Topics in Halakhic Thought – Lecture 4

Table of Contents

• Formal authority and substantive authority
• Facts versus norms, and the impossibility of formal authority over facts
• The commandment of belief and the counting of the commandments in Maimonides
• Miracles, logic, and the meaninglessness of “logical miracles”
• Jewish thought as factual claims and the implications for heresy and authority
• Halakhic authority: “do not deviate,” the Sanhedrin, and authority after the ordination was abolished
• Formal authority from below: the local rabbinic authority and the Talmud
• Halakhic weight versus formal authority: Maimonides, the Shulchan Arukh, Mishnah Berurah
• The Rosh, Baal HaMaor, the Raavad, and error in an explicit Mishnah versus error in judgment
• Autonomous halakhic ruling as an obligation and the Maharal’s critique of codification
• The limits of autonomy: someone who is not qualified, after the fact, and consulting a rabbi
• Majority, doubt, “pressing circumstances,” and the claim that there is no majority against the truth
• The oven of Achnai, the heavenly voice, and Rabbi Meir as evidence for autonomy
• The question of prayer with a quorum versus intention as an example of personal decision-making

Summary

General Overview

The text distinguishes between formal authority and substantive authority, and argues that formal authority applies only to norms and not to facts, because you cannot command a person “to think” a factual claim that he does not believe. It maintains that Jewish thought mostly deals with factual claims, and therefore there cannot be formal authority in that realm. In contrast, it presents a model in which, within Jewish law itself, formal authority “from above” exists only for the Sanhedrin by virtue of “do not deviate,” and after the abolition of ordination, what remains is only expertise (substantive authority) or communal acceptance “from below,” such as the local rabbinic authority and the Talmud. It brings proofs and inspiration from the Rosh, Baal HaMaor, the Raavad, and the Maharal for the claim that today there is, in principle, no obligation to obey halakhic decisors by virtue of formal authority, and it develops the view that a Torah scholar even has an obligation to rule according to his own conclusion after analysis, rather than relying blindly on codifications, while also addressing questions about miracles, logic, “pressing circumstances,” majority, and topics like the oven of Achnai.

Formal Authority and Substantive Authority

The speaker defines formal authority as authority that obligates by virtue of status or institution, like the authority of the Sanhedrin, which binds by virtue of “do not deviate,” and like the obligation to accept the words of the Holy One, blessed be He, simply because He is the Holy One, blessed be He. He defines substantive authority as the authority of an expert, such as a doctor, where the logic of obeying him stems from the probability that he is correct and not from an institutional obligation, so that disobedience is at most foolish but not a transgression. He argues that substantive authority can exist both in the factual realm and in the normative realm, whereas formal authority can exist only in the normative realm.

Facts versus Norms, and the Impossibility of Formal Authority over Facts

The speaker argues that in the realm of norms one can demand obedience even when a person thinks the halakhic decisor is mistaken, because obedience is a practical action that can be required. But in the realm of facts, he says, formal authority is a conceptual contradiction, because obedience in the factual realm means “thinking” or “believing” as the authority says, and there is no meaning to the demand “you must think” when the person in fact thinks otherwise. He illustrates this with belief in the coming of the Messiah versus the opinion of Rabbi Hillel that “Israel has no Messiah, for they already consumed him in the days of Hezekiah,” and argues that at most one can say it outwardly, but not truly believe it by formal coercion.

The Commandment of Belief and the Counting of the Commandments in Maimonides

The speaker rejects the claim that there is a commandment to believe in the coming of the Messiah, and says that in Maimonides’ enumerations there is no such commandment. He agrees that in Maimonides there is a commandment of belief, and presents it as a “problematic” commandment according to his own approach, because in his view “there is no such thing as a commandment to believe,” and one cannot command facts, even if Maimonides “commands it eighteen times.” He says that if Maimonides was “an intelligent Jew,” then there is room to assume that the commandment has some other explanation, such as a command to do something practical, like deepening and studying matters of faith, rather than a command regarding a mental state of belief.

Miracles, Logic, and the Meaninglessness of “Logical Miracles”

The speaker argues that there are no “logical miracles,” and distinguishes between a miracle against the laws of nature and a miracle against the laws of logic, the latter being impossible because it has no meaning. He cites, in the name of Maimonides in the Guide for the Perplexed, the example of “a square whose diagonal is shorter than its side,” and also attributes similar views to the Rashba (in Responsum 413) and to Sefer HaIkkarim. He argues that “the unity of opposites” and “rising beyond logic” are “Christian inventions” that became popular “from the time of Hasidism onward” and entered “our world,” and he presents them as “nonsense” and “mere lip movement.” He discusses questions such as “a stone that the Holy One, blessed be He, cannot lift,” a wall that withstands every shell versus a shell that penetrates every wall, and the story of Puss in Boots as a parable for the claim that there is no room for questions that assume a contradiction in the definition, because “there is nothing there to carry out.”

Jewish Thought as Factual Claims and the Implications for Heresy and Authority

The speaker argues that most of the field of Jewish thought deals with factual claims, such as the coming of the Messiah, providence, the unique spiritual quality of Israel, reward and punishment, the World to Come, Gehinnom, and Satan. He emphasizes that even if these claims are not open to sensory observation or scientific decision, they are still categorically factual, and therefore there cannot be formal authority over them that obligates belief. He says that one can be persuaded to accept a factual claim because the Holy One, blessed be He, said it and “He knows,” but if a person is not convinced, there is no way to demand that he accept it “by virtue of formal authority.” Therefore, labeling someone a “heretic” does not create the ability to demand that he change his position, but only the possibility of persuasion by substantive authority.

Halakhic Authority: “Do Not Deviate,” the Sanhedrin, and Authority After the Abolition of Ordination

The speaker says that concepts of authority in Jewish law begin with “do not deviate,” and according to most views, aside from “the view of Sefer HaChinukh,” it grants authority only to the Sanhedrin. He argues that no other sage or institution has authority by virtue of “do not deviate,” and that today “there is no longer any such thing” as formal authority from above, ever since ordination and the Sanhedrin ceased to exist. He presents two alternatives after the Sanhedrin: substantive authority based on expertise in Jewish law, and formal authority that comes from below through acceptance.

Formal Authority from Below: the Local Rabbinic Authority and the Talmud

The speaker describes the local rabbinic authority as formal authority whose source is communal acceptance, something like a contract that defines in which areas the rabbi is authorized to decide, from public matters to the possibility of broader acceptance. He argues that the Talmud has formal authority not because it is always right, but “because it is the Talmud,” and explains this as authority created by the fact that “we accepted it upon ourselves,” as he attributes to the Kesef Mishneh at the beginning of chapter 2 of the laws of rebels. He defines this as a kind of nationwide local rabbinic authority, and adds that after the Talmud there is no factor that all of the Jewish people accepted upon themselves with similar formal authority.

Halakhic Weight versus Formal Authority: Maimonides, the Shulchan Arukh, Mishnah Berurah

The speaker defines Maimonides, the Shulchan Arukh, and other great sources as possessing substantive authority and significant weight, but not formal authority. He argues that the Shulchan Arukh was not accepted in a general way that creates formal authority, and proves this from the fact that the commentaries on it disagree with it. He presents the distinction between “weight” and “authority” by saying that one needs “a good reason” to depart from their words, but if a person responsibly reaches the conclusion that they were mistaken, “there is no reason at all to listen to him.”

The Rosh, Baal HaMaor, the Raavad, and Error in an Explicit Mishnah versus Error in Judgment

The speaker cites the Rosh in Sanhedrin, chapter 4, section 6, who quotes Baal HaMaor in the name of “a great sage” as saying that “nowadays we do not have error in judgment,” because all the laws are decided from the Talmud or from the Geonim. He presents Baal HaMaor’s rejection, according to which if the error is not evident from the Mishnah or from the Talmud explicitly and without doubt, then it is an error in judgment and not an error in an explicit Mishnah, and even rulings of the Geonim that stem from a “decisive opinion” do not create an error in an explicit Mishnah. He presents the Raavad as agreeing in principle with “the sage spoke the truth,” but linking error in an explicit Mishnah regarding the Geonim to a case in which the decisor had not heard their words, and if he had heard them he would have retracted “truly and clearly,” while adding a reservation regarding someone who disagrees on the basis of reasoning. He presents the Rosh himself as extending the principle also to “the sages of every generation,” but only when, after hearing their words, “they seem right in his eyes” and he admits that he was mistaken. On the other hand, he rules that when their words do not seem right in his eyes and he has proofs, then “Yiftach in his generation is like Samuel in his generation,” and he “can overturn their words,” and even “disagree with the words of the Geonim” in any matter that is not clarified in the Talmud arranged by Rav Ashi and Ravina.

Autonomous Halakhic Ruling as an Obligation and the Maharal’s Critique of Codification

The speaker formulates, based on the Rosh, a position according to which a sage has not only the right but the obligation to rule according to what he understands after analysis, and he connects this to the codification controversies of the 16th century surrounding the Shulchan Arukh and the Rema. He presents the Maharal, his brother Rabbi Chaim ben Rabbi Betzalel (Be’er Mayim Chaim), and the Maharshal as opponents of the idea that a book of rulings should replace root-level analysis, and notes that even the standard commentaries write that one may not rule directly from the Shulchan Arukh. He cites the Maharal in Netiv HaTorah, chapter 15, who explains “the destroyers of the world” as those who issue halakhic rulings from their Mishnah without “the essential reasoning of the Mishnah” and without “clear intellect,” and his statement that it is “more fitting and more correct” to rule from the Talmud, even if there is a risk of error, because “a sage has only what his intellect gives him,” and someone who rules from one compilation “walks like a blind man on the road.” He emphasizes the Maharal’s formulation that the sage is “beloved by the blessed God” when he rules as his intellect requires, even if he is mistaken.

The Limits of Autonomy: Someone Who Is Not Qualified, After the Fact, and Consulting a Rabbi

The speaker rejects an anarchic understanding, and argues that even the Rosh is speaking about someone who is qualified to decide—that is, a Torah scholar who understands how Jewish law works—and not an ignoramus or a child. He says that someone who has no time to study in depth will, after the fact, be forced to rely on books of rulings “when necessary,” because “necessity is not to be condemned,” but in principle “it is bad to do that,” and the basic obligation is study and independent decision. He says that consulting a rabbi is good and useful, but it is not formal authority, and in the end the decision is the person’s own.

Majority, Doubt, “Pressing Circumstances,” and the Claim That There Is No Majority Against the Truth

The speaker brings a story attributed to Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz about a priest who argues “follow the majority” based on the majority of Christians, and responds that one follows the majority only when there is doubt, such as a piece of meat whose source is unknown, but when there is a clear indication one does not follow the majority. He uses this to explain the permission to rely on a minority opinion “in pressing circumstances,” such as “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied on in pressing circumstances,” and argues that this makes sense only if the rules of majority and doubt apply only when a person is left without a way to decide, whereas “pressing circumstances” is a consideration that enables a decision, so after the decision there is no longer a state of doubt. He cites in the name of the Kotzker the exposition on “and cast truth to the ground” in the midrash about creation, and formulates the principle “there is no majority against the truth” as a claim about a case in which a person knows the truth, and therefore the majority does not decide the matter.

The Oven of Achnai, the Heavenly Voice, and Rabbi Meir as Evidence for Autonomy

The speaker presents the oven of Achnai as a case in which it was established that “it is not in heaven,” so that heavenly truth does not determine Jewish law, because what determines it is human decision and the rules by which humans decide. He argues that the excommunication of Rabbi Eliezer was not because he followed his own opinion, but on the contrary because he followed tradition and did not accept the mechanism of decision by majority and reasoned debate. He brings his explanation that Rabbi Meir’s rulings were not accepted because “his colleagues could not get to the bottom of his reasoning” as fitting the principle that one does not follow even a great authority if one is not convinced, because Jewish law is determined by what appears correct and is ruled by the decisor in his own generation, not by the “ideal truth” or the greatness of earlier generations.

The Question of Prayer with a Quorum versus Intention as an Example of Personal Decision-Making

The speaker addresses the question of preferring prayer alone with intention over prayer with a quorum without intention, and presents it as a legitimate consideration within a personal-halakhic framework of judgment. He argues that prayer with a quorum is an advantage but “plainly” not an obligation, and emphasizes that such a decision is part of the principle that everything “has to enter into the overall consideration,” with the final decision being made according to the person’s own understanding after weighing the values and the sources.

Okay, let’s begin. Last time we talked about concepts of authority in Jewish law, and in general. I distinguished between two different concepts of authority: formal authority and substantive authority. Formal authority is authority that begins simply from your being who you are, or from being an institution or a person. The Sanhedrin, for example, has formal authority, because whatever it rules we are obligated to accept by force of “do not deviate.” In that sense, the Holy One, blessed be He, also has formal authority. Yes—whatever He says I am obligated to accept, not after checking whether He is right or wrong, but simply because the Holy One, blessed be He, said it. By contrast, substantive authority is something like the recommendation of a doctor, or some expert. When a doctor tells me to take a certain medicine or undergo some medical procedure, I am not obligated to obey him; he has no authority in the institutional sense. But he does have authority in the sense that he is simply an expert, and therefore he is probably right, or at least more likely right than I am, and so it makes a lot of sense to adopt what he tells me. But it is not obligatory. If I don’t do it, nobody can come to me with complaints and say that I behaved improperly, or violated some law, or anything like that. Maybe I acted foolishly, but no more than that. So that is formal authority.

After that I said that there is a distinction between facts and norms. Wait—between facts and norms. The claim is that with normative questions one can speak about formal authority, because one can demand of me—one can demand that I keep Jewish law even though I think that is not the law, or that one should not do what the law says. Suppose the Sanhedrin said that sorting on the Sabbath is forbidden. So even if I think sorting on the Sabbath is permitted, one can demand that I not do it, because there is a Sanhedrin and there is “do not deviate,” and that obligates me. They have formal authority. Formal authority obligates even if they are not right. By virtue of being the Sanhedrin, they have authority, and therefore regardless of whether they are right or not, I am supposed to obey.

With regard to facts, one cannot define formal authority. Not because there is no source for it in the Torah, not because there is a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim), and not because of anything like that, but simply because conceptually it is contradictory. On the conceptual, analytic level, the thing is contradictory. One cannot speak of formal authority with respect to facts, because formal authority with respect to facts would mean that I have to obey the authority-holder even if I think he is wrong. But when obedience means thinking as he does—then how can I think as he does if I think he is wrong? Meaning, if someone comes and tells me: I rule that the messiah will come—yes, the Sanhedrin announced that the truth is that the messiah will come—and suppose I have reached the conclusion that this is not true, that I do not believe the messiah will come, like Rabbi Hillel in tractate Sanhedrin. Rabbi Hillel said: “Israel has no messiah, because they already consumed him in the days of Hezekiah.” So now what are they telling me? Since the Sanhedrin has formal authority, you must obey them because they are the Sanhedrin. Okay, I very much want to obey them—what exactly do I have to do in order to fulfill that obligation? I am supposed, basically, to think that the messiah is indeed coming, even though in my opinion the Sanhedrin is mistaken. I don’t understand: if in my opinion the Sanhedrin is mistaken, then I think he is not coming. So what does it mean that I am supposed to think that the messiah is coming even though I think he is not coming? If I think he is not coming, then that is what I think. What does it mean to say I am supposed to think? There is no such thing as “supposed to think.” What I think is what I think; what I don’t think, I don’t think. There is no such thing as “supposed to think.” “Supposed to think” is self-contradictory. If I am supposed to, then that is not what I think. It is simply because I am supposed to.

Therefore, even if I want to fulfill this command of formal authority with respect to facts, at most I can mouth the words, “I believe with perfect faith in the coming of the messiah,” but the truth is that in my heart I do not really believe it. That is the fact. Maybe I am mistaken, fine, but factually—factually, at this moment I do not believe it. And if I do not believe it, then I can say outwardly: I believe the messiah will come. But I cannot believe that he will come if the truth is that I believe he will not come. That is impossible. You can believe something false—if I am mistaken, then I believe something false. But you cannot believe what you do not believe. What kind of demand is that? How exactly am I supposed to fulfill that demand? This is a demand that even if the Holy One, blessed be He, Himself stood here and demanded it of me, I would say to Him: listen, I very much want to obey You, but I don’t know how to do that. What do You want me to do—that I think what I do not think? You can ask me to reconsider; You can tell me that it really is true. Fine. If I give the person credit—or certainly the Holy One, blessed be He—then of course I will reconsider. But after I have reconsidered, in the end there is the position I have arrived at. And one cannot demand of me that I not think the position that I in fact think. It simply—these are just words. It is like demanding that a triangle be round, and vice versa. It is not—this is a demand that collapses analytically and conceptually.

Therefore, there is no need to look for sources here and check whether there is authority in this area or not in that area. The fact is that there isn’t. It is not relevant. By contrast, substantive authority of course can exist in both areas, both in the factual realm and in the normative realm. If there is an institution or a person who is very wise in Jewish law, then one can certainly say: listen, if they say the law is such-and-such, it makes a lot of sense to obey them because they are probably right. Meaning, I obey them not because they have authority, but because I want to know what the truth is, and the truth is probably with them; they are experts, so they probably know. It is like obeying a doctor, okay? No problem. And of course that is true in the factual domain as well. A doctor, for example, operates in the factual domain. But of course also in the normative domain. So from the standpoint of substantive authority there is no difference. One can define substantive authority both with respect to facts and with respect to legal rulings. But formal authority can be defined only with respect to norms. One cannot define formal authority with respect to facts.

And therefore, as I said at the beginning too, I do not need sources, and I do not intend to bring sources here. No need for sources. All the sources in the world can line up in threes and argue against me—I still won’t agree. It won’t help. It does not depend on sources; this is a conceptual determination. Okay?

Now, after that I moved on to talk a bit about concepts of… Can I ask a question? Yes, of course. Just to sharpen it: but there is a commandment—it is counted among the commandments—to believe in the unity of God, to believe in the coming of the messiah. So how exactly… I don’t know the enumerations of the commandments that you know. In my enumerations, neither this nor that is counted. What do you mean—Maimonides doesn’t count that there…? Neither this nor that. Belief—well, now, I’m not on the exact wording—but belief in unity, that He is one? No. There is belief in the Holy One, blessed be He—you can ask about that; there’s no need to get to His unity. There is belief in the Holy One, blessed be He. Maimonides does command that, and we spoke about it a bit last class. That really is a problematic command, and people have already taken him to task over it. You can offer this answer or that answer, but it’s not interesting. As far as I’m concerned, let Maimonides command it eighteen times—there is no such thing. You cannot command facts. Period. Not I—even the Holy One, blessed be He, cannot tell me that, so Maimonides certainly cannot. Since I think Maimonides was an intelligent Jew, I tend to think there must be some other explanation for that commandment. There is no commandment regarding the coming of the messiah at all. There is a commandment of belief. The commandment of belief is indeed a hard question according to what I am saying here. Either it is an attempt to deepen belief, to study faith—meaning, it is a command about doing something, not a command to believe. There is no such thing as a command to believe; there is no such creature. It simply cannot be. Understood, thank you. I assume, though, that he meant the unity of God, like the third commandment in the numbering in Maimonides’ Book of Commandments. Wait, it may be that I’m not remembering—let me check. To know that there is a God, that it should not enter one’s mind that there is any other god besides Him, to unify Him, to sanctify His name, and so on. To love Him is the third commandment. So I’m thinking of the order in the Mishneh Torah. To fear Him and be in awe of Him is the fourth, the fifth is to serve Him, sixth to cleave to sages, to swear in His name, to imitate Him… I don’t see such a commandment. I’m looking at the order in the Mishneh Torah. The second commandment, the second commandment. The command that He commanded us regarding belief. That does exist. The coming of the messiah does not exist, but this does exist; indeed it is the second commandment. These two commandments are problematic commandments, and as I said before, there is no such thing; there cannot be such commandments. Either you will find some answer, or Maimonides needs further study. Nothing will help. This commandment cannot be fulfilled even if you want to.

According to what the Rabbi is saying, then there cannot be miracles that contradict human definitions? Again? According to what the Rabbi is saying, there cannot be miracles that contradict human definitions? For example, that the Holy One, blessed be He, would intervene in such a way that, say, a triangle would become a square. No, of course not. By the way, Maimonides himself writes this—you don’t need me for that. I also saw that Sefer Ha-Ikkarim writes it, but everyone writes it. Maimonides in Guide for the Perplexed writes it, Rashba in responsum 414 writes it, Maimonides in the third part of the Guide for the Perplexed, chapter 25, also writes it. He gives exactly this example of a square whose diagonal is shorter than its side. The Holy One, blessed be He, cannot make a square whose diagonal is shorter than its side. But what about all kinds of miracles like “the place takes up no space”? That is another question, but miracles generally are miracles that go against the laws of nature, not against the laws of logic. But for example, that the Ark did not take up space—is that against logic? That the Ark did not take up space is not against logic, but for that I need a little time to explain why. It is not against logic.

Rabbi, but Maimonides himself goes on at length about this. The medieval authorities (Rishonim), most of them at least, agree with this view. This whole business of the unity of opposites and going beyond logic and all that—those are all Christian inventions, of early Christians already. Nicholas of Cusa wrote about the unity of opposites in the fifteenth or fourteenth century, something like that, and from Hasidism onward it suddenly became popular and these ridiculous Christian notions entered our world. It is simply nonsense. Not just that it’s wrong—it simply says nothing. So I’d be happy to argue about it. Hm? “The small that holds the large”? So I’m saying, it depends what you mean. “The small that holds the large” is not logic; that is physics. Physics is fine. The Holy One, blessed be He, created the laws of physics and can also suspend them. The Holy One, blessed be He, cannot do logical miracles. There is no such thing. Not because He cannot, but because there is no such thing as logical miracles. Meaning, this is not a limitation on His omnipotence. Yes, it is like—what do I know—all those funny questions about the stone the Holy One, blessed be He, cannot lift. Can He create a stone He cannot lift? Whichever way you go, if He can create such a stone then there is a stone He cannot lift, so He is not omnipotent. If He cannot create such a stone, then again He is not omnipotent. So either way He is not omnipotent. Okay—but this is of course nonsense. Why is it nonsense? Because there is no such thing as a stone the Holy One, blessed be He, cannot lift. So of course He can create—just as He cannot create a round triangle. “A stone that the omnipotent cannot lift”—can you explain to me the meaning of that sentence? If you explain the meaning of the sentence, I’ll be happy to answer the question. But first the question has to have meaning for me to answer it. It doesn’t. The one asking the question already assumes that the Holy One, blessed be He, is not omnipotent, and therefore one can speak about a stone He cannot lift. But I, as someone who assumes that He is omnipotent—when you ask me whether He can create a stone He cannot lift, it is like asking me whether He can make a round triangle. There is no such thing from my standpoint. When you ask me questions, you have to ask according to my approach, not according to yours. You are attacking me, after all, so you need to attack me based on my assumptions, not yours.

So in this context there is the story I usually tell, because many people get troubled when I say these things, that the Holy One, blessed be He, is supposedly subject to the laws of logic. So the story is the story of Puss in Boots. Do you know the story of Puss in Boots? The miller died and left his property to his three sons. One got whatever, the second got something else, and the third got the cat. Okay? So the man was totally despairing—what am I supposed to do with a cat, I have nothing to eat. The cat says to him: don’t worry, buy me a pair of boots and I’ll set you up. He bought him a pair of boots. One day he went to bathe in the river and folded his clothes on the shore and went in to bathe. Of course a king passed by there in a carriage with his beautiful daughter, and the cat makes the clothes of the young fellow who inherited him disappear. He says to the king: listen, Your Majesty, the count is bathing in the river and his clothes have disappeared. Maybe you can give him some clothing of your own? It’s awkward—a count here without clothes and… So the king gives him one of his own garments, of course asks to visit him in his castle and so on. The cat says no problem, runs ahead to the castle of the terrible sorcerer, and goes inside. The terrible sorcerer immediately turns into a lion. The cat is terrified, doesn’t know what to do. He says to him: wait, wait, before you eat me, can you also turn into a mouse? What a question—I’m such a magician; just as I can turn into a lion, I can turn into a mouse. He turns into a mouse, and hop—the cat eats him. The king comes, and from then on they live happily ever after.

Now the question is: how can it be that the terrible sorcerer can turn himself into a mouse and be eaten by a cat? Or in the parable: if the Holy One, blessed be He, is omnipotent, then He can turn Himself into a human being, right? And if He turns Himself into a human being, I’ll shoot Him in the head. What will you say—that He won’t die? If He won’t die, then He did not turn into a human being, because a human being is something that when shot in the head dies. So either He cannot turn Himself into a human being, in which case He is not omnipotent; or He can turn Himself into a human being and then I shoot Him in the head and again He is not omnipotent—or not a necessary being, if you prefer. Okay? What is the problem here? The problem is that He cannot turn Himself into a human being, because by definition He is a necessary being. He cannot become something that is not a necessary being. Just as there is no stone the omnipotent cannot lift, just as there is no round triangle. These things—omnipotence is measured by the question whether there is something conceivable that you cannot do. But if there is something that is not conceivable at all, then it does not count as something you cannot do; there is nothing there to do. That does not impair your omnipotence.

When you say the Holy One, blessed be He, can make a wall that withstands all shells, and He can also make a shell that penetrates all walls—can such a thing exist? No, of course not. What happens when that shell meets that wall? Okay? One of the two will not hold up. So what does that mean? It means He cannot do both of those things together. And there is no problem with that. He cannot do it because there is no such thing; there is nothing there to do. It is not that He cannot do something—it is merely lip movement. It has no meaning. “Can the Holy One, blessed be He… yes or no?” I don’t know—tell me what you’re saying, and I can answer yes or no. It’s the same thing. These sound like very intelligent words, and they connect wonderfully and everything is fine—but in fact it is just moving your lips and expelling air. It says nothing. Okay? That is the meaning of the inability to do logical miracles. And anyone who talks about the unity of opposites and all this Christian bogus really ought to be quiet. He is talking nonsense. Not that he is talking nonsense—he simply is not saying anything.

Okay. In any case, back to our subject. The claim is that if one cannot command—or the claim is that if something is factual, then formal authority is not relevant to it. And I also noted, as an introduction to things we will see later, that this whole field of Jewish thought is almost entirely occupied with facts. The coming of the messiah, one kind of providence, another kind of providence, the special quality of Israel, I don’t know—various things of that sort—mostly these are factual claims. Either the messiah will come or he will not. Either the Holy One, blessed be He, exercises providence or He does not. Over animals, over human beings, over Jews, I don’t know—whatever it may be. Is there reward and punishment or not? The world to come or not the world to come, hell or not hell, Satan or no Satan. All these things are factual claims. The fact that these claims are not exposed to sensory observation, that you cannot decide them by observation or scientific tools—that is of course true. But still, categorically, they are factual claims. And once they are factual claims, there is not and cannot be formal authority about them. There cannot be formal authority instructing me to believe in the coming of the messiah. There is no such thing. What one can say is: look, the Holy One, blessed be He, said it, and He of course knows and everything is in His hands, and He said He will send us a messiah. Fine, then I’ll accept it because you persuaded me. But assuming I am not persuaded, there is no way to demand that I accept it by force of formal authority. It is simply nonsense.

Therefore all these claims about whether someone is a heretic or not are irrelevant to the discussion. Maybe he is a heretic, and maybe you should lower him into a pit or not pull him up—do whatever you want with him. But because he is a heretic you cannot demand that he change his position. That is what he thinks. What do you want me to do now? So I’m a heretic—fine. What can I do? That is what I think. You can persuade me not to be a heretic. Fine—if you persuade me, then I will retract, if I am an honest person. But that is substantive authority, not formal. I will accept it because it is right, not because you are the authority-holder. So this is a very, very important point. And later I will come to conclusions about the relationship between Jewish law and Jewish thought generally in these contexts. I am using the concept of authority also for future purposes; I will use it further on.

In any case, we began talking a bit about concepts of authority in Jewish law, and I said that concepts of authority begin with “do not deviate.” Yes, those are the basic verses that establish the concept of halakhic authority. And they give authority—except according to Sefer Ha-Chinukh, for most views—they give authority to the Sanhedrin. And to the Sanhedrin alone. Only the Sanhedrin. No other sage or institution has authority by virtue of “do not deviate.” What does exist? Either substantive authority. That is, someone who is an expert in Jewish law—it is worthwhile and sensible to listen to him, not because he has authority but because he is probably right. So that is substantive authority. Substantive authority depends only on the question how expert the person is, or how expert I think he is. It has nothing to do with “do not deviate,” and the Torah need not say anything about it. I obey his words not because there is a commandment to obey his words, but simply because in my view it is the right thing to do. He probably understands Jewish law, and if he says so, then probably that is what the law says. That is expertise, substantive authority.

Or, I said, there is also a concept of formal authority that comes from below. It is indeed formal. What do I mean? For example, the local rabbinic authority. A community accepts a rabbi upon itself. There is no “do not deviate” in relation to that rabbi. That rabbi is not ordained, there is no Sanhedrin there, and “do not deviate” is irrelevant. Rather, there is, as it were, a kind of contract between them. Meaning: we accept you upon ourselves as rabbi. Once we have accepted you upon ourselves as rabbi, we have given you the authority to determine for us what the law will be, or at least in the communal sphere. One can discuss exactly what authority a community gives to a rabbi and what it does not. Altogether, that depends on it. Meaning, one can appoint a rabbi and tell him: you only determine what happens in the synagogue; what happens outside it is none of your business. One can appoint a rabbi who determines what happens in the synagogue and in the community, but not what happens in my home—what certification I eat, what certification I don’t eat—that I decide for myself. Okay? And one can appoint a rabbi whose authority I accept in everything. Fine? Something like one’s primary teacher, no problem. But it depends on me. It comes from below. The power I gave him is the power he has. It does not come from above. On the other hand, it is formal authority. It is formal authority because I accept what he says not because he is right, not as an expert; I accept it because he is the rabbi. Okay? In that sense it is formal authority. It is formal authority that comes from below and not from above.

And I said that one of the phenomena based on formal authority coming from below is the Talmud. The Talmud has formal authority. Meaning, we do not disagree with it not because it is always right—I spoke about the Kesef Mishneh and so on—but simply because it is the Talmud. So what? It was not a Sanhedrin; they were not ordained. There is no ordination outside the Land of Israel. I am talking about the Babylonian Talmud. In the Jerusalem Talmud perhaps there were ordained sages, but in the Babylonian Talmud certainly not. So the claim is that the authority of the Babylonian Talmud is because we accepted it upon ourselves. That is what the Kesef Mishneh writes at the beginning of chapter two of Laws of Rebels. So we accepted it upon ourselves; this is essentially like a local rabbinic authority, only for the whole public. Meaning, the entire Jewish people, all the halakhic decisors, the whole public accepted upon itself the authority of the Talmud. Okay? Therefore the Talmud is an expression of an institution—or an example of an institution—that has authority coming from below, but it is formal authority. Okay? But there is no such thing as formal authority from above after ordination and the Sanhedrin were abolished. There is no such thing anymore. No rabbi has authority. There is no “do not deviate,” none of all this nonsense; these are simply inventions with neither root nor branch. They have no basis whatsoever. It is nonsense, just nonsense. Whoever says that is simply an ignoramus. Even though great Torah scholars say it, I would like to be generous to them and believe that they are lying knowingly. That is, they want to get people to obey them anyway. So the question is whether they are liars or fools. Those are the two interpretive possibilities, and now each of you can decide which one you choose.

In any case, the point is that outside the Sanhedrin, and after the Sanhedrin and ordination, there can be either formal authority from below or substantive authority—expertise. There are experts in Jewish law today as well. If there is an expert in Jewish law who says something, it is worthwhile to obey him because he is probably right—not because of his formal authority. He has no formal authority. Rather, simply because he is a great sage, a great Torah scholar, and so what he says is probably right. Like the doctor in medicine, there is an expert in Jewish law. The halakhic decisor is the expert in Jewish law, just as the doctor is the expert in medicine. Okay? So this is not authority in the formal sense, but only expertise. And therefore, for example, if I am very, very convinced that he is mistaken—as with a doctor, by the way—I am very, very convinced that he is mistaken. I took into account the fact that he is a great Torah scholar, all good; but I checked to the best of my ability, I consulted, I thought, I examined, and in the end I reached the conclusion that here, despite his wisdom, he is mistaken. Then there is no reason whatsoever to listen to him. In such a case. With the Sanhedrin it is not so. The Sanhedrin has formal authority; it is not conditioned on its being right. But with a Torah scholar who has substantive authority because he is an expert and is probably right, here it has to be examined. If I think he is right, fine. But if I reached the conclusion responsibly and carefully that he is not right, then no. There is no obligation to listen to anyone today. Not only today—already for thousands of years there has been no obligation to listen to anyone. The entire question is whom I think is right. That is the criterion here. Not a duty to obey. There is no duty to obey.

Now. Even the Shulchan Arukh, Maimonides, all of these—that’s substantive authority too? Correct, correct, of course. Completely of course. But what determined that the Talmud is actually formal authority? The entire public. Like at Mount Sinai. Who determined that the Holy One, blessed be He, is the obligating authority, or that we are obligated to Jewish law? The fact that we said “we will do and we will hear”; we accepted that authority upon ourselves. No, but suppose there were Jewish communities to which the Talmud never reached, say. Then they are not obligated. One could discuss whether the entire public accepted and there is one community that did not, in which case perhaps its opinion is nullified. Like a community that accepts a rabbi but one person does not want him. One can discuss it. It may be that once the community accepted, as long as you belong to the community you are also obligated. Fine. That is only a question of nullification of individual opinion, but not on the principled level. If we did not accept it, we are not obligated.

Wait, didn’t all the communities accept the Shulchan Arukh upon themselves? So then it has formal authority? In my opinion, no. In my opinion, no. Even its own commentators did not accept its authority. Its own commentators disagree with it—and not infrequently. It has weight, fine? Many Jews have halakhic weight. Maimonides too, the Shulchan Arukh too, the great medieval authorities (Rishonim), of course. Weight. Mishnah Berurah. Their words have significant weight. Weight does not mean formal authority. It means that I treat seriously what they say, and I need a good reason not to do what they say. I need to be very convinced that they are mistaken in order not to obey them. But once I am very convinced, I won’t obey.

Now, you see that conceptual analysis can lead very quickly to conclusions without needing sources. On the contrary, there will be sources that appear to contradict, and maybe they really do contradict. It changes nothing. Once the conclusion emerges from conceptual analysis, there is nothing to be done—that is the conclusion. It won’t help. Whoever said otherwise either needs further study and really means something I did not understand, or is simply mistaken. That is all.

Now, basically that means that after the Talmud, there is in fact no formal authority, because there is no factor whose authority the whole Jewish people really accepted upon itself, not even from below. What we have are perhaps differing degrees of weight, and of course expertise, which is an important parameter. If someone is a halakhic expert, then it certainly makes sense to obey what he says.

Let’s see that I’m not the only gentile in the world—that I’m in good company. The Rosh too belongs to my gang of gentiles. I’m sharing with you the Rosh in Sanhedrin, chapter 4, section 6. “The Ba’al Ha-Maor, of blessed memory, wrote: I heard in the name of a great sage from among the sages of our generation’s predecessors, that nowadays we have no category of error in judgment, for all legal rulings are fixed in our hands either from the Talmud or from the Geonim after the Talmud.” Basically, like Hilbert at the end of the nineteenth century, right? They thought then that all the problems of mathematics had already been solved; there were only, I think, four problems left, or some number that he listed, and that’s it—the whole enterprise was on the verge of completion. In physics too they thought that. A few years later came quantum theory and relativity and the whole thing opened up again. But this sage whom the Ba’al Ha-Maor cites—the Rosh quotes the Ba’al Ha-Maor, and the Ba’al Ha-Maor cites some great sage from the previous generation—says there is no such thing as error in judgment; all the laws have already been decided. So nothing remains that depends on judgment; everything is already decided and standing, either from the Talmud or from the Geonim after the Talmud. “Therefore one does not find nowadays an error in judgment; rather everyone who errs errs in a matter of Mishnah.”

In the Talmud there are two kinds of errors regarding judges’ rulings: an error in judgment and an error in a matter of Mishnah. An error in a matter of Mishnah means someone who goes against an established ruling—the Sanhedrin determined it, Mishnah, Talmud, something like that. An error in judgment is someone who errs in his reasoning. But there is no established ruling against him, and afterward it becomes clear that he made a mistake in reasoning. There are all kinds of indications of what this is, how such things are clarified, but such things can be clarified. So that sage says—I don’t know whether optimistically or pessimistically—but he says that in his time, say around the eleventh century more or less, there is no such thing as error in judgment because all the laws have already been decided. There is no question left for which there is no established ruling. All that remains for us is only to compare one matter to another. Meaning, if a case comes before us, we have to see which established ruling it resembles. There are no new laws here that need to be decided. What amazing naivete.

And “these words do not seem right to me.” Who is “to me”? That is the Ba’al Ha-Maor. This is still all the Ba’al Ha-Maor speaking within the Rosh, okay? “These words do not seem right to me. Rather, anyone whose error is not made clear from the Mishnah or from our Talmud explicitly, without doubt, is not an error in a matter of Mishnah but in judgment.” What is he saying? The Ba’al Ha-Maor says: if you cannot show explicitly, beyond any doubt, from the Mishnah or the Talmud that a person erred, then it is not called an error in a matter of Mishnah. That doesn’t mean he did not err. There are other kinds of errors too—an error in judgment. But it is not an error in a matter of Mishnah because this law is not a law that was decided. You can interpret the Talmud this way, you can interpret it another way. It is much more reasonable to interpret it this way, but one can also interpret it another way. In such a case this is not an established law.

And he continues: “And what the Geonim ruled after the closing of the Talmud, from decisive reasoning and not from a clear and fixed law from the Talmud, is like the flow of general Talmudic discussion; and one who errs in it errs in judgment and not in a matter of Mishnah.” So the Ba’al Ha-Maor says: if there is a ruling of the Geonim—the Geonim are the generations before him; he was one of the earliest of the early authorities, and the sage in the previous generation was even earlier. This is really the very beginning of the period of the medieval authorities, okay? The end of the period of the Geonim, the beginning of the period of the medieval authorities. What about rulings determined by the Geonim from previous generations? Geonim, of course, is the title of a position; it is not necessarily an IQ score. The head of the sages in Babylonia was called “Gaon,” okay? So he says: if the Geonim ruled something from decisive reasoning, meaning from logic, and not from a clear, fixed law from the Talmud—if it does not emerge clearly and entirely beyond doubt from the Talmud, or from some tradition from Sinai or something like that—then it is like ordinary Talmudic reasoning; that is an error in judgment, not an error in a matter of Mishnah. “Ordinary Talmudic reasoning” is simply the Talmud’s term for error in judgment.

And the Ra’avad wrote concerning the words of the Ba’al Ha-Maor that the sage spoke truth. The Ra’avad actually agrees with that sage: if one erred regarding the rulings of the Geonim because he had not heard their words, and if he had heard he would have retracted, truly and clearly—that is an error in a matter of Mishnah. Notice: a very complex and interesting sentence. How does he define it? If he ruled something against what is written in the rulings of the Geonim, that is not yet an error in a matter of Mishnah. What has to happen for it to become an error in a matter of Mishnah? That after hearing that the Geonim ruled otherwise, he retracts. Then it is an error in a matter of Mishnah because he missed a ruling of the Geonim.

But now I ask, according to the Ra’avad, what happens if he hears that the Geonim ruled that way and he remains in his position? He does not retract. Then it is not an error in a matter of Mishnah. Meaning, the Geonim do not have formal status, right? That is basically what this means. I can disagree with them. True, if I did not disagree with them and my mistake was simply that I didn’t know what they said—about that the Ra’avad says this is an error in a matter of Mishnah. But that is all because I myself understand that I am mistaken. But if I insisted and said: what do you mean? I now hear that the Geonim said otherwise, and I remain in my position, I disagree with them—in such a case it is not an error in a matter of Mishnah. I can disagree with them. At most perhaps it is an error in judgment, and even that is unclear.

And the Ra’avad continues: “And I am close to saying that even if he disagreed with the ruling of the Gaon on the basis of reasoning, because it seemed to him according to his understanding not as the Gaon understood and not according to his interpretation, this too is an error in a matter of Mishnah.” Now the Ra’avad adds another sentence. Suppose I heard the words of the Gaon and remained in my position. I do not retract. I still disagree with him, but I disagree with him by force of logic. It just seems to me according to my understanding, okay? Then perhaps this too is an error in a matter of Mishnah, although he says “I am close to saying.” He is not sure of it, but he thinks maybe.

Fine. What is this excluding? If I proved from the Talmud against the Gaon—not from logic. I claim there is a proof from the Talmud against the Gaon’s ruling. Then he says: no problem. The Gaon also knew that Talmudic passage, but I am telling you that in my opinion the interpretation of the Talmud is otherwise. In the end this is still a disagreement in reasoning. But since I can prove from the Talmud against the Gaon, it is not considered that I am disagreeing with the Gaon. In my opinion the Talmud is against the Gaon, and therefore this is not considered an error in a matter of Mishnah according to the Ra’avad; even in his most far-reaching conception it is not considered an error in a matter of Mishnah. “For nowadays we do not dispute the words of a Gaon based on our own reasoning”—that is, only from logic—“to interpret the matter another way in order that the law change from the words of the Gaon, unless in the face of a famous difficulty,” meaning against an explicit Talmudic text. If the Gaon contradicts an explicit Talmudic text, then you can—but this is not common.

Okay. Up to here is his language. What does “up to here is his language” mean? That’s the Ra’avad, fine? We have finished the Ba’al Ha-Maor and “the Ra’avad wrote concerning him,” and now “up to here is his language.” All this is brought by the Rosh, I remind you. The text is the text of the Rosh. So we have seen the position of the Ba’al Ha-Maor. We have seen the position of the sage cited by the Ba’al Ha-Maor, though the Ba’al Ha-Maor himself disputes him. And we have seen the position of the Ra’avad, who makes a compromise between them—yes? That sage whom the Ba’al Ha-Maor cites claims that the rulings of the Geonim are like a matter of Mishnah. Or in our language: the Geonim have formal authority. I cannot disagree with them even if I think they are mistaken—doesn’t matter. I cannot disagree with them; the Geonim have formal authority.

The Ba’al Ha-Maor disagrees. The Ba’al Ha-Maor says no, the Geonim do not have formal authority. Okay? Therefore, in principle one can disagree with them, and that is not called an error in a matter of Mishnah. Only if you have a mistake from the Mishnah or the Talmud is it an error in a matter of Mishnah, but not from the words of the Geonim.

Now the Ra’avad comes and creates an intermediate position, and it too is made up of several hypotheses about some of which he is not entirely certain. And what he says is this: there can be, contrary to the Ba’al Ha-Maor, a situation where it will be an error in a matter of Mishnah even with respect to the rulings of the Geonim. It is not only the Talmud; it can also be the Geonim. But not always—it depends. If you yourself understand that you erred and retract after seeing the words of the Geonim, then according to the Ra’avad it is an error in a matter of Mishnah. But if you do not retract, then it is probably not an error in a matter of Mishnah. And he hesitates about what happens if you do not retract on the basis of logic. If you do not retract on the basis of Talmud, it is certainly not an error in a matter of Mishnah. If you do not retract because of logic, about that he hesitates. He says it seems likely to him that it is an error in a matter of Mishnah, but he is not sure. That is the position of the Ra’avad. So far we have seen three positions.

Now the Rosh himself speaks. “And I say: certainly anyone who erred regarding the rulings of the Geonim of blessed memory because he had not heard their words, and when the rulings of the Geonim are told to him they seem right in his eyes, is in error in a matter of Mishnah. And not only one who errs in the rulings of the Geonim, but even the sages of every generation after them are not reed-cutters in the swamp. And if he ruled not according to their words, and when he heard their words they seemed right in his eyes and he admitted that he had erred, then he erred in a matter of Mishnah and retracts.”

On the one hand he is stricter than the Ba’al Ha-Maor, right? Because he basically says that it is not only the Geonim who have formal authority—even sages after the Geonim. But on the other hand, notice: this is not formal authority. Because he makes it depend on whether after I hear the matter I retract. That is something else. It is not because they have formal authority, but because I was negligent. I could have learned this and then I would not have erred. That is called an error in a matter of Mishnah. Do you understand? Meaning, he does indeed broaden it more, but he is not claiming this is formal authority. If it were formal authority, then I would be in error in a matter of Mishnah whether I retracted after hearing it or not; my opinion would not matter at all. Once they said something, it is binding—it is formal authority. If he makes it depend on whether I retract and know they were right, then it is not an error in a matter of Mishnah due to authority; it is simply that I am supposed to be persuaded. Remember the difference between formal authority and substantive authority? In substantive authority I accept it because I was persuaded, not because he said it. Meaning, he is speaking of substantive authority, not formal authority. He does not accept formal authority of the Geonim; in that sense he is like the Ba’al Ha-Maor. He only claims that if you yourself already retract after some additional piece of information came to light, then it is an error in a matter of Mishnah even if it is not the Geonim, because in the end it turns out you made a mistake—what difference does it make whether it was the Geonim or not? Meaning, he is unwilling to grant special status to the Geonim. And in that sense he is actually more liberal than the Ba’al Ha-Maor, although superficially he seems to demand more of us—he demands that we obey even sages after the Geonim. But that is not so, because he demands this from us because his claim is that this is not called obeying. You are not obeying—you are being persuaded. If you reached the conclusion that they were right after hearing it, then certainly you are in error in a matter of Mishnah, because you simply made a mistake. If you had known this, you would not have said that. That is called an error in a matter of Mishnah, even if it is the sage who is your neighbor, not a Gaon.

Therefore, the Rosh says, seemingly he broadens the authority more, but it is substantive authority and not formal authority. In other words, he agrees that there is no such thing as formal authority after the Talmud.

But, he continues, “if their words do not seem right in his eyes, and he brings proofs for his words acceptable to the people of his generation, Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation; you have only the judge who is in your days, and he can refute their words.” If I am not persuaded even after hearing what they say—whether it is the Geonim or sages after them makes no difference at all—if I was not persuaded, then not only am I not in error in a matter of Mishnah, I am not even in error in judgment. I am right, and that is how I should rule—against the Geonim and against all the sages. If that is my opinion, that is how I must rule: Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation. By the way, that is a very interesting rationale. What does this rationale of “Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation” actually mean? It basically means: not because you are greater than they are. After all, Jephthah was not greater than Samuel, right? But for his generation, he was the one who was there, right? So the Rosh is basically saying with this rationale: don’t think I am telling you to rule as you think even against the Geonim because you are wiser than them. Isn’t there a decline of the generations? There is a decline of the generations. But the sage who rules for a certain generation is the sage who lives in that generation. Even if he is smaller than the Geonim, Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation.

The Rosh is coming to say, precisely because of the radical nature of his statement—that every sage in every generation can disagree with whomever he likes, so long as he weighed the other position and reached the conclusion that he does not agree with it—he can rule, not only can he, he must rule as he himself understands. Because of that radicalism the Rosh says: yes, but don’t think that is because I am a greater sage than all my predecessors, which would just be arrogance. Rather, it is simply because Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation. Those who determine the law for this generation are the sages of this generation, even if they are smaller than the sages of previous generations. It has nothing to do with decline of the generations at all. Exactly as the Kesef Mishneh said regarding the sages of the Talmud: the fact that we accept the statements of previous generations is not because they are greater, but because we accepted it upon ourselves. Okay? Now, post-Talmudic sages—we did not accept their authority upon ourselves. So here it must be discussed. They may be greater, but if I am not persuaded, then I am supposed to act as I understand, and not like the Geonim or anything like that. This is unlike the Talmud. In the Talmud it is not so. In the Talmud if I reach the conclusion that I do not agree with the Talmud, I have to bend.

Now look at his next sentence: “For all matters not clarified in the Talmud arranged by Rav Ashi and Ravina, a person can demolish and build, even to disagree with the words of the Geonim.” If I think differently from the Geonim, not only can I disagree with them, I must disagree with them, because I must rule as I understand. But that is regarding the Geonim. Regarding the Talmud—not so. Why? What is the difference? What is the difference? Because the Talmud has formal authority and the Geonim have substantive authority. Therefore, regarding the Geonim, if I have no good proof against them, I will accept them. This is exactly the difference between formal and substantive authority.

And that is what he says: “And this is what Rav Huna said to Rav Sheshet: even with regard to you and me—and he said to him: are we reed-cutters in the swamp?” What, are we reed-cutters in the swamp? Meaning, if we innovated something from our own reasoning that is found neither in the Mishnah nor in the Talmud, and a judge who did not know our words ruled differently, and when he heard our words they seemed right in his eyes, then he is as one who erred in a matter of Mishnah and retracts. About every sage, not only the Geonim—even a sage in this very generation. But obviously that judge may disagree with their words. But if he disagrees and does not accept, certainly he may disagree, no question. For later Amoraim sometimes disagree with earlier ones, and on the contrary, we take the words of the later ones as primary—yes, the law follows the later authorities—because they knew the reasoning of the earlier ones and their own reasoning, and decided between those reasonings and arrived at the essence of the matter.”

Then he continues, just to finish the passage: “And where two great men disagree in legal ruling, the judge must not say: I will rule according to whichever I wish; if he did so, this is a false judgment. But if he is a great sage, learned and understanding, and knows how to decide like one of them with clear and compelling proofs, he has permission. And even if another sage ruled differently, this sage can refute his words with proofs and disagree with him, as I wrote above; all the more so if he has support from one of the disputants,” and so on. Fine, that is more or less it. And if he does not know how to rule in a dispute of the Geonim and afterward it becomes known to him and he is not capable, then we make it a doubtful ruling. That is another matter.

What is he basically saying here? His claim is that there is—actually, let’s take a three-minute break. I’ve already gone a bit past half the class. A three- or four-minute break to wash your face, drink coffee, and we’ll come back, okay? It’s a bit long; let’s not make it too long.

Okay, let’s start. I have a question. Yes. I have a question about the last passage you spoke about, namely that a judge, if there are differing opinions, cannot simply decide however he wants. That’s not clear to me. Can’t he use, say, extra-halakhic considerations like exigent circumstances, a slippery slope, the needs of the generation, and so on? No, no—the opposite. Exactly the opposite. Extra-halakhic considerations like slippery slope and exigent circumstances—that is not called deciding a dispute. That of course is possible. The discussion is what happens when there is none of that. It is an ordinary halakhic question, there are no exigent circumstances, no slippery slope, nothing. One needs to determine what the law will be, and there are two opinions. There are two opinions—so how can he choose? The Rosh says: what do you mean? By logic—whichever seems more correct to you. Ah, but I’m not some genius like Maimonides. There is a dispute between Maimonides and Rashba. Now I think like Rashba. So everyone says: what, I’m too small for this, how can I put my head between mountains? When there is a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim), that is a doubt; a Torah-level doubt is treated stringently. The Rosh says: what do you mean? If you think like Rashba, that is what you have to do. Not because you are greater, but because Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation. But if he is someone not capable and does not know how to decide this dispute, then you have the laws of doubts.

But regarding autonomous decision-making and all that, we will get there later in the series. I just want to show you one sentence to sharpen further the meaning of these remarks, this obligation of autonomous ruling. Because notice that in the Rosh there is more than a right—there is an obligation. That is, the Rosh argues not only that I am not obligated to obey the Geonim or sages who preceded me. Everyone, if you can, please turn on your cameras, okay? I just want to see whom I’m speaking to. If someone has a special problem, that’s another matter, but in principle, please.

So the Rosh’s claim is that not only is there a right to rule as you think, there is an obligation. You must rule as you think: Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation. And to that, as I said, we will still return. But look at one passage I’ll show you in Maharal, and I’ll maybe give you in one sentence the background. In the sixteenth century the Shulchan Arukh was composed, and in Europe the Rema. Okay? This generated a huge controversy. Menachem Elon in his book calls it “the codification controversies.” That is, there was a controversy around Maimonides, and afterward the same controversy returned around the Shulchan Arukh. At the head of those polemicizing stood Maharal and his brother, Rabbi Chaim ben Rabbi Betzalel, who wrote Be’er Mayim Chayim precisely on this controversy, and Maharshal, who was a relative of the Rema. And they argued against the Shulchan Arukh and the Rema that they did not understand the point of writing a book of legal rulings. A Shulchan Arukh—you may not issue rulings from such a book. When you rule Jewish law, you must do so by analyzing the primary sources and arriving at your own position. And the Shulchan Arukh is written as though I am supposed to read in the Shulchan Arukh and then know what to do. And that is scandalous, they say. What do you mean? You may not rule that way.

By the way, the commentators on the Shulchan Arukh write that one may not rule from the Shulchan Arukh. One may not rule from the Shulchan Arukh—not just that one is not obligated to; it is forbidden. There are those who write—the Bach and others, and Maharshal writes this—but they say that since around it there are already commentators who bring the Talmudic sources and discuss his words, in such a case one can indeed rule based on it. Since I can discuss it and understand what he is saying, then I may already rely on his rulings. But on the principled level, one may not rule from the Shulchan Arukh.

Look at Maharal. Maharal, as I said, is part of this controversy. In Netiv Ha-Torah chapter 15, in Netivot Olam, he writes there as follows: “The Mishnah teachers are destroyers of the world.” So says the Talmud. “Destroyers of the world”—could that enter your mind? Rather, they are those who issue rulings from their Mishnah. And before it asks “could they be destroyers of the world?” and answers, and so on—he goes on at length there. Then he says: “And it answers, because they issue rulings from their Mishnah”—that is, they issue rulings even though they do not know the primary reason of the Mishnah. Just because it is written in the Mishnah, they rule that that is the law. You do not know the reason of the Mishnah, you do not understand this matter—this is destroying the world. It is like magicians. Legal ruling has to be rational. Legal ruling has to emerge from judgment that you make and a decision you reach. Not magic, and not relying on something simply because it is written. “Therefore, when they issue rulings from the Mishnah and not from clear intellect, they are destroyers of the world that stands upon the Torah.”

Then he continues with a very strong sentence, the best-known sentence in that chapter: “For it is more fitting and more proper that one issue a ruling from the Talmud—even though one must fear that he may not go in the way of truth and may not decide the law truly, such that the ruling accords with the truth—nevertheless a sage has only what his intellect gives him and understands from the Talmud. And when his understanding and wisdom mislead him…” Why might they mislead him? Because if he argues against earlier authorities, they are probably right, since they were greater Torah scholars; there is decline of the generations, as we saw in the Rosh. So maybe you are mistaken. Why do you go according to what you think and not according to what the earlier authorities or the Geonim say? He says: “Nonetheless, he is beloved to God when he rules according to what follows from his own intellect. And the judge has only what his eyes see. And he is better than one who rules from one compendium and knows no reason for the matter at all, for he walks like a blind man on the road.”

What is he saying? One who rules Jewish law from his own reasoning and analysis, even though he may be mistaken, and may even probably be mistaken if he argues against earlier authorities because he is a lesser Torah scholar, is more beloved in the eyes of the Holy One, blessed be He, than someone who rules from the earlier authorities even though he is right. Any questions? One second. Why? Let’s sharpen this more: because there is an obligation to rule autonomously, not merely a right to rule. It is not just that the earlier authorities have no authority and I am not obligated to accept their words. I am forbidden to accept their words. I must rule according to what I myself think. That is what he is trying to say.

Now, again, just as a closing line on this point, I would be lying if I said that this is the prevailing position. Meaning, Maharal and his brother and Maharshal stood here at the head of the opposition party. In the end, after a hundred or two hundred years, the halakhic world tended more in the direction of the Shulchan Arukh and the Rema, who indeed held precedent-based rulings relying on sources. The Shulchan Arukh writes in his introduction that he ruled according to the majority among the three pillars of legal ruling—the Rif, the Rosh, and Maimonides—which is absolutely scandalous in Maharal’s eyes. Okay? That is what he objected to.

And still, as I said—so what will you say, that I have to accept that because they decided? In this very dispute, whether to rely on sources simply because they wrote or to go after my own reasoning—am I to decide that dispute itself because there are sources that say otherwise? That sounds circular, doesn’t it? Meaning, if I think one should go after one’s own reasoning, then that is how I will decide in this dispute too.

Michael? Yes. Sorry, someone before me—sorry. Yes, yes, who wanted to ask? I wanted to ask: what should most people do, people who are not proficient in the Talmud and also don’t have time to devote to it right now? I’ll get to that when we speak about autonomous halakhic ruling. Clearly I am not talking about anarchy. I do not mean to say that every ignoramus or second-grader should decide Jewish law for himself according to what seems right to him. That is nonsense. The Rosh too writes that we are talking about someone capable of deciding. But the Rosh emphasizes that “capable of deciding” does not mean you are as great as the medieval authorities; rather, that you are a Torah scholar who knows how the system works. No, but those people who don’t have time to devote to it—if they have no time, then after the fact they will have to rule according to accepted law books. There is nothing else to do. But that is after the fact because you have no time; necessity is excusable. But in principle, of course there is an obligation to do this. More than that—it is bad to do otherwise, not merely that there is no obligation. But, you know, we are all human beings. Nobody can examine every question that comes before him from the roots. So clearly there is a place to follow legal manuals when necessary—meaning, when there is no choice. But that is how one should regard it.

Okay, but we really will still talk about legal rulings. Michael, may I? Yes, yes. I’m not… something slippery is going on here, maybe because of the matter itself. But what do you mean, to say “I don’t need the sources”? I mean, even now a Torah scholar—Not that you don’t need the sources. They have no authority over you. No, you say one’s ears should ring from the fact that the Shulchan Arukh writes explicitly that he ruled according to the three great pillars before him. I say… meaning, even today, when I try to understand where the mistake is—after all, this is the method of halakhic ruling in Jewish law, right? Meaning, now you come and there is… Jewish law depends how you define it. I agree that this is the accepted method of ruling today in Jewish law. That I agree with. But you say that isn’t what Maharal says. Correct. So what does Maharal say? If you are sharp enough, then sit over the matter, say what your reasoning tells you, and go with it? Not what your reasoning tells you. Study the earlier and later authorities, analyze all the positions, and in the end reach the conclusion of what you think. That is why I corrected you at the beginning. No, I am not saying the earlier authorities are unnecessary. I am saying the earlier authorities have no authority. When I study the Talmud, I will study it with all the earlier and later authorities as much as possible. But I do not make the decision because Rashba wrote such-and-such, but according to what I think. After I have weighed all the opinions and examined the arguments and the reasons, in the end the decision is what I think.

So for practical purposes, you say this also according to the law? According to the law, according to the law. There is something a bit dangerous here, no? Dangerous in both directions. It is dangerous to do this, and dangerous not to do this. Everything is dangerous; that’s life. Life is not guava, as our sages said. Dangerous—what can you do? That is what Maharal says, right? That it is preferable in the eyes of the Holy One, blessed be He, that you rule from your own understanding even if you are mistaken, than that someone rely on the earlier authorities even if he is right. So he is aware that there is danger here, right? He says “even if you are mistaken.” He understands that if you disagree with the earlier authorities there is a decent chance you are mistaken.

Meaning, when I say dangerous maybe that wasn’t the right expression, but in the end any person who has intellect and knows how to learn can sit at home, open the books, analyze, read, understand what was said as far as the proof reaches, and finally understand on his own and do what he understands. Exactly. That is exactly what I am saying, correct. And don’t ask the rabbi in the end what the conclusion is. Correct. If you are uncertain you can ask; it is worthwhile to consult, that is always good, but not as authority. In the end it is what you decide.

According to Maharal it is basically reasoning. Meaning, he is not relying on something. On what is he relying? It is reasoning. What? Who is “he”? Maharal’s position—it is reasoning. And the position of those who disagree with him is reasoning, okay? Then you decide with your own reasoning which of the two reasonings seems more convincing to you. That is all. Fine, this is unbelievable. It’s not like the previous question, where the question itself undercuts the assumption. What can one do here? You’re always in a loop. They tell me there are precedents against you, but the very question I am discussing is whether to adhere to precedents or go after my own judgment. So how does it help that they tell me there are precedents against me? Fine.

No, I’m saying: if there are important precedents against me, I will certainly reconsider. I very much respect the Shulchan Arukh, of course—his little finger is thicker than my waist. Meaning, it’s not that I belittle his wisdom and the fact that he is a Torah scholar much greater than I am; that is obvious. But I claim that despite that, I am obligated to rule as I understand. If on this very matter he thinks otherwise, then I will reconsider that too, but in the end I will come to my own conclusion.

Okay, but I’m saying again—this is another topic we’ll discuss, so let’s move on. I only wanted to sharpen the point one sees in the Rosh. That is what one sees in the Rosh, and in Maharal, and by the way in most of the medieval authorities. For some reason among the later authorities—mainly the early Ashkenazic authorities, by the way, are more about tradition and precedent and canonical texts and so on. But the medieval Spanish authorities were, I think, mostly in this approach. Around the time of the Shulchan Arukh, somehow a turn occurred in the course of the halakhic ship, and somehow the precedent-based conception was accepted more—the conception that gives weight or authority to earlier statements. But again, it’s not one or zero. The whole question is how much weight you give. But there is no view saying that you cannot rule on your own or that you must adhere to the earlier authorities. Even those who say that do not really do it. Nobody actually behaves that way all the way through. There are later authorities who disagree with earlier authorities and certainly who decide among disputes of earlier authorities—that is obvious. Okay? They simply give significant weight to the words of the earlier authorities, which is perfectly fine. But in the end you still have to decide.

Fine. As I said, we’ll talk about that more. I want to clarify one more point here. You know what? Let’s change the order. I no longer have enough time to start something new, so I’ll change the order a bit. Let’s talk a little more about autonomy. Since you raised this point, let’s talk about autonomy.

There is a well-known story—as with most stories, it is told about Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz. As you know, all the stories in the world are stories about Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz. Maybe there were even several of him, who knows. In any case, the story says that a priest came to him and said: why don’t you follow us? After all, it is written in the Torah, “follow the majority.” And we are the majority—we Christians are the majority—so why don’t you follow us? Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz answered him: I follow the majority where I have a doubt. For if I have no doubt, I do not follow the majority.

Think, for example: we find a piece of meat lying in the street. It has no identifying mark on it, and I do not know whether it is kosher or non-kosher. So I look at what the majority of stores are nearby, in the city, say. That is the basic law. There is also the issue of meat left unsupervised, but basically one follows the majority of stores. If most of the nearby stores are kosher, one may eat that piece of meat. If most stores are non-kosher, then the piece is forbidden. One follows the majority. What happens if most stores in the city are non-kosher, but I found a piece of meat with a top-level kosher seal on it? Am I forbidden to eat it because one follows the majority? There is a majority of non-kosher stores—but you have no doubt here. Right. Clearly here one does not follow the majority. Why not? Because I am not in doubt. Right? The rule of following the majority is a rule telling me what to do when I am in doubt. If I am not in doubt, then the rule is irrelevant to me.

Let me give you another example. Suppose there is a dispute among halakhic decisors about a certain question. There are opinions in both directions. Now they tell me: look, most decisors go one way, and you are in exigent circumstances. In exigent circumstances you can rely on the minority opinion. “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied on in exigent circumstances”—that is a common approach among the decisors. Okay, now I say: I don’t understand. If one follows the majority, then the law has been decided according to the majority opinion, right? Where did we ever hear that in exigent circumstances one may desecrate the Sabbath? If the majority say that this act is Sabbath desecration and the minority say it is not, now someone comes in exigent circumstances and I tell him that in exigent circumstances he can rely on the minority. I don’t understand. If the law tells us to follow the majority, then that means that according to the law this act is Sabbath desecration. So how can I permit someone because of exigent circumstances to desecrate the Sabbath? We never heard of such a thing. If there were a clear legal ruling on the matter, no one would say that in exigent circumstances you can be lenient, right? Since there are lenient opinions, in exigent circumstances you can rely on them. The question is why. In the end, the law says to follow the majority. If so, then the law says this is Sabbath desecration. Why should exigent circumstances matter to me?

The answer is: the same law that tells you to follow the majority tells you that sometimes you do not have to follow the majority. The same mouth that forbade is the mouth that permitted. Explain this to me. Where is there a law that permits this? I don’t know exactly. You just said that the law says “the same mouth that forbade is the mouth that permitted,” and now you tell me you don’t know if the mouth permitted? No, because what I am saying now is that the law says one follows the majority—that is a clear law, “follow the majority,” learned from a verse. Fine. And that same law says—or not that same law—the law that in exigent circumstances one can be lenient is not learned from anywhere. I know of no source that says that. So the question is: why does everyone do it? Already in the Talmud: “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied on in exigent circumstances.” But where does it come from? What is it based on? It seems to me that the only way to explain it is to say this:

Why do you follow the majority? You follow the majority because there is a certain place where you have no way to reach a conclusion. You remain with an unresolved question; you do not know what the correct law is. So you follow the majority, right? The rule of following the majority is a rule that addresses people who are in a situation where they have no way to resolve their doubt. Okay? Then the sages come and say this: if you are in exigent circumstances, you are allowed to resolve your doubt on non-substantive grounds. Meaning, not on the substantive legal merits but because of the exigent circumstances, you may decide in favor of a certain side because there is exigency. Once you have decided the law, the rule of “follow the majority” no longer applies to you, because the rule of “follow the majority” speaks only of a situation where you have no way to decide the law and remain in doubt. But if you can decide the law—and this is the novelty here—that exigent circumstances are a criterion by means of which one is permitted to decide between two halakhic possibilities—then once I have accepted that novelty, the rule of “follow the majority” no longer applies. And likewise in an ordinary doubt, not only in a majority case. Even in a doubt I would supposedly have to be stringent with a Torah-level doubt. How can it be that in a doubt, in exigent circumstances, one is lenient? This happens all the time: if there is a doubt, then in exigent circumstances one is lenient. How? “A Torah-level doubt is treated stringently” is a law. According to a large portion of the medieval authorities, it is itself a Torah law. Maimonides says it is rabbinic; Rashba and Ran say it is Torah-level. So you are basically being lenient with a Torah prohibition because of exigent circumstances. Where do we find such a thing? It makes no sense. Rather, once I decided in exigent circumstances like side X—wait, like side X against side Y—now I am no longer in doubt. Consequently, the rules for deciding doubts do not apply to me, neither “a Torah-level doubt is treated stringently” nor “follow the majority.” That means these rules speak only to a state where I am in doubt, right?

Is there an example—another example of this? What do you mean? Like, do you have a practical example of such a case, where you would think there is doubt but it was permitted by such a ruling? “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied on in exigent circumstances”—there are passages in the Talmud. Are there really no examples? There are thousands. No, I just want something concrete because nothing comes to mind right now. So you’d have to look at where exactly in the Talmud this comes up. At the moment I don’t remember exactly where. There is some dispute in the area of set-aside items between Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Yehuda, and there one says “Rabbi Shimon is worthy to be relied on in exigent circumstances.” And even though there is an opinion that says that is only in rabbinic law and not in Torah law? No, who says such a thing? Not true, absolutely not true. No, I just came across a class where they brought such an opinion. Then in my opinion that opinion is wrong. And again the question is whether one follows precedents or what I think. It is not correct, and it does not withstand examination.

In any case, the point is this. I’ll bring the well-known story from the Kotzker. You know the midrash that when the Holy One, blessed be He, wanted to create man, He consulted the heavenly court. Truth and peace opposed creating man, while justice and the Holy One, blessed be He, were in favor. Okay? Then the Holy One, blessed be He, cast truth to the ground, as it says “and truth was cast to the earth,” and then by a democratic majority of two against one they decided to create man. Yes, what’s called a defensive democracy.

So the Kotzker asks: why did they throw truth to the ground and not peace? It also would have produced a majority of two against one, right? Meaning, if they had thrown peace out and truth had remained there, there still would have been a two-to-one majority, with the one being truth. Against the truth there is no majority. That is, if you know what the truth is, you don’t follow the majority. It is the same story. You follow the majority where you are uncertain, where you do not know how to decide, so there are rules for deciding doubtful situations and you follow the majority. But if you know what the truth is, then why would you follow the majority? What does that have to do with anything? Against the truth there is no majority. That is exactly Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz’s point, and Kant’s. I think my belief is correct—why should I care that two billion fools think otherwise? Not fools—mistaken, in my opinion. What? And that’s also the story you’re saying about exigent circumstances—you’re saying that I reached the conclusion that this is the truth now, meaning I… No. That is a legal decision as distinct from truth. I said it is a non-substantive decision. It is a legal decision. I am allowed to decide the law not according to the question what is true, but according to what is easier for the person in distress. Once I have decided the law, the rules for deciding doubts no longer apply. But where does your authority come from—I mean, you began with that question and I don’t understand—from where do you get the authority, if there is a rule that a Torah-level doubt is treated stringently, now to be lenient in exigent circumstances? Where do you get the authority one moment before you have decided that this is the law? No, that is exactly the point. At first I asked: since there is such a rule, then this is a Torah prohibition; how can I be lenient with a Torah prohibition in exigent circumstances? Now I claim: no, there is no such rule here. That rule exists in doubtful situations. Now I have to ask myself what counts as a doubtful situation. And my novelty is—ah, I understand—and at this junction you have no doubt. Exactly. That is, I am innovating not against the rule; I am saying the rule does not apply here. Understood. And that can be said from reasoning. The sages say from reasoning that…

But when you come and say to me: here I am permitting a Torah prohibition because it is exigent circumstances—what do you mean? Where did we ever hear that one permits a Torah prohibition in exigent circumstances? Okay. So in the “Oven of Akhnai,” there apparently there is a heavenly voice and they still say we go by the majority. So what does that mean? Wow—if one knows what the ideal truth is, they say we still follow the majority. I don’t know what the truth is; I know what the Holy One, blessed be He, thinks. But the question is: what is the truth in my opinion? This connects to what we discussed before. The question is whether I must rely on someone—including the Holy One, blessed be He—who says something, or whether I need to decide according to my own conclusion. The novelty in the Oven of Akhnai, by the way, is exactly what I said before. The novelty in the Oven of Akhnai basically says that what determines matters is not the absolute truth. Because otherwise I would also have to follow the Geonim; they are greater Torah scholars than I am. Why don’t I follow them? Because Jephthah in his generation is like Samuel in his generation, as the Rosh says. What does that mean? You have to decide according to what seems right to you, not according to what is objectively true—to what seems right to you. So it is the same with the heavenly voice. And that is the novelty of the passage about the Oven of Akhnai.

The Talmud says in Eruvin—in the same region as “these and those,” by the way. The Oven of Akhnai is in Bava Metzia, but there is the passage of “these and those,” and maybe we’ll get to it later. The Talmud says there that the reason the colleagues did not rule according to Rabbi Meir was that they could not penetrate to the depth of his reasoning. He was so sharp, such a genius, that they could not get to the depth of his reasoning. Now, apparently that is very strange. If you could not penetrate to the depth of his reasoning, then obviously you have no business disagreeing with him. If he says something and you don’t agree, then apparently you are mistaken. He is such a great genius that if you don’t agree with him you probably just didn’t understand him, that’s all. So that is a reason to rule like Rabbi Meir, not not to rule like Rabbi Meir. One could say with difficulty that they didn’t know at all what he was saying—not that they didn’t know why he was saying it, but they didn’t know what he was saying. But bring him a piece of meat and say kosher or non-kosher—what’s the problem? That one can understand.

I saw explanations that Rabbi Meir would often say “pure” about what was impure and “impure” about what was pure just to sharpen the students, and they never knew what he actually ruled. I explain it differently. What I say is that they did not follow Rabbi Meir because as long as he had not persuaded me, that was his opinion and not mine. The explanations you bring are explanations drawn toward the precedent-based conception, the conception that gives substantive authority to sages or to previous generations. I speak according to Maharal—according to Maharal’s view, and according to my small view which joins him—which says that just because Rabbi Meir said something, so what? If he persuaded me, no problem, that is how I will rule, because one must rule according to what one thinks. But if he did not persuade me, then so what if he said so? Not because he is not right—he is a Torah scholar greater than I am; just the opposite. The fact that I disagree with him is probably because I did not understand his reasoning. But if I did not understand his reasoning and from my standpoint the law appears such-and-such, then that is how I must rule. That is the point.

But there they excommunicated—what? There in the Oven of Akhnai they excommunicated Rabbi Eliezer because he said, “I go according to my view; I think this is the truth.” No—the opposite! They excommunicated Rabbi Eliezer because he did not go according to his own view, but went according to tradition and refused to accept the rational arguments and either persuade or be persuaded. Exactly the opposite! The whole dispute in the Oven of Akhnai was precisely about this point. Maybe we’ll devote a session to that too. The whole dispute in the Oven of Akhnai was exactly over this point—over autonomy in legal ruling.

Rabbi Eliezer, after all, never said anything he had not heard from his teacher—that is what the Talmud says, right? Rabbi Eliezer was what you might call a traditionalist. He relied on the tradition that had come down to him. And the sages who went against him came with their own reasoning. He says to them: listen, you are the majority, but against truth there is no majority. So they say to him: true, but this is our truth and we are the majority. When there is a dispute, one takes a vote. You can do what you like, but the Sanhedrin has to rule by majority. And you want us to accept your words because you have a tradition? But we have our reasoning. If you persuade us, fine. If not, then you and your tradition will be excommunicated in Lod, and we will issue the legal ruling. And that is indeed what happened there in the end.

Fine, and maybe that really is a good idea. Maybe I’ll devote the next session to talking a little about this issue, or at least part of it, to talk a bit about this dispute, because there it was exactly a dispute over this point—the dispute over autonomy in legal ruling. And one can see it in several parallel Talmudic passages that really join into one structure showing this issue.

Okay, I’ll stop here. Rabbi, I think I just found on the internet regarding exigent circumstances: it’s the Shakh who writes that this is only in rabbinic law. Fine. I disagree. What can I do? Anyone else? I have one, Rabbi, Michael. Yes, gladly. Yes. It is also written—I don’t remember the exact wording now—but this appears both in the Shulchan Arukh and in Maimonides in the laws of prayer. I think in the Shulchan Arukh it says: “better a little with concentration than much without concentration,” and Maimonides also says that in the end the words need to be said with intention in the laws of prayer. So I want to ask in the context of our class: when I come to go to synagogue, I hesitate and say to myself—and understand—that if I go to synagogue, concentration will not be there. And you say—I can personally say about myself—that many times I really decide not to go to synagogue, because I feel I won’t manage to pray there. But you say it’s not that… Until now I said, fine, I also don’t ask anyone, because what’s the point of someone telling me to go if I won’t be able to pray? You’re saying that’s what should happen. Meaning, weigh it in your mind, there’s this and this, you know all the factors, and in the end…

What is the question? I didn’t understand. The question is: my ability now to say that I choose not to pray with a quorum but to pray individually, yes? To do something and say… He could have told you: pray with a quorum and concentrate, be strong. Fine, but if you can’t, then the consideration you are making—what is the problem? I didn’t understand the question. I’m saying: the novelty for me in the class is that you are saying this is how it should be. Meaning, if it is a matter of judgment, that is a novelty for me. It is not obvious. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a class if there weren’t novelty in it. But in this issue, the sages who instituted prayer—and that was an actual Sanhedrin—said to prefer the majority, no? Prayer with a quorum. So… To prefer prayer with a quorum doesn’t mean anything. I prefer it, but if there is concentration, then a little with concentration is preferable to a quorum without concentration. What is the problem? They did not institute an obligation. I’m saying okay, in any case it enters the weighing process. I’m saying it should enter the weighing process. Correct—the final decision is ultimately… Everything has to enter the weighing process, of course. That’s obvious. By the way, prayer with a quorum is plainly not an obligation. It does not appear in the Shulchan Arukh. There is some hint there from which they infer that perhaps he thinks it is obligatory. It appears nowhere explicitly in the Shulchan Arukh. Also in the Talmud one sees that sages prayed individually. It is not that there is some clear principle that one prays with a quorum. There is an advantage to prayer with a quorum, obviously. But it is not some law that one must do. Therefore it seems simple that if you have such a consideration, it is completely legitimate and sensible. It was a fascinating class. Thank you. So goodbye, we’ll meet next week, God willing.