tells me what to include or what to expound in expositions—which is basically a rationale that tells me what not to expound. It removes what not to expound, and what remains is what the verse expounded; that is what the verse is telling me. Okay? So this is a fifth kind of rationale.