Messianism, Lesson 1

Table of Contents

• Opening: false messianism and its connection to Religious Zionism
• Principles, Maimonides, and the Talmudic basis for belief in the Messiah
• Parallels to Christianity and the claim that empathy is the interpreting factor
• Formal authority and substantive authority in Jewish law
• Accepting the Talmud as a discourse framework and the claim that this was a “brilliant step”
• An outside and inside perspective: the analogy to the Supreme Court
• Facts versus norms: there is no formal authority in matters of belief
• Belief, working on one’s character traits, and the rejection of “hypnosis” as belief
• Factual error in Jewish law and the question of validity
• Maimonides, halakhic ruling in matters of belief, and the status of the Thirteen Principles
• Messianic interest, doubt about tradition, and the shift to false messianism
• The absence of a halakhic prohibition regarding a false messiah, and the harm as the basis of the problem
• The real-time criterion and the problem of unfalsifiability
• A circular historical method and the difficulty of defining false messianism

Summary

General Overview

The text raises the question of messianism by starting from the point of *false messianism* and asks whether this is a matter of the future or a phenomenon that is not dependent on time at all, while connecting it to the question of belief in the Messiah in Maimonides, in the context of Chabad, and as a continuation of a previous discussion about the Hasmoneans, redemption, and the restoration of monarchy to Israel. The speaker draws a distinction between formal authority and substantive authority, and argues that binding formal authority belongs mainly to halakhic norms and in practice ends with the Talmud, whereas with respect to facts there can be no formal authority, only persuasion. Against that background, he casts doubt on the binding status of principles in matters of faith / belief, points to a human and social interest in holding on to a messianic idea, and arrives at the conclusion that false messianism is a harmful phenomenon that is hard to define because it has no clear halakhic criteria, and therefore clarifying it depends on a circular and problematic historical method.

Opening: false messianism and its connection to Religious Zionism

The speaker opens by saying he wants to talk about messianism through several aspects, and he starts specifically with false messianism, including some preliminaries about the Messiah. He describes a seminar paper his daughter wrote around the question whether Religious Zionism is false messianism. He argues that false messianism is not necessarily connected to the future, and presents the discussion as continuing a previous topic about the Hasmoneans, redemption, and the return of monarchy to Israel, including comments of Maimonides and Nachmanides and parallels to our own time.

Principles, Maimonides, and the Talmudic basis for belief in the Messiah

The speaker says that when dealing with principles of faith / belief, it is clear that there are accepted beliefs already in the Talmud / Talmudic text, and that Maimonides did not invent a framework of belief but rather gathered and fixed thirteen foundations as a binding framework, even though the classification into principles drew criticism. He cites the Talmud / Talmudic text in tractate Sanhedrin in the name of Rabbi Hillel: “Israel has no Messiah, for they already consumed him in the days of Hezekiah,” and the Talmud’s response, “May the Master forgive Rabbi Hillel,” presenting this as showing that the Sages saw this as heresy regarding the coming of the Messiah.

Parallels to Christianity and the claim that empathy is the interpreting factor

The speaker argues that in the matter of messianism there is a similarity to Christianity, because Christians maintain that the Messiah has already come, and he presents a parallel around the idea that “the commandments will be nullified in the future to come” and the question of when exactly that future to come arrives. He gives additional examples of conceptual similarity, such as “The Holy One, blessed be He, Israel, and the Torah are one” in relation to the Trinity, and stresses that the difference is that the “son” is collective rather than individual. He describes a publication in Tzohar of excerpts from the New Testament with comments by Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda, and explains that the criticism there seems to him to be a product of lack of empathy, because someone on the inside finds reconciliations while someone on the outside “jumps on every little thing,” and therefore “everything depends on empathy” and on whether you are inside or outside.

Formal authority and substantive authority in Jewish law

The speaker distinguishes between formal authority, which obligates by virtue of an authorized institution such as the Knesset, and substantive authority, like a doctor who understands more and therefore it makes sense to listen to him. He argues that formal authority deriving from “do not deviate” ended with the Talmud, and that after it there is no body that has binding authority in that same sense, even though the words of medieval authorities (Rishonim) and halakhic decisors carry weight. He explains that the Talmud is binding because “they accepted it upon themselves,” and mentions the possibility of tying this to Maimonides’ renewal of ordination, but notes that this is disputed. He then cites the Kesef Mishneh at the beginning of chapter two of the laws of rebels as explaining that the binding force comes from public acceptance, not because the Sages are somehow heavenly beings.

Accepting the Talmud as a discourse framework and the claim that this was a “brilliant step”

The speaker argues that the public accepted a binding canonical text that seemingly “doesn’t say anything” in the sense that it does not give bottom-line rulings, and that precisely in this way a framework for discourse was established that allows dispute within a shared platform. He says that if a binding code in the style of Maimonides or Kitzur Shulchan Arukh had been accepted, “we wouldn’t be here today,” and he points to the fact that early halakhic decisors wrote that “it is forbidden to rule on the basis of the Shulchan Arukh” until commentaries developed around it that restored a degree of freedom. He describes the result as a dispersed community that continues to “speak the same language” through the Talmudic text and correspondence, and sees this as an “amazing” and inspiring phenomenon.

An outside and inside perspective: the analogy to the Supreme Court

The speaker tells a story from the Israel Democracy Institute about a discussion between rabbis and jurists and claims of judicial activism, including references to Aharon Barak, Hayut, Englard, and the supermarkets ruling, and argues that from the outside everything looks like agenda and randomness. He suggests that from the inside there are rules of discourse, reasoning, professionalism, and an ability to distinguish between “right and wrong” even when agenda has some influence, and he compares this to the halakhic world, where someone on the inside understands that not everything is simply “open,” even though the Talmud does not give bottom-line conclusions.

Facts versus norms: there is no formal authority in matters of belief

The speaker argues that formal authority is relevant to norms of permitted and forbidden, but with respect to facts there is no such thing as formal “categorical” authority, even if a Sanhedrin were standing there, and even if it were “Moses our teacher,” because you cannot obligate a person to think something he believes is not true. He illustrates that you can require behavior despite disagreement, but there is no meaning to a command that tries to impose belief as a fact, and therefore an accusation like “heresy in a principle” is not an argument that changes what the person actually thinks. He explains that substantive authority with respect to facts is really only persuasion, like with a doctor, because if the person is persuaded then he believes it is true, and if he is not persuaded there is no authority-based claim that obligates him.

Belief, working on one’s character traits, and the rejection of “hypnosis” as belief

The speaker distinguishes between working on one’s character traits in commandments such as love, and trying to “make yourself” believe something you think is not true, and he refuses to see that as belief. He cites Berakhot 9b on “and they made them ask” and “against their will” to show that even when an action appears voluntary after an internally forced change, it is still “against their will,” and he uses this to argue that hypnosis or psychological coercion do not create authentic belief.

Factual error in Jewish law and the question of validity

The speaker says he is not sure that halakhic instructions given on the basis of a factual error have any validity, and argues that in his view “they have no validity” and one “doesn’t even need a religious court to cancel them.” He clarifies that his distinction rests on the idea that formal authority in Jewish law applies to norms, not to determinations of reality, and therefore when the norm depends on a reality that was mistaken, the instruction loses validity in his eyes.

Maimonides, halakhic ruling in matters of belief, and the status of the Thirteen Principles

The speaker says that Maimonides wrote in his commentary on the Mishnah in three places that one does not issue a halakhic ruling on something that has no practical relevance, and he cites an article by Henshke in the journal De’ot arguing that in those same three places Maimonides nevertheless did issue a halakhic ruling in the Mishneh Torah. He argues that Maimonides saw the principles as binding truths with implications, and suggests that Maimonides relied on the understanding that this was binding divine information. But he himself raises doubt about what exactly is really from Sinai and what developed later, and he cites the Raavad on the issue of corporealism and the claim that many good and worthy people “stumbled” over it.

Messianic interest, doubt about tradition, and the shift to false messianism

The speaker notes that the Sages discuss the fact that in the Torah itself the subject of the Messiah is not explicit, and he argues that there is a strong interest in saying “the Messiah will come in the end” in order to give motivation and not despair, including attributing to Leibowitz the idea that the Messiah “always has to arrive at some point.” He says that this interest raises a question mark about the authenticity of the tradition, and adds that historically religions and groups have arrived at different messiahs out of needs for cohesion and hope, especially in times of distress, and therefore it is easier to become convinced of a messianic candidate precisely in a time of crisis.

The absence of a halakhic prohibition regarding a false messiah, and the harm as the basis of the problem

The speaker argues that there is no clear halakhic prohibition against declaring yourself the Messiah when you are not the Messiah, and there is no prohibition against believing in someone who is a false messiah, unlike the explicit prohibition of a false prophet. He presents the point that the problem with false messianism is the damage it causes, not the prohibition, and therefore there is a difficulty in defining what a “false messiah” is in the absence of halakhic criteria.

The real-time criterion and the problem of unfalsifiability

The speaker says that a definition based on the outcome is not sufficient, because it is always possible to explain things away by saying that the messiah was “real” but “we did not merit it,” and he notes that such explanations already appear in the words of the Sages around Hezekiah. He argues that this turns the question of messianism into one that cannot be falsified, and therefore a “real-time” criterion is needed that can identify false messianism within the process itself and not only after failure.

A circular historical method and the difficulty of defining false messianism

The speaker proposes that the only way to try is to look historically at figures whom a broad consensus defined as false messianic figures and to extract characteristics that can be identified in real time, while emphasizing that there are figures who were disproven but were not necessarily defined as false messianic figures. He admits that the method is circular, because someone can always come and reject the starting point and refuse to accept the claim that they were false messiahs, and therefore even after extracting characteristics the discussion remains methodologically problematic. He ends by calling this a “methodological introduction” and stops there.

I want to talk a bit about this issue of messianism. I’ll discuss it from a few different angles. First, I specifically want to begin with false messianism. With a few introductions about the messiah and all that, but specifically false messianism. This is actually an interesting project my daughter did. I brought it up, but she did it—during her undergraduate degree she had to complete a seminar paper, so I suggested this topic to her: false messianism, and whether Religious Zionism is a form of false messianism. That’s not a simple question, by the way. False messianism means only something about the future, right? No, no. One of the claims is that it doesn’t. It has nothing to do with the future at all. The question of false messianism is not about the future; or at least, not necessarily. We’ll talk about that more. That’s one point. And beyond that, there’s the whole question of belief in the messiah, and the types of messianism we see around us—yes, I mentioned Chabad earlier. The story of the messiah also appears in Maimonides’ thirteen principles, right? Yes, it does. Not only in the principles, also in the Jewish law. In any case, I thought to spend some time on this, since it really continues what we discussed in the previous series about the Hasmoneans, redemption, “sovereignty returned to Israel for more than two hundred years,” the points—not necessarily a dispute—the positions of Maimonides and Nachmanides on that issue and the parallels to our time. So it seems to me this is a good place to open the topic.

I’ll maybe preface it with a general introduction before getting into this specific topic. It’s an introduction that touches on many things, but I think it’s good for it to be in the background here as well. When dealing with principles of faith, even before Maimonides made some closed list of beliefs, it’s clear that there were accepted beliefs already in the Talmud too. Meaning, Maimonides didn’t invent the idea that there is some framework of belief. He only fixed some thirteen foundations that he defined as the basic obligatory framework. But he gathered them; he didn’t invent them. True, the very treatment of them as principles and non-principles stirred up various debates—how do you decide what is a principle and what is not? There were critiques of him about that and about the classification, and why specifically these thirteen and not others. That can be discussed. But broadly speaking, it’s clear that there are principles of that sort.

The Talmud in tractate Sanhedrin brings: Rabbi Hillel said, “Israel has no messiah, for they already consumed him in the days of Hezekiah.” The messiah will not come. We already said, finished, the messiah already was. In the days of Hezekiah he was supposed to come—that’s what Hezekiah thought, that he was the messiah—and that’s it, we lost it, we missed him. So the Talmud says: “May his Master forgive Rabbi Hillel.” Meaning, may his Master—the Holy One, blessed be He—forgive Rabbi Hillel for what he says, because he is basically denying the coming of the messiah. In a certain sense that’s really like the Christians. The Christians too basically say that the messiah has already come. He won’t come. But the Christians didn’t take it as something that got canceled, as something that— No, something that already arrived. Yes. He said: he was supposed to come in the days of Hezekiah, we missed it, but that’s it, he won’t come anymore.

By the way, there’s a great deal of parallel here—maybe that too is worth discussing. Part of the topic may include that as well: what actually differs in Christianity. Not all that much, contrary to what people think. Not all that much. On the subject of messianism? There’s similarity. In general, because messianism is a very central thing here. But just briefly: the Christians decided that the messiah has already come. Right? And then they nullify the commandments. There are no commandments. Almost no practical commandments there, except for a few specific private things. But from the standpoint of the Sages, that too is actually correct. Meaning, after the messiah… “The commandments will be nullified in the world to come.” The whole question is only when exactly that world to come arrives. We think the world to come is not here yet—that is, it will come. And the Christians already think that the world to come has already arrived. But overall, the view of the Sages is identical. What? The medieval authorities (Rishonim)—many of them retract from that, so the view of the Sages is… No, “the commandments will be nullified in the world to come.” It’s written. Now the medieval authorities (Rishonim) struggle over whether yes or no, and how that can be, since the Torah is eternal. Fine, they struggle. But no one says there’s a dispute about the text itself. The question is how to interpret that statement that “the commandments will be nullified in the world to come.” “The festivals will be nullified in the world to come, except for the Scroll of Esther and Purim.” Yes, all the books will be nullified in the world to come.

So many times—yes, or I don’t know, the Trinity? The peak of idolatry. And what is “The Holy One, blessed be He, Israel, and the Torah are one”? Isn’t that basically the same thing? It’s exactly the same thing. It’s the Father and the Son being one thing—what’s the difference? Slightly less concretized, let’s say. The son here is a collective son, the Jewish people, not an individual son. Fine. Yes, we once talked casually about contraction not being literal and all kinds of statements of that type. Ideas like these can be found in various places; I think you can find more things there too. Fine. But no one defined those people as Christians. What? No, these are fully grounded ideas; a lot of people will tell you that. Doesn’t mean everyone necessarily agrees with it, but if someone hears it he won’t say, “You’re a Christian.” No, but if you say the Holy Trinity like the Incarnation, then you’re a Christian, you’re an apostate, you deny a principle. There’s a lot of similarity here, and it’s very much a matter of…

I think I mentioned this once before. Just by association: in one of the early issues of Tzohar, they published, I think, two chapters from a book that collected Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda’s notes on the New Testament. I once read it—the New Testament with Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda’s commentaries, meaning glosses and notes from Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda. I didn’t understand how it was even permitted for ordinary Jews to read that at all. I don’t know—maybe he thought only he, as someone elevated above the masses, could do it, I don’t know. What do you mean only he? That part I understand—but then why publish it as a book? How are you supposed to read the notes without reading the text? You’d have to ask him; I have no idea. In any case, it’s a terribly funny book—I mean literally funny. The objections he raises there, he challenges them from the biblical verses. How can it say this when there is an explicit Talmud saying such and such? Absurd, simply absurd. And I thought to myself: how does an intelligent person get to writing nonsense like this?

And in the end I understood—later two students of mine wrote a similar kind of article on this topic, and I told them I’m not willing to publish it at all; what nonsense is this? I said, what I understood is that it all depends on empathy. Meaning, someone you hate—you’ll catch him on every tiny point, even if what you found is itself nonsense. But if someone asks you the same question about yourself, you’ll find a hundred thousand excuses for why it isn’t difficult and why it all works out and you have lots of explanations. Nothing there is any harder than things I can ask about ourselves, about the Jewish position—not about you specifically, but generally. The difference is that here I’m on the inside and I have empathy, so if there’s a contradiction I’ll find a reconciliation, because I believe both this and that, so I’ll find a reconciliation. We’re sufficiently skilled in dialectical thinking to reconcile anything. So you need to understand that if someone is sympathetic to Christianity, he’ll answer all your objections in a hundred ways. Those objections are worth nothing. The whole question is whether you are inside or outside, that’s all.

I see no point in dealing with all those funny things about Christianity or Judaism and attacking them with objections and answers and all those debates they carried out in the twelfth century. Fine, it sounds strange to me. In any case, back to our topic. So the point—what I want to preface here—is really the question of how to relate in general to this kind of principle, of which the messiah is one, but first let’s give some framework.

At a basic level, it seems to me one has to distinguish between two concepts of authority. Maybe we talked about this once; at this point everything is mixed up in my head. I need to look at my computer to see what I talked about and what I didn’t, and even there I’m not always sure, because I don’t always write it down. There is a concept of formal authority, and there is a concept of substantive authority. Formal authority means that you accept something because an authorized body said it—on the basis of an authorized body, something like that. Say the Knesset legislates a law. You accept it because the Knesset is the authorized institution—not because it is always right, and not because of any assumption about its greatness or the greatness of the Knesset members, but simply because it is the authorized institution. That is formal authority.

Substantive authority is the authority of a doctor. Suppose you go to a doctor and he prescribes medication. If you trust that he is a professional and you are not, then you believe him, so you take the medicine he prescribed. Why? Because he understands more than you do. You are not obligated to obey him; it’s just sensible to obey him because he simply understands more.

Now in the Torah context too one has to distinguish between these two concepts of authority. And formal authority—the authority that comes from “do not deviate”—it seems to me ended with the Talmud. Meaning, after the Talmud there is no factor that has authority by virtue of “do not deviate.” The easiest thing is to say that it means the sages of every generation, and that is a strange minority position; I don’t think it really has a basis. What is there in the Talmud—Talmud, what is there in the Talmud? “They accepted it upon themselves.” First of all there is the Sanhedrin; that is the original authority. The sages—the body of sages—accepted that the Talmud has the status of a Sanhedrin; that’s what many halakhic decisors write. One does not dispute the Talmud. Why? Because we accepted it upon ourselves. So that is actually not authority by virtue of “do not deviate”; it is authority by virtue of the fact that we accepted it. We accepted it upon ourselves like a Sanhedrin. If you accept Maimonides on the renewal of ordination—that you can create ordination from below and not only from above—then you can hang it on that, and then it really is by virtue of “do not deviate.” But as is known, that Maimonides is disputed; it is not agreed upon. But it is still authority. And one could say that maybe too the majority of the nation accepted, I don’t know, the Shulchan Arukh. You can say that and deliberate, and therefore you understand that it isn’t exactly the same thing. It’s not exactly the same thing, but it’s close. Meaning, the boundary here is less sharp, but I think at some level this is almost agreed upon.

They have some weight—I’m willing to agree to that formulation. Not authority—not that the words of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) have no weight. I accept the claim that they have weight. But authority in the sense that if he said it, you must accept it—that ended with the Talmud. Meaning, after that, fine, there are people who attained status, halakhic decisors who attained status, there is room to discuss it, fine, but there is no authority in the full, binding sense. If I’m sufficiently convinced, I’ll disagree with any of the medieval authorities (Rishonim).

But in Babylonia, even though there was a Talmud, there wasn’t authority because there was no ordination. No, that’s why I’m saying: even though there was no ordination there and there was no longer a Sanhedrin, I’m not talking about Babylonia. I’m talking about the Talmud vis-à-vis the generations after it, anywhere in the world. The Jewish people accepted upon itself that this text is binding, even though it wasn’t really produced by a Sanhedrin. Some of the things it records were produced by a Sanhedrin. But the fact that something is written in the Talmud does not mean it received a Sanhedrin stamp. But the public accepted it upon itself as binding—there’s no dispute about that. In that sense, it binds for all generations until Elijah comes. What exactly that means—that can be discussed.

There’s an article by Rabbi Shlomo Fisher on this, which in substance draws from Rabbi Kook though, characteristically, he doesn’t mention him. In Beit Yishai, siman 15 I think, in the second volume, in the homilies there, he goes into it at length: what is the meaning of acceptance by the public? Why is that Torah-level? The revelation at Sinai is built on that. The fact that at Sinai they accepted—so what, why does that obligate me? Apparently there is some assumption that if the public accepts something, that obligates me. Like here: the public accepted the Knesset. Why, by what force, can they come to me with complaints? I don’t want it—I didn’t accept the Knesset. It won’t help; they’ll come to me with complaints. Why? Because I’m part of the public. That’s that. Meaning, there is a point at which you begin from some premise that cannot be justified further, but that’s how it is. Because if I justify it for you, you’ll ask about that too: why?

Anyway, that is formal authority. But substantive authority can continue. Substantive authority, in the sense that there is someone who is a great Torah scholar, then presumably if he says something and I disagree with him, he is probably right. The fact that he is right still doesn’t mean I am obligated to obey him. But first of all, the assumption is that if he is a great Torah scholar, he is probably more right than I am. Now one can discuss—we talked about the value of autonomy, we already discussed that—not always is it certain that even if he is right I need to obey him, because there is some value in a person making decisions for himself autonomously. Fine. But substantive authority—not formal authority—always exists. Wherever there is a Torah scholar whom you esteem as probably getting closer to the truth than you do. So substantive authority exists later too.

Now the question is: to what are these things said? Or let’s start before that: why do people really mix up these two types of authority? Because when you want to explain to people why they should obey the Talmud, obey the Sanhedrin, what will you tell them? Because they had formal authority? That won’t satisfy people. Fine, but they could have made mistakes, so why should I do it? You have to explain to them: no, they never made a mistake, they were righteous heavenly beings, they never erred, angels. Everyone mentioned in the Talmud has divine inspiration. We know all those funny statements. Fine—so what does that actually mean? That it answered some need. Meaning, people don’t understand that there can be authority that you cannot argue with even though it may be mistaken. To accept such a thing requires a certain maturation, a certain maturity. I think that’s true. Meaning, I don’t disparage authorities—there are formal authorities and it’s important that such things exist, no question. And therefore people often resort to this kind of explanation that replaces formal authority with substantive authority. Meaning, it explains: look why we need to obey the Talmud—because there everyone was heavenly firebrands, there was no mistake there, so obviously what they said is pure truth and everyone must follow it. Every child understands that. Meaning, if they are such seraphim then obviously what they say must be done. To tell a child, look, maybe they made a mistake but there’s no choice, we need to do it because they have authority—that’s a recipe for problems. Because afterward he’ll say, wait, who says it and not me?

My hypothesis is that this is why all those stories were created, those myths about the extraordinary greatness of the sages of the Talmud and the medieval authorities (Rishonim). I’m not inclined to accept that. I think they were human beings like me and you, fine. They were wise, righteous, perhaps some more, some less, all fine. But I don’t think there was some phase transition at the closing of the Talmud, nor in the fifteenth century when the period of the medieval authorities (Rishonim) ended. Fine. They were Jews, Torah scholars; you can see from their writings that they were Torah scholars. I’m far from disparaging them, certainly. But obviously they can make mistakes. What do you mean? In the Talmud, Rav Ami and Rav Asi swear about what Rav said. Each one disputes the other about what Rav said—he was their teacher—and both were from the Land of Israel, since Rav spent time in the Land of Israel. And each swears about what he remembers. Then they go to Rav, in tractate Shevuot page 26, and say: wait, what did you actually say? The Talmud doesn’t tell us who was who, because that would be slander; the Talmud says one was right and one was wrong. Rav told them. So the second one says: what, I swore a false oath—how can that be? I did it in good faith. Rav said to him: “a person in an oath”—excluding one under compulsion. Meaning, don’t worry. If you swore because you were under compulsion, because you thought that really was the truth, then “a person in an oath” excludes one under compulsion. Which is a great novelty. To say that someone actually swore—why are you swearing there at all? No, if he thought that was the truth, then he can swear; and if it turns out false, it’s a false oath—that’s an interesting novelty.

In any case, you see that Rav Ami and Rav Asi were the leading sages of the generation in the Land of Israel, and one of them was mistaken. He didn’t remember what his teacher had said. Not only did he err in judgment; he didn’t remember what his teacher had said and he swore about it. So what, mistakes can’t happen? Human beings like me and you—they can make mistakes, however wise they are.

Therefore it seems to me that the more plausible approach—and this is what the Kesef Mishneh writes at the beginning of chapter 2 of the laws of rebellious elders—that their authority is because we accepted them upon ourselves, not because they were heavenly firebrands or anything like that, but because we accepted that this is the framework. And I once spoke about this and said something about the meaning of that decision to grant authority to the Talmud. To my mind it was a genius decision. I am amazed by that decision, really. Simply a genius decision. Yes, I think we discussed this once, right? They decided to give authority to a text that says nothing. It’s unbelievable. Meaning, you give authority to a text—what it says, we do not dispute. Except what? It says nothing. On every issue it addresses, you can find conflicting passages, or dispute within the passage itself. In a great many cases there is no decision in the Talmud itself. You can argue about which view Jewish law follows. There are some rules, and as is known there are exceptions to the rules. Meaning, there isn’t…

You are basically doing something that is almost self-contradictory, throwing out the baby with the bathwater in a way. You give authority to something that says nothing. But to my mind that is not true—it was a very intelligent step, I think. Because they really did not want to fix final bottom lines. They wanted to set a framework for discourse. So now anyone who argues has some framework, some shared platform within which the discussion takes place. So I bring proof from that passage, and he says no, this passage can be understood that way, and there’s another passage that contradicts it. They can discuss, reach conclusions or remain in dispute, but we all belong to the same table. And I think that was a brilliant idea. Again, I don’t know whether they thought of it in advance, but in hindsight, looking backward, it turned out to be a brilliant step. If they had fixed a binding Shulchan Arukh, I don’t think we’d be here today. If they had fixed a binding code instead of the Talmud. Is that what Maimonides tried to do? Yes, right. And I’m saying that if he had been accepted, we wouldn’t be here today. And he didn’t succeed in that. Right—he didn’t succeed because of that. There are more books on Maimonides than on the Talmud. Yes—because of that, it didn’t succeed. By the way, they accused him of that too. They didn’t accept what he tried to do partly for that reason. They weren’t willing to accept a binding codex. And why not? Because there are circumstances and outlooks and different places, and you can’t make everyone behave the same way. They don’t think the same way, they don’t live in the same environment. A Shulchan Arukh cannot bind everyone; it won’t work.

Even in the Shulchan Arukh itself, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the early halakhic decisors write that it is forbidden to rule from the Shulchan Arukh. Forbidden to rule from the Shulchan Arukh. Except what? There are decisors who say—the Maharshal, the Bach, and others—that since there are already commentaries around the Shulchan Arukh that bring the passages and discuss them, and sometimes even dispute it, then you may already rely on the Shulchan Arukh if you have to, because there are opinions there and you can… it’s not really some rigid codex. You have some degree of freedom within it. The halakhic DNA resists code-books. And that’s despite the fact that apparently we constantly look like we’re moving in that direction.

And therefore there were two extreme options, and probably neither would have worked—if I may risk the hypothesis. One option would be to set a Kitzur Shulchan Arukh. Then you get 100,000 different religions; there was no internet either, so over 2,000 years completely separate internal developments would emerge. What we see now with the Ethiopians arriving—fine, that’s exactly an example of what would have happened if every community had gone through that. What would the situation be today? It would just be a catastrophe. On the other hand, if there had been a Kitzur Shulchan Arukh for everyone, then there wouldn’t even be that. It would just be over, finished, there’d be nothing left of all this. This amazing idea that says: we fix a canonical text that says nothing—nothing in the sense that it doesn’t provide final bottom lines. It does say things, but there are no final bottom lines. It sets a framework for discourse. There are different opinions; you can move among them, find interpretations, see conflicting passages—but there is a framework.

These discussions—we once talked about this too. I was once at the Israel Democracy Institute—I talked about this there as well. There was a discussion between rabbis and jurists, I think organized by Tzohar; they invited me too. I don’t remember exactly what was there. And there were all sorts of accusations there against the Supreme Court; it was during the activism period of Aharon Barak. There were accusations against the Supreme Court that it basically does whatever it wants, and it’s all agendas. After Aharon Barak explained that he didn’t want Ruth Gavison because she has an agenda, they say: wait, it’s all agendas. And now Hayut is going the same way—she wants judges with an agenda. She wants judges whose agenda is on the table; until now there were judges with an agenda too.

Anyway, Engelard was sitting there—the religious Supreme Court justice at the time—and as far as he was concerned there was simply a shared basis for discourse. He didn’t understand what we even wanted from him. He says, what do you mean? It’s all purely professional work, no connection whatsoever to agenda. Just like what I later wrote there after Kalman Liebskind—almost exactly the same thing. The supermarket ruling caught my eye: Hayut writes there that this has nothing to do with religious and secular people; it’s a professional ruling. Now seven judges—five secular said open the supermarkets, the two religious objected—but it has nothing to do with religious and secular at all. In the same ruling they write that. In this woman’s mind—I don’t understand this. Is she an idiot? Maybe she’s looking specifically… No, it just happened by chance. You say yes? I see. It happened by chance. There were loads of such cases. Liebskind did more thorough work than I did; he brought a whole series of examples where the division was exactly what one would very much expect. Of course, all coincidences. Unrepresentative samples.

Anyway, the point is that Engelard was saying, what do you mean? It’s all professional work. There are professional disagreements, but it has nothing to do with agenda at all; it’s all mathematics, there’s no… It was bizarre. People were tearing their hair out; they didn’t know what to do with this disconnected creature. How do you argue with someone speaking utter nonsense? You can argue with someone who disagrees with you, but this seemed bizarre. And at a certain point I said to myself: listen, the man is not an idiot, I think. I didn’t know him, but I assume he isn’t an idiot. If he says something, it’s worth thinking about again.

And then I thought that maybe when people look at rabbinic decisions, the perspective is exactly the same. Those outside say: you rabbis do whatever you want; it’s all agenda. A Religious Zionist rabbi will say this, a left-wing rabbi will say that, a right-wing rabbi will say that, a Haredi rabbi will say that, a Hasidic rabbi, a Lithuanian rabbi—you know in advance what he’ll say on the interesting questions. There are many questions that aren’t connected to agendas; in the Supreme Court too there are questions not connected to agendas. But in places where it is connected to agenda, you see that the agenda determines what you say. And someone inside the discourse—and this is my important point, whether you’re inside or outside—someone inside the discourse understands that this is not entirely true. And here, in this case, I’m inside the discourse. In the legal world I’m outside, but in the halakhic world I’m inside the discourse. It is not true—not entirely true. There is influence from agenda, clearly. But it is not entirely true. There are rules of discourse, and there is right and wrong, and sometimes you can persuade and sometimes not. And even if someone isn’t persuaded, he knows that he’s not entirely in the right. We’re all human. But there is right and wrong, not just agendas.

So I said to myself: maybe what Engelard is saying to us is that if you were inside, you’d understand that some patterns of discourse developed there, in which there is right and wrong despite all the agendas. Of course there’s influence from agendas, and within the range of right and wrong you maneuver with the legal tools in a way that is influenced. No, but she described it as though there is no influence whatsoever. No, fine—he meant it is legal work. That can’t even be… no. He formulated it in an extreme way, fine. I don’t know exactly what he meant. I’m saying I understand that there is nevertheless something in what he said, even if not exactly as stated.

So this point of whether you are inside or outside: if you are inside and know the paths of discourse, you understand it isn’t true. There is influence from agenda, but there is also right and wrong. Someone looking from outside doesn’t understand. If the mathematics can explain both this and that, mathematically you can’t locate it. It looks as though both possibilities exist and everyone just picks the one he wants because of his agenda. But that’s not how it works. There are arguments and forms of thinking and things develop; the discipline develops.

Ah yes—why did I get into all this? Because of the Talmud. In the Talmud too it’s not that everything is open—that’s a mistake. Someone looking from outside thinks so. There is discourse, there is right and wrong, there are proofs from the Talmud and one has to deal with the proofs. Someone who says otherwise will not always succeed in standing his ground. Sometimes, if he is honest enough, he will have to admit that it’s not right. So even though the Talmud doesn’t provide final bottom lines, there is a kind of discourse that the Talmud instills in the halakhic world. And in that sense this framework saying that the Talmud is binding has meaning, even though it contains no final bottom lines. And this art of threading the needle in that way is truly inspiring to me. I stand amazed before this. It is an amazing phenomenon to me, utterly unique, I think without parallel. A completely dispersed people, living in entirely different places, thinking in entirely different ways, all working with the same text, with the same proofs. They send letters from one end of the world to the other. There is no overarching system like in an ordered state, no hierarchy, no organized exchange of views, nothing. Yet there is correspondence, and everyone speaks the same language. They learn a bit differently, there are different learning methods, but they can talk. I bring you proofs; you answer me or don’t answer me; you’re persuaded or not persuaded. We’re talking. It preserves a community that speaks the same language. That is genius. It’s an amazing phenomenon to me. People don’t sufficiently appreciate the power of this. It’s astonishing to me.

Anyway, back to our topic. The point is that formal authority ended with the Talmud; substantive authority can continue afterward. Formal authority, insofar as one can speak of it in the context of the Talmud, which is an open text. Now the question is what this applies to. As I said before, if you mix these two things up, then you basically say that if they were heavenly firebrands and they didn’t err, therefore one must obey them—but that’s for children. In the end, the more plausible explanation is that we accepted the Talmudic framework upon ourselves as binding. Not because there are no mistakes in the Talmud—there are quite a few mistakes in it, obviously. There are mistakes I can point to, and I infer from that that there are probably also mistakes I cannot point to. Statistically, there were probably mistakes there in Jewish law too. Human beings can always err. But I accept it because that is the law. Just as I accept the words of the legislator because that is the law. It’s a somewhat more complex statement, but I think it’s the right one. And that statement preserves the distinction between formal authority and substantive authority.

Why is that important? Because now I want to ask: what about authority regarding facts, as opposed to norms? Ordinary legal, halakhic authority deals with norms. Meaning, what is permitted and what is forbidden. Behavior—what is permitted, what is forbidden, for what you are punished, and so on. Those are the ordinary halakhic rules. Regarding those, I defined the two types of authority: formal authority, substantive authority, all fine.

But with respect to facts, one cannot speak of formal authority at all. About substantive authority there is room to discuss; but formal authority about facts cannot even be spoken of. Even if Moses our teacher stood here, it wouldn’t help. Why? Because if he imposes his formal authority on me regarding the existence of formal authority—even if Moses our teacher stood here and told me there is formal authority, I would not accept it, because there is no formal authority there, so I won’t accept it. The reason is: what is the meaning of formal authority? Formal authority means: look, you think this sort of act is permitted on the Sabbath? Maybe you are right, but we said it’s forbidden, so that’s what you have to do. You do not have to think we are right. What you think—that’s your business. If you think we are not right, then in your mind we are not right. Fine. But we demand that you do it even though you think it is not correct. That is the meaning of formal authority.

But when we speak of facts, we are not discussing the question of what we should do. We are discussing what we think, or what we should think. But what does “what we should think” mean? The question is what I think, not what I should think. Suppose I arrived at the conclusion that the messiah is fiction; there is no such thing. Fine. Now they tell me: that is denial of a principle. Meaning, you are a heretic; there are thirteen principles and one of them is belief in the messiah. Okay—so what can I do if I am a heretic? What do you want me to do now? So now should I tell you there is a messiah? But what I think is that there isn’t. That is my conclusion. So what does that help?

Formal authority regarding Jewish law can require me to behave in a way I think is wrong. That is a demand that is logically possible. One can accept it or not, depending on whether one recognizes that formal authority. But it is a demand that has logical standing—it is not self-contradictory. But a demand for formal authority regarding facts is a self-contradictory demand. “Heretic” also has halakhic meaning. What? “Heretic” also has halakhic meaning. Right—but it starts with the factual question. And even if we don’t agree on the factual plane—fine, then lower me into a pit and don’t raise me up. That’s another discussion. But first of all, what do you want from me? You say I’m a heretic—okay, more power to you, so I’m a heretic. What am I supposed to do? But that’s what I think. So what are you telling me? “All our tradition says that’s not true.” Fine, but I’ve concluded that what our tradition says is not true. What can I do? That’s my conclusion. And what do you want me to do—not think it? But that is what I think. That’s a fact. It’s what I think. And if that’s the fact as I see it, then even if everyone tells me a hundred thousand times that I’m not allowed to think that way, as far as I’m concerned that’s the fact. So what does it help? You can tell me a hundred thousand times—I very much want to obey you, I want not to be a heretic—I just can’t. That is not a demand I can fulfill. At most I can tell you verbally, “I believe with complete faith in the coming of the messiah.” I can say that, I can move my lips. But I cannot think it if I have concluded that it isn’t true. So what does that help?

What can you tell me? You can come with substantive authority, not formal authority. Here there is room to discuss. You can say there are very wise people, there are people who received information from Sinai, I don’t know, they have some other source of information. And then what does that mean? Believe them because they know better than you. Now this too is not a simple claim. Because if I’m persuaded that they know better than I do, then I’m simply persuaded they are right, so there’s no need to tell me anything more. It’s a way of persuading you to think differently. No, obviously. That’s why I’m saying: it’s not an issue of authority. Rather, if you tell me they know better than I do, and I truly become persuaded that they know better than I do, fine. Then I’m simply persuaded that I was mistaken; no problem. You’re not coming to me with an authoritative demand; this is just another reason convincing me that I was previously mistaken and now I understood my mistake. No, but I’m not persuaded how they know that. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m persuaded it’s true—what difference does it make? I’m persuaded they’re probably right. It’s like the doctor; I don’t know anatomy. Right, right—so what’s the problem? But still what he says is true. Once I’m persuaded—if he tells me to take the medicine—I really believe the medicine works. I really believe it works. I don’t know how it works because I didn’t study medicine, but I’m persuaded that it works. So what’s the problem? I’m convinced the medicine works without knowing how, but still my conclusion is that it works. I’m not taking it because of authority; I’m taking it because I’m persuaded it’s true. I wasn’t persuaded through direct knowledge; I was persuaded through other means. Fine. Everyone has his own paths of persuasion. A person can’t understand everything, so sometimes he relies on experts. That’s perfectly fine. So someone who thinks there are experts in the realm of thought—by the way, I’m not sure of that, but there are those who think so—then fine. To my mind that is legitimate. But one has to understand that this is not a concept of authority. It just means: I’ve become persuaded that it’s true. Fine. Whoever is persuaded is persuaded—that’s a tautological statement.

But you cannot make claims against someone who was not persuaded. Because what can you say to someone who wasn’t persuaded? Tell him they know better than you? If you manage to persuade me of that, I’ll be persuaded. But if not, then what do you want from me? I don’t accept it. By the way, more than that—even a doctor who indisputably knows medicine better than I do, yes? If I’m not persuaded and I reach the conclusion that he definitely made a mistake here—it can’t be—I checked online, I consulted I don’t know what, all sorts of reasons, I went to another doctor, whatever, all the doctors—I came to the conclusion they’re all wrong, then I won’t accept what they say. It may be foolish, I may be wrong, that’s not the issue. But no one can make claims against me, because everything the doctors tell me is not by authority but rather because they know—I’m supposed to accept what they say because they know better than I do. But if I have considerations that in my eyes are good enough and I don’t accept what they say, then no—nobody can make claims against me. What—is it forbidden not to accept what the doctor says? That’s not reasonable. It may be unwise because he understands it better than you do, but if I decide I don’t accept it, then I don’t accept it.

Could it be that in both cases—both formal authority and non-formal authority—if you don’t accept it, the result is simply that you don’t belong to the group? Fine, then I don’t belong. That’s perfectly fine. Let everyone define his own affiliations. I’m only saying: in terms of the claim against me that comes to persuade me by saying that what I’m saying is heresy—that is not a relevant claim. That’s what I meant. You can afterward lower me into a pit and not raise me out, or say I don’t get called to the Torah, I don’t count for a prayer quorum, fine—that’s all affiliation questions. Not only because of the condition, but the person himself who thinks this way—should he jump into the pit and not get out? What should he do? Not join the prayer quorum. What? Why? He thinks he’s right. Where? What formal authority? From the fact that anyone who doesn’t believe… Where? Where does this formal authority come from? If there’s no authority—there is formal authority of the Sages to say such things? Where? How is there formal authority? Who said there is such formal authority? There is no formal authority regarding facts. None, categorically. Not for the Talmud, not for the Sanhedrin, not for anyone. It can apply to behavior; it does not apply to facts.

No, but it starts with facts. Someone says: I do not think… But the behavior is the result of the… The halakhic norms here are the result of facts. So first discuss the facts. As far as the facts are concerned, no one can demand that I accept that the messiah will come because the Sanhedrin decided that the messiah will come. If in my view the fact is that the messiah will not come, then the Sanhedrin can dance the hora. What do I care what the Sanhedrin decided? True, there is no Sanhedrin now, but there’s some other formal authority. Which formal authority? To think that the messiah will arrive? But I’m convinced he won’t arrive. What do you want me to do? No, but in the end one has to… anyone who thinks otherwise… No problem, let them lower me into the pit. Fine—what do you want from me? Could be that you too… that I too—should I jump into the pit? That’s complete absurdity. What do you mean jump into the pit? I think they are mistaken, the Sanhedrin, that they are saying nonsense. So what does it mean to jump into the pit? It’s not one of the beliefs at all. That doesn’t matter whether they are mistaken or not. Of course it matters. After all, a heretic is someone who doesn’t accept what the Holy One, blessed be He, said—but the Holy One, blessed be He, didn’t say this, because it’s nonsense. That is precisely the definition of a heretic. Right—so let them lower me into the pit; I’m not jumping in. And there is also a formal authority that demanded you listen. Huh? There is also formal authority. No—formal authority only in fields that concern action. In fields that concern facts there is no such thing as formal authority. Regarding fact. Regarding fact. There is no such thing that concerns… no formal authority, even for the Sanhedrin, even for those who in the halakhic context do have formal authority—it is all in the halakhic context. That’s what I’m saying. In the factual context there is no formal authority—not because we don’t have a Sanhedrin today. Even if we had a Sanhedrin today, the Sanhedrin cannot determine facts. If the Sanhedrin determines that now it is day, that won’t help—now it is night. I choose this example not accidentally, yes? “When they tell you about day that it is night, and left that it is right, and right that it is left”—and that… No, there is no such thing. Right now, now it is night. No Sanhedrin standing here will help. Unless, of course, they persuade me that they are so wise and lucid, and that what is written in them… and that I have some visual defect, I don’t know… Yes, then if they persuade me of that, I’ll accept it, no problem. But I’ll accept it not because they are the Sanhedrin. I’ll accept it because I’ve been persuaded.

So there is never a claim here on the basis of authority. At most you can use it as a persuasive argument. Then either you succeed in persuading or you don’t. Okay, and how is that different from commanding you to love, to hate, not to covet? Those too are matters of fact. No, now that’s slightly different, because maybe I can control my love and love someone whom naturally I perhaps wouldn’t have loved. But after I work on myself, I really do love him. Not that I trick myself—“work on myself” in the sense of self-development… yes. You can also create a kind of cognitive dissonance, get yourself to believe something even though you’re not inclined to believe it. No—and that I won’t do. You mean from the outset… No, I won’t do that, because why should I believe something I think is not true?

Hmm. Is the Rabbi’s claim a normative claim—that this is how it should be—or a practical claim? Meaning, the claim is that this is a logical claim. What do you mean logical? Logically, one cannot demand that I think what I do not think, because I do not think it. What does that have to do with logic? You can demand that someone work on himself, cause himself to… why not? No, because “work on myself” does not mean that I believe it. After you work on yourself… No, even then I won’t believe it, because I worked on myself. Someone can demand that I be hypnotized and be made to believe in the coming of the messiah. After such hypnosis, I still do not believe in the coming of the messiah. That isn’t called my believing in the coming of the messiah. Someone hypnotized me.

This is in tractate Berakhot page 9. The Talmud says there… it says: “and they emptied Egypt.” “One sage said: against their will, against their will.” One teaching says: against the will of Israel, another says: against the will of Egypt. Fine? So the Talmud says there… I don’t remember all the details, it’s written there on page 9. An interesting Talmudic passage. Let’s see. I’ll try to open it. Berakhot. One second—I opened tractate Sukkah. Sorry, one second. Looking for… Ah, here, Berakhot. “And they asked,” yes, 9b. Rav Ami said: this teaches that they lent them to them against their will. Some say against the will of the Egyptians, and some say against the will of Israel. Whose will was it against? Either Egypt’s or Israel’s. The one who says against the will of the Egyptians, as it is written, “the fair wife at home divides the spoil.” The one who says against the will of Israel says because of burden. Israel didn’t want to carry it all on their backs, so all that equipment was given to them against Israel’s will. And against the will of the Egyptians is because of the verse “the fair wife at home divides the spoil”—meaning, they somehow twisted their minds so that they gave to the Jewish people as if willingly. The Holy One, blessed be He, somehow changed their attitude, hypnotized the Egyptians, convinced them that they really loved Israel and would give them all these things. That is called against the will of the Egyptians.

Now “against their will”—but after the hypnosis, that’s what they want, right? Still, that’s called against their will. So after you hypnotize me and I believe in the messiah, that doesn’t mean I believe in the messiah. It just means the hypnosis—that’s not me. And if so, then the same should apply to commandments like loving the convert— No, there I myself do the work. I think that one really ought to love him. If the Holy One, blessed be He, says one should love the convert, then one really should love him. The fact that my personal inclination is not to love him means I have to work on myself in order to love him, because I truly believe I should. That’s not the same thing. So I will work on myself—not in the sense of deceiving myself. “Work on myself” in the sense of character work, yes, not lying to myself. In any case, the question also begins because even if they demand that you work on yourself, that demand itself has no formal authority, because it is based on— No, it draws from a fact, namely that you need to believe a certain fact that in my view is not true. Yes. So that demand itself has no force at all. That’s what I said. That’s what I’m saying.

No, you’re explaining something else. No—you’re saying, if I understood you correctly, that you cannot work on yourself. I’m saying not only can you not—you also shouldn’t. No, clear enough. I also shouldn’t. It’s two sides of the same coin. Meaning, even if I work on myself, I still don’t believe it. So it’s not a matter of inability. It’s not about lack of ability. Rather, obviously there is no room for such a demand at all. It is irrelevant. It’s not what I think. That’s what I think. You can say perhaps that he is mistaken and compelled by his opinion, and therefore I also say they shouldn’t lower me into a pit—but that is another question. But maybe all the same the commandment—maybe the demand—is not about belief in the deepest and most consistent sense. It’s not a matter of depth and consistency. That is not called believing in something—not called believing. Okay, fine, but maybe whoever wrote, whoever held that one can speak of such an obligation, that’s what he meant—that in practice you should think that way. So in that case, then he has to persuade me on that point, because I don’t agree with that definition. Meaning, to believe something means to believe something—not merely to house something in your head. To house something in your head—if a certain act is called selecting, selecting—there formal authority exists, yes. But not formal authority to think that it really is selecting—formal authority not to do it. Not to do it. To behave according to that, yes. Yes, obviously. But I don’t agree with the Sanhedrin even when they said… because that’s not a fact. Selecting is not a fact. From the standpoint of asking me what I think about selecting, that’s a fact—and there there is no authority. But regarding what to do—yes, authority can apply. The Knesset too doesn’t tell me what to think; it tells me what to do or what not to do. And you think this law of the Knesset is not right—fine. You’re allowed to think it’s not right. No one demands that you think it’s right. You need to do it. So this is simply logic; it’s not specifically legal or theological or halakhic. I simply think it’s logically impossible.

Does the issue of belief in the messiah obligate you to something practical? No, it’s not around doing something. No, no—even if you had to, say, believe… someone who believes… To say means to think. It’s not some extra thing. No, if you were obligated to do some act—repentance, for example. And if you were obligated to do some action, say go to some place once a year and pray that he should come, I think even then you wouldn’t have to do it. Why? Because it rests on a fact? Since it started earlier. Obviously. That’s not called praying for the coming of the messiah if I don’t think he’s going to come. Not to pray—to bring a sacrifice. To bring a sacrifice so that he will come? That’s not called bringing a sacrifice so that he will come. What good would that do? He’s not going to come. If I’m supposed to do some formal action, fine, do a formal action—but then it’s already not connected to the messiah. Do whatever you want. But if I’m supposed to do acts that will bring the messiah when I don’t think there is a messiah, no one can obligate me to do such a thing. Formally they can, of course, but it has no point. And the acts—in the end one needs to do that formal act? What? That formal act? I wouldn’t do it. You’re asking whether one should—I wouldn’t do it. No, also one need not, because as you said earlier, every obligation that rests on a fact— Yes. I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it. Also one need not, because as you said earlier, every obligation that rests on a fact has no formal force either. That’s my claim. But the Sanhedrin will come and say no, we think the obligation has force even regardless of the fact. Even if you don’t believe the fact, do what we say although it relates to the fact.

Yes—killing a louse on the Sabbath, even though you are certain that the louse does reproduce and is actually an ordinary living creature, but the Sanhedrin tells you: kill the louse now on the Sabbath, just to remove from the minds of the heretics who think the louse reproduces. Fine? Kill the louse now on the Sabbath. So now the question is whether that instruction has force. You understand? Because they are certain that the louse does not reproduce. Good question. I’m not sure. I think not. Ah, that is already an additional stage; it’s not connected to what you said before, that one can’t do it. Right. Therefore I said: here they can make that demand. I don’t think that directives of the Talmud have force when it is clear to me that they were given on the basis of a factual error. In my view they have no force. They have no force, and one doesn’t even need a court to cancel them. What’s the difference between a mistake about what Rav said and a mistake about what Rav thought? What? What’s the difference between a mistake regarding what Rav who was disputed said, and what Rav thought? There’s no difference. Right. There too there’s no authority. Then which mistakes are accepted? Which mistakes do receive formal authority? A halakhic mistake. What do you mean? In the reasoning, the interpretation, whatever they did there. A halakhic mistake: I think some act is permitted on the Sabbath, but they derived or reasoned that it is forbidden. Fine. I think it is permitted, but I will not do it on the Sabbath. They have authority. Where is the difference between that and a factual mistake? Because with regard to facts one cannot—this is logic. I have no halakhic source for what I’m saying now. It is simply a logical distinction. One cannot demand that I think what I do not think.

No, no, no—not think. What is the difference between saying that if it seems to me they erred in interpretation, I have to do what they say even though I think they erred in interpretation, and saying that if they erred in reality… Yes, I understand. I’m saying because interpretation yields norms. And when in the Talmud and in the Torah there is a concept of authority for sages, then I say: if there is such a concept of authority—which itself can also be discussed, but it is written—if there is authority for sages, then presumably it applies only to norms. I see no reason to extend it elsewhere. Therefore I say: where norms arise on the basis of a factual error—if they themselves had understood the facts correctly, they too would not have said it—then no, their ruling has no force there. Even though someone could say that the majority of halakhic decisors say otherwise, so this is not an absurd thing to say. I just don’t think so. But as I said, that is another step, another whole issue.

This also affects whether I myself join the prayer quorum—whether I myself join the prayer quorum, whether I lower myself into the pit. What? Here too it depends whether I myself join the prayer quorum—whether I lower myself into the pit. No, but it’s not the same thing. Because the problem in joining a prayer quorum is belonging, or the departure from the collective involved there. Not obligation to the collective. Departure from the collective can exist even if they are mistaken. No, no, because that collective is itself a collective based on error. What do you mean? That collective is based on something the Holy One, blessed be He, did not say. So if I don’t believe something the Holy One, blessed be He, didn’t say in the first place, then there is no departure from the collective here. It’s departure from the collective of fools. Someone who left the collective of fools certainly counts for a prayer quorum. On the contrary, maybe they don’t count for a prayer quorum. You can’t join them for a prayer quorum. No, I can join them, because I’m a liberal. I’m willing to count fools in a prayer quorum too. But they can’t refuse to count me. From my perspective, they can throw me out. But I’m saying: I don’t feel I have any problem joining the prayer quorum.

In any case, the claim is that regarding facts, formal authority has no meaning. Regarding substantive authority, that depends—either we were persuaded or we weren’t. If we were persuaded that they truly understand better than we do and what they say is probably true, then we were persuaded and the question doesn’t arise. But assuming I was not persuaded, then what do you want me to do with the fact that he is a great sage? There are great sages from all directions saying many things, all sorts of great sages—really great sages, I’m not speaking dismissively. What am I supposed to do with that?

As people always say, the Steipler… once they gave me the book Chayei Olam by the Steipler. I was in a yeshiva week in some yeshiva in Bnei Brak, back when I was a youngster. They sent us from Midrashiyat Noam for a yeshiva week at Ohel Yaakov in Bnei Brak. Some student there was taking care of us, and he gave me the book Chayei Olam by the Steipler. There I saw that if you ask questions like that, then what do you think… If you rely on sages, you’ll get nowhere. In the end, you have to decide what seems reasonable to you and make your own decisions. Nothing helps. So no—I’m saying, what a wise person says has significance, but it is not absolute significance. Meaning, fine, okay, I’ll reconsider if a wise person said it. I agree. But it certainly isn’t nonsense. Fine. But in the end I have to make decisions.

So the claim is that with respect to facts, one cannot really speak about authorities at all. One can speak only about persuasion. Even substantive authority is not really authority; it is only persuasion. I was persuaded, fine—but not that I must accept their words because they are wise. Rather, it is sensible to accept their words because they are wise. That is at most what can be claimed here. And then it comes out that basically all… and that is the meaning of substantive authority. Yes, ostensibly always. Right. It isn’t really authority. The concept of authority there is being used metaphorically. Right. Exactly—that’s what I’m saying.

So what emerges is that there is a big question how to relate to all kinds of principles of this sort. Because when Maimonides established principles, people understand this as some kind of halakhic determination. Not only do they understand it that way—really, Maimonides writes in three places in his Commentary on the Mishnah, and this would take a long time to show, but in three places he writes that one does not issue halakhic rulings in matters that have no practical relevance. In issues of interpretation, beliefs and opinions, thought, one does not issue halakhic rulings in those domains. But Maimonides himself—there is an article by Henshke, an interesting article—shows that in all three places where Maimonides says this in the Commentary on the Mishnah, if you check the passages those mishnayot are dealing with and then go to the Mishneh Torah, he ruled there as Jewish law. In all three places where Maimonides says in the Commentary on the Mishnah that one does not issue halakhic rulings in matters with no practical relevance, in those very three places he ruled them as Jewish law in the Mishneh Torah. I don’t even remember how he resolves that. Is that one of the opinions? Yes—it doesn’t concern practice and yet he rules it. He somehow found some practical implication there, I don’t know. I don’t remember the examples exactly. One of them is in Sotah, in the Commentary on the Mishnah; there are two more I don’t remember.

What article? Where is the article? It was in a journal that comes out at Bar-Ilan, called Da’at I think, a few years ago. I don’t remember if it was four or five years ago or six or seven, something like that. But actually that fits what the Rabbi is saying—regarding Jewish law, in matters of belief one does not rule practically; but in practice, if there is some implication… No—Maimonides defined it as something that has no practical relevance. So why do you say it does have practical relevance? In any case, for our purposes, maybe he really ruled only the practical aspect of it, but in terms of thought you can go on thinking what you want, only do what needs to be done. Like we discussed… contrary to what I said earlier. Fine, but I don’t know; one really needs to look at those places again to remember. I just remembered that article now.

In any case, Maimonides says that with regard to something that doesn’t concern practice, one does not issue a halakhic ruling. Yet he established thirteen principles, and that has implications. Meaning, someone who is an apostate, who doesn’t believe, denies a principle—there are all sorts of implications. So yes, Maimonides sees these as some kind of binding truths. And I assume what stands behind this is that Maimonides understands it as some sort of law transmitted to Moses at Sinai. Meaning, it is simply information we received from the Holy One, blessed be He, and you need to accept it by virtue of substantive authority, not formal authority. That is: the Holy One, blessed be He, said it, and that’s that. If you don’t… you can’t not accept it because the Holy One, blessed be He, said it. Fine?

Now here, of course, one can dispute Maimonides on that very point. True, if the Holy One, blessed be He, said it, I’ll accept it. The question is whether He said it. Meaning, the status of these thirteen principles is not entirely clear to me. Which of them are really from Sinai and a tradition from Sinai, and which are a later development in the Talmud or even after the Talmud? Regarding anthropomorphism, even the Raavad already comments against Maimonides that “better and greater people than you failed in this matter” of corporealizing God. The Raavad agrees with Maimonides, but he says: fine, many better people than you in previous generations failed in this. Meaning, this isn’t something even the Talmud established. And for Maimonides it is a principle of faith. It seems to me—maybe Yisrael Loman writes that this is Maimonides’ invention. Yes, that it is Maimonides’ invention. That’s clearly exaggerated; it isn’t true that it’s Maimonides’ invention. One can bring proofs for it from earlier generations. But it is true that you can remain alive, so to speak, even if you think differently. Meaning, you can somehow manage with the sources, or at least find positions with which it works out, or something like that, even if you don’t think like Maimonides. And that is the Raavad’s claim. I don’t think it’s really Maimonides’ invention—that’s too extreme.

So I’m saying that in this sense, even though these are facts—in the sense of, say, the messiah—the claim is that you have to accept it because there is a tradition about it. So first of all, the question is whether there is such a tradition about it. Maybe yes, maybe no—I’m not sure. There is room to discuss. Who says this really is a tradition from Sinai, that the Holy One, blessed be He, said there will be a messiah? The Sages already talk about how this does not appear in the Torah, even ask why it doesn’t appear in the Torah. So either I accept it—and again, it may really be a law transmitted to Moses at Sinai—but suppose I concluded that I’m not persuaded it is a law transmitted to Moses at Sinai. I’m wrong about that, but that’s what I think. And once again we are back to the question of facts. Either yes or no. So what exactly can they demand of me?

Beyond that, the more this thing is both logically compelling and, let’s call it, useful from an interest standpoint—meaning, there is some reason to say the messiah will eventually come, yes? That’s obvious. As Leibowitz said, the messiah always has to arrive sometime, because that gives us motivation to keep working, not to despair. Okay? So there is a strong incentive to invent such a thing. That in itself raises some question mark about how far this tradition is really an authentic tradition. And if it is not an authentic tradition, who says I have to accept it? And if it is—then I accept it because I’m persuaded, because if the Holy One, blessed be He, said it He probably knows. But again, this is not by virtue of some authority. So in the end I am in great doubt about their halakhic status or intellectual status—I don’t know—the status of the principles in general. To my mind it’s not such a simple question, all these principles. Because the principles, although they deal with things that are ostensibly non-empirical—how do you know whether the messiah will come or not? How do you form a view about whether the messiah will come or not? We have no tools. I don’t see any tools other than tradition to settle that question, right?

So ostensibly you say: well, if that’s so, then it leads you to two conclusions because we have no tools. The first conclusion says: fine, if you don’t have tools, then accept what the tradition says. After all, you can’t reach the opposite conclusion, so you have no basis to reject what tradition says. The second thing: our sages who say this also had no tools to arrive at it, so how did they arrive at it? Apparently they received it from Sinai—because if they invented it on their own, where would they have invented it from? Okay? So those are two conclusions that emerge from the fact that this really is a question that is hard to decide using logical, observational, or other tools.

But to my mind, on the other hand, that itself raises doubt, because there is a strong motivation to conclude that there is a messiah. In fact, all kinds of religions reached conclusions that all kinds of messiahs existed, and I assume most Jews don’t accept that. So how did they invent it? Did they have a tradition from Sinai? No—they invented it because they had an interest in group cohesion, to say there is a messiah here, or there will be a messiah, or all sorts of things of that kind. And that takes us straight to the phenomenon of false messianism. The phenomenon of false messianism actually demonstrates this process—how a group invents a messiah for itself for all sorts of needs. Sometimes it invents a messiah for itself for all sorts of needs; sometimes it’s a messiah who really and sincerely believes about himself that he is the messiah. That doesn’t matter. But people follow him—why? Because for some reason it is convenient or fitting for them to join the move. Why only because it’s convenient? Maybe because they were really persuaded? Could be. But in the end you conclude he was a false messiah, so how were they persuaded? Well, maybe he succeeded in confusing them. And maybe that too is helped by the fact that, as is known, false messianic phenomena usually flourish in times of distress. That is a known historical fact. And therefore that probably is not accidental. Again, you can say it’s an unrepresentative sample. But probably it’s not accidental. Rather, when people are in distress they need a messiah more; when they need a messiah more, they are more easily persuaded that someone is the messiah. Try convincing people today that someone is the messiah when they’re living well and everything is fine—it’s harder. But people who are persecuted, and this gives them their only hope—it’s easier for them to be persuaded there is a messiah.

So I say that all these things raise doubts about the two aspects I spoke about earlier. First, you see that yes, one can invent a messiah, and it does not necessarily come from Sinai—sorry that I’m preaching heresy here; to my mind I’m preaching lucidity. And second, that itself raises suspicion about the claim that this messiah is a tradition. Because if there is an interest involved, who says it’s true? Since who says it’s true, then once I no longer accept the tradition that says there is a messiah, why assume there will be one? They always tell me, look, you have no tools to decide there isn’t. Fine. But on the other hand, I also have no indication that there is. Tradition comes to me and says there is. Okay? Therefore the question of false messianism is a very significant question.

I’m saying this because, as I already see I’m not getting there yet, but we’ll see later that false messiah is not a halakhic concept. Therefore there are those who will say it’s not an important concept, although I would not say that. There is no orderly discussion of the phenomenon of false messianism. That’s what I discovered around my daughter’s paper. There is no orderly discussion of it. And why isn’t there? Because it’s not a halakhic question. There is no prohibition against believing that someone is the messiah if he is not the messiah. There is a prohibition of a false prophet—that is an explicit prohibition, an explicit negative commandment. Both to be a false prophet and to believe a prophet who is a false prophet. But there is no prohibition at all against declaring yourself the messiah even if you are not the messiah—except perhaps the prohibition against lying, but not really. There is no prohibition against declaring something like this, that you are the messiah. And there is no prohibition against accepting the messianic status of someone who is a false messiah. If you think you are the messiah, then you’re not lying. Yes, exactly. It’s imaginary, as they say—it’s not lying.

And there’s no prohibition in following him either, even if I know he is a false messiah but I want to follow him. There’s no prohibition in that; I haven’t violated any halakhic prohibition. So what is the problem with the whole phenomenon of false messianism? The problem is not the prohibition involved. Yes—the problem is the damage involved. And that raises the question: okay, so how do you define what false messianism is? If this were a halakhic definition, then there would be halakhic criteria telling me what a false messiah is and what is not a false messiah. But how do I know? So one is naturally led to say: fine, I know based on the end result. A false messiah is judged by his end, as Arik said earlier. Let’s see whether in the end he actually becomes the messiah or not. But those are Chabad excuses—we already know them. Or Rabbi Hillel’s “Israel has no messiah.” What? We were not worthy. He was a true messiah, only we were not worthy, so in the end he died and didn’t build us the Temple. Ah, he didn’t die. Look, he disappeared, evaporated, and didn’t build us the Temple. Fine? Those are excuses that always come after a false messianic phenomenon, because you need to protect that agenda. There are always excuses.

And that means that if you want to argue for the existence of a false messiah, you need some criterion that works in real time. Because if you are not persuaded in real time that he is a false messiah, the future won’t help you. Because in the future there will always be excuses saying, well, we were not worthy and therefore it didn’t materialize, but he was really a true messiah. The problem is with us, not him. Fine? “Israel was worthy that Hezekiah should be the messiah”—you said? But they did not merit it. The Sages already say that. No, that’s not an invention of later generations. This basically turns the question into one that cannot be falsified. Namely, whether someone is the messiah or not. Because whatever fact you bring, same thing. But he’s a false messiah. How do you know he’s a false messiah? Because it didn’t happen? No, no—we were not worthy. He was hospitalized—fine, because we were not worthy. He went insane—fine, he was a true messiah. I’m saying this because you can say it about anything. Excuses have never been locked away. We are strong in excuses.

So in the end it is difficult to establish a criterion for how you determine that something is false messianism—especially as a halakhic question. So what then? This is a struggle that is more sociological than halakhic. Because the phenomenon of false messianism is a super-destructive phenomenon. I do not deny the importance of the struggle against false messianism—on the contrary, I very much believe in it. But on the other hand it is a struggle that is very hard to conduct, because there are no halakhic criteria, no historical criteria, so what is there? Here there are questions—and this already begins to enter the topic—there are methodological questions that arise in this context. How does one clarify the concept of false messianism? What is false messianism? How should one define the concept? And before how to define the concept, what method should we use to define it? Not what the definition is—what method? What should we be looking at? Maimonides? There are no such definitions there. Jewish law? No. Jewish law hardly defines what a false messiah is and what is not a false messiah. Almost not at all. So then what yes? And the result, as I said earlier, is not enough. So even the methodological question is problematic.

All I can do is try to look at history—and that is a circular method—look at history, at those people about whom a broad consensus ultimately decided that they really were false messiahs, and try to distill characteristics from that. And not only the characteristic that they were disproven, because I’ll show you that there were messiahs who were disproven and people did and did not say about them that they were false messiahs. Starting with Hezekiah, but not only him. Meaning, the fact that in the end he was disproven tells you nothing. You need to find characteristics in real time. Take those people who were declared false messiahs and try to see where, in real time, one could have seen it. What in their conduct actually expressed the false messianism. To find some common denominator. Yes. And even after we do all that, someone can still come and say: I don’t accept that they were false messiahs, and therefore don’t derive criteria from here. So what if it was decided about him that he was a false messiah? “Leave Israel alone; if they are not prophets, they are the children of prophets”? No—I don’t accept that. Meaning, in any case, I am in some sense begging the question here. There is a method here that is a very problematic method in this discussion. So that is just a methodological introduction. Let’s stop here.