Conceptual Analysis – Lesson 2

This transcript was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.

🔗 Link to the original lecture

🔗 Link to the transcript on Sofer.AI

[Speaker B] Yes, but he has to decide that reality has changed. Right. And then if another rabbi says reality hasn’t changed, then everyone can decide for himself what reality is.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Of course, just like there are other disputes in Jewish law. So that rabbi thinks this way and that rabbi thinks that way—what can you do? By the way, a rabbi’s role in this sense, the role of the rabbi or the judge, is also to assess reality. Because in the end, when you issue a halakhic ruling, first of all you have to determine what the reality is, and then decide what the relevant Jewish law is in that reality. By the way, that’s also how it works in the legal world. Who decides what the relevant scientific facts are when judges sit in court? The judges. They hear expert witnesses, but the expert witnesses may disagree with each other, so who decides what is correct? Psychiatrists argue among themselves about this kind of criminal guilt or that kind of criminal responsibility—who decides? The judge decides. Is he a better psychiatrist? No, but he is the one who has to make the legal decision, and a legal decision requires a decision about the facts, there’s no choice. The authority to decide about the facts is entrusted to him. Not that he determines the facts, but he has to assess what the facts are, okay? I of course also don’t have to accept his factual determinations—that doesn’t obligate me. I have to accept his halakhic ruling, because he’s the judge. But as for assessing reality, he has no authority in the sense that even if he determined that this is the reality, if I think he made a mistake and in my view reality is different, there’s no reason I have to accept that. Fine. So maybe this is the continuation of that same issue. I’ll take advantage of the momentum and move on to the next example of conceptual analysis, which is very closely connected to this example. And here I really want to talk about changes in Jewish law, which is exactly what came up in Ariel’s questions just now—Ariel, right? I’m just seeing it by the heading in the… So that’s what came up in Ariel’s questions just now. There really is something here that sounds Reform. You change Jewish law in light of changes in reality. Seemingly, that’s the whole struggle between Reform and Orthodox, between those loyal to Jewish law and those not loyal to Jewish law. So where exactly is the line? What is it that I’m not allowed to change? Here too, I think, once again—I’ll give the same introduction I gave last time, but this time briefly. When you ask a halakhic decisor, a rabbi, I don’t know, someone—where the line is, or what may and may not be changed—he’ll bring you sources and precedents and look in this book and that book: here you can change, here you can’t change. But usually you won’t hear from him conceptual analysis. And in this case too, conceptual analysis solves the problem and there’s no need to open a single book. You can sit in an armchair and answer the question. Because the conceptual analysis gives the answer. And when we do the conceptual analysis of this matter, what I really need to analyze is the concept of change. There are many concepts that sound self-evident to us. Authority is the concept I’ve been talking about until now. So what is authority? And what is change? What is a fact? We talked about that last time. Now I’m asking what change is. Before I discuss whether one can change or cannot change, and where one can change, I ask: what is change? What is change at all? And it turns out, when you think about it a bit, that this concept is far from simple. Far from simple. The standard example I always bring in this context—an example that isn’t mine but that of some friend of mine, from childhood we used to exchange examples all the time. Examples are a wonderful thing. You collect examples, and I have an example to trade, and you can—I have a collection of examples. In any case, it’s not always clear what the example is good for, but sometimes you see there’s something here that is an example. Leave aside for the moment what it’s good for. You just—you smell that there’s something here that has intellectual potential, let’s call it that. And sometimes later on you suddenly understand what exactly that example gives, what it demonstrates. In this case, he says to me, look, think about this—we were also talking about changes in Jewish law. He’s secular. So he asks me what it means to change Jewish law. Really, the first thing he asked me was what change means. He says: look, let me give you an example. There’s a group of people walking through the desert in swimsuits, and their ancestors also walked in swimsuits. That was their ancestral custom—to walk around in swimsuits. Fine? Just for example, of course. At some stage they reach a cold region. It starts getting cold. They arrive at the edge of the desert, the desert frontier, okay? So some of the people say: fine, the tradition of our ancestors is in our hands, and we continue walking in swimsuits even though it’s cold. They are, of course, conservatives, right? They are faithful to the tradition of their ancestors. A second group says: with all due respect to the tradition of our ancestors, I’m cold. I’m putting on a coat. Okay? So these are heretics, Reform, heretics, call them whatever you want. Fine? But there’s a third group. The third group says—and this will remind you of my earlier discussion with Ariel—the third group says: I claim that our ancestors walked in swimsuits because they lived in a hot region. But in a cold region, our ancestors too would have supported wearing a coat. And therefore I am actually continuing the tradition of my ancestors by wearing a coat. Or, in a more extreme formulation, I would say this: the tradition of our ancestors does not say to walk in a swimsuit. That is not our tradition. The tradition of our ancestors says to wear clothing appropriate to the weather. It’s just that our ancestors, who lived in a hot region, wore swimsuits because that was the clothing appropriate to the weather there. We, who live in a cold region, the clothing appropriate to the weather here is a coat. Therefore—notice—not only am I allowed to wear a parka. Wearing a parka is not a deviation from my ancestors’ tradition. Wearing a parka is the continuation of my ancestors’ tradition. Someone who continues to walk around in a swimsuit is a heretic. A heretic, because he is walking around in clothing inappropriate to the weather. Understand the difference. There’s a difference between saying: I have permission to wear a coat under extenuating circumstances. Maybe that fits within the boundaries of the tradition, I don’t know, I have this argument or that argument. Here I’m making a much stronger claim. I’m claiming that the tradition obligates me to wear a coat. Whoever doesn’t wear a coat deviates from the tradition. Whoever continues to walk around with total self-sacrifice in a swimsuit even though he’s cold is a heretic. Because he is not following the tradition of our ancestors. The tradition of our ancestors was to wear clothing appropriate to the weather. He isn’t wearing clothing appropriate to the weather. Is such an approach not a conservative approach? Oh, it absolutely is a conservative approach. It seems obvious to me that it is completely conservative. It is an approach that is entirely attached to the tradition and preserves it. What is the argument between this approach and the first approach? The question is what the tradition says—what tradition one has to preserve. If the tradition says to walk in a swimsuit, then you are a conservative of the first type. Or if the tradition says to wear clothing appropriate to the weather, then you are a conservative of the third type. But both of you are conservatives. The disagreement is only over the question of what it is you are preserving—what the tradition says. That is in contrast to the second approach I described, which says: leave me alone with the tradition, I’m cold. Yes, like the rabbi of Brisk—you know the story about the rabbi of Brisk? During the War of Independence there were rumors—he lived in Jerusalem, the Griz, yes?—there were rumors that he was about to flee. Because there was gunfire and war and so on. There were rumors that he was going to flee. So Rabbi Herzog, who was the Chief Rabbi, came to persuade him to stay, because he was afraid of demoralization. If the rabbi of Brisk fled, that would demoralize people; he was considered an important figure. So he came to persuade him, and said: look, we have a tradition that the Third Temple will not be destroyed. Don’t worry, we’ll win this war. We have a tradition that the Third Temple will not be destroyed. So the rabbi of Brisk answered him: and I have a tradition from my father that when they shoot, you run away. That’s my tradition. I think that story is one of the—one of the wonderful examples, by the way this too is an example—one of the wonderful examples of a Religious Zionist mode of thought versus a Haredi mode of thought. The Haredi mode of thought is much more pragmatic, by the way, although there are people who mistakenly think otherwise. But we’ll leave that for another time. In any case, for our purposes, my tradition says to wear clothing that protects me from the cold, and not to continue walking around in a swimsuit. We always regard this suspiciously, because somehow it comes out that this result is the one I’m most comfortable with. I wear a coat when it’s cold. So these arguments are always treated with suspicion. Basically people say to me: look, you’re a heretic under the guise of a conservative, but really you’re just looking for the easy life. The convenient route, as they say. Okay? But that’s not true, or not necessarily true. It could be true, but it isn’t necessarily true. A person could say that this really is how he interprets the tradition. Tradition undergoes interpretation. Many traditions we received—we interpret them; we don’t preserve them as-is. We interpret them. There’s almost nothing that doesn’t. So here, this is the interpretation he believes in. In this case, it also happens to work out conveniently for him and fit what he wants. Yes, this instinct always reminds me of the well-known saying: it’s too good to be kosher. Too convenient to be kosher. Meaning, if it’s convenient for you, that’s a sign that probably something forbidden is going on here. So no, I don’t accept that. Why is convenience…

[Speaker C] Why is convenience not good?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Convenience can absolutely also be kosher. You don’t have to suffer. You have to suffer when you need to. But there is no commandment to suffer for the sake of suffering. If your conclusion is that the tradition says to wear clothing appropriate to the weather, then that really is the tradition and that is what you should do. And someone who walks around in a swimsuit despite his self-sacrifice, therefore he is not suspect of being a hidden heretic or hidden Reformer, because he is paying a price—he walks around in a swimsuit even though he’s cold. But he is actually a heretic, because in my opinion the tradition says to wear clothing appropriate to the weather, and then he isn’t doing that, he is deviating from the tradition. Now, one can argue…

[Speaker B] Wait, but what does that mean, sorry—you’re saying tradition in the sense of the original source of that determination?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] To each his own tradition; the concept is general, everyone and his own tradition.

[Speaker B] But if we take that concept, there’s tradition in the sense that I can see for hundreds and thousands of years that my forefathers acted this way or that way. But if my forefathers acted in a certain way, then apparently there is some weight to the fact that the tradition from…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] From the beginning… because just as my ancestors wore clothing appropriate to the weather, so do I. I’m sticking to what my ancestors did. I’m doing—

[Speaker B] No, but my forefathers always walked around in swimsuits regardless of the weather.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, they always walked around in clothing appropriate to the weather. It just happened that they lived in a hot region, so they always wore swimsuits. So again I’m saying: if the facts are different, and they wore swimsuits even when it was cold, then that’s an argument. I’m talking about a case where the facts are such that it was always hot. Fine? So we have a disagreement about what exactly our ancestors transmitted to us. A legitimate disagreement. It has two sides. And I am no less conservative than the other person, even though what I do may be more comfortable for me. There is no necessity to say that I am really a heretic in disguise. No. This is my interpretation, and this is what I do. So now I ask you: is this called change or not called change? Who here is the changer? Maybe the one walking around in a swimsuit is the changer, because he is changing the tradition that says to wear clothing appropriate to the weather. Or maybe I am the changer, because they used to walk around in swimsuits and now I’m changing and wearing a coat. You understand that the concept of change is not a trivial concept. It is very hard, in certain cases, to define what it means to change or of course to preserve. To change and to preserve are two sides of the same coin. What is hard to define as change is also hard to define as preservation, right? Both of these things are very hard to define. I call these two approaches plain-sense conservatism and interpretive conservatism. Plain-sense conservatism means you preserve the plain meaning. The plain meaning is that they wore swimsuits, so I stick to the plain meaning. They wore swimsuits; I’m not doing interpretive acrobatics. What I saw is what I do. So let’s call that plain-sense conservatism. But there is also interpretive conservatism, which is no less conservative. The only thing is that what it preserves is what our ancestors did plus interpretation. Interpretation here means exegesis. In other words, my ancestors wore swimsuits. Now I interpret that, and I say: what do you mean, they wore swimsuits? They wore swimsuits because it was hot. The principle really isn’t to wear a swimsuit; the principle is to wear clothing appropriate to the weather. That is an interpretive reading I make of what my ancestors did. And now I claim that this is the tradition, and I preserve it meticulously. So in essence I am conservative just like the first conservative; it’s only that what I preserve is the tradition after I’ve interpreted it, whereas he preserves the tradition without interpretations. He preserves the tradition in its plain sense, literally. Okay? But both of us are conservatives.

[Speaker D] How does that relate to custom?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean? You can give custom the very same interpretation.

[Speaker D] You don’t change customs.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, but the question is what counts as changing. Was the custom to walk around in swimsuits, or was the custom to wear clothing appropriate to the weather?

[Speaker D] No, swimsuits. There are all kinds of local customs, the customs people practiced.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But that’s what I’m saying. The question is what it means to change the custom. If changing the custom means not doing what my ancestors did in the plain sense, or whether changing the custom means not doing what they did in the interpretive sense. You’re talking here about the concept of change, but I’m asking what your definition of the concept of change is. I claim that when I wear a coat I am preserving, not changing, the custom. On the contrary, I am fighting for the preservation of custom. And I would launch an all-out attack, a jihad, against those who continue to wear swimsuits, because they are not preserving the customs, those heretics that they are. Are you allowed to interpret? By the way, are you allowed—

[Speaker B] Are you allowed now to make a new interpretation after for hundreds and thousands of years all the Geonim and medieval authorities and so on didn’t make that interpretation? Meaning, they were aware of it, but they still didn’t make that interpretation.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] First of all, the question is whether in their time the reality was really like it is in my time.

[Speaker B] Obviously—so they couldn’t have interpreted that way.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. And I’m saying that even assuming the reality was different and they didn’t interpret it that way, authority—as I pointed out when we discussed authority—authority belongs only to the Talmudic text, not to the Geonim, not to the medieval authorities, and not to the later authorities. And the fact that they didn’t interpret it that way doesn’t mean that I can’t. So I will. I can take into account the fact that they didn’t interpret it that way and ask myself why not—because after all, they weren’t reeds in the swamp either. Meaning, if they didn’t make that interpretation, then I should think twice. It could be that my interpretation requires further examination. So I’ll examine it again, and maybe I’ll withdraw and not make that interpretation. But if I decide that it is sufficiently convincing for me, then the fact that they didn’t say it needs examination, but in my opinion this is the correct interpretation. I do not disagree with the Talmudic text. I do disagree with Geonim, medieval authorities, and later authorities—with all due respect—but I need to be very convinced in order to do that. Still, if I am convinced enough, then I will disagree. So here again we see that when, say, someone now proposes, like we discussed earlier, to validate women as witnesses—what reaction will he get? Reform, right? Obviously. Reform. You’ve disqualified him; he doesn’t pass the rules of the format, meaning he’s invalid from the outset. Now no one in the world has yet defined what Reform means. Reform means someone who changes Jewish law—that’s the literal translation, he institutes reform, meaning changes in Jewish law. And Orthodoxy is whoever preserves Jewish law. So in that less loaded language, it’s preserving versus changing. But now we need to define what preservation is and what change is. Has anyone ever defined that? Never. I don’t know anyone who has even dealt with it. And this again is the same lack I spoke about—the lack of conceptual analysis before starting the discussion. People immediately start talking about whether this is Reform or not Reform, they bring one source and another source, and there we found this and here we found that. What do I care what you found or didn’t find? I don’t know what the reality was in those places where you found those things. I’m asking the question: what counts as change? And I’m not discussing it by sources; I’m discussing it conceptually. I’m doing a conceptual analysis, linguistic, conceptual, logical—that’s the analysis I’m doing. And you’ll see that here, after the analysis I’m doing, suddenly I discover that an entire world of changes is not Reform, is actually not change. It looks like change to the plain eye, but it is not change. So here is another example of how healthy conceptual analysis can completely change the picture even before I’ve opened a source. And after I open sources, after I’ve done the conceptual analysis, I’ll have to interpret those sources in light of that conceptual analysis. Then I’ll ask myself—for example, suppose I see that even in the Middle Ages they were strict about ‘It is preferable to dwell as two than to dwell as a widow,’ not only in the time of the Talmud. Fine. Now I can interpret that in several ways. Maybe in their day too people were still in the same mindset as people in the Talmud, so no wonder they continued with that presumption, because it really was true in their time too. But today I think that presumption has changed. Women today don’t think that way. So I have no problem with this. So I interpreted the sources in light of the conceptual analysis and said: these sources are not relevant to me; there’s no point relating to them. So the conceptual analysis helps me even when I do go and open the sources—I know what to do with the sources. For example, I’ll try to look for what women thought in the period of, I don’t know, Maharam of Rothenburg, if I find some source of his on this issue. Maybe I have one historical source or another to see what women thought in that period. And if I discover that indeed the women of that period were like the women of our day, and nevertheless Maharam of Rothenburg didn’t make this interpretation, then that really is a hard question. Because then I’ll have to ask myself: wait, then why not? Apparently Maharam of Rothenburg understood that this law about a woman’s eligibility as a witness, or ‘It is preferable to dwell as two than to dwell as a widow,’ whatever, does not depend on this factual parameter, because clearly in his time it was different and yet he preserved the law. Now I have to ask myself whether I accept that or don’t accept it. But that source of Maharam of Rothenburg is now illuminated in a completely different light. Therefore conceptual analysis helps me not only because it saves me—as I said last time, I’m just repeating it—sometimes conceptual analysis saves me from opening the sources at all; I don’t need to open sources. But conceptual analysis also helps me decipher the sources after I’ve opened them. I can understand what the sources are saying, how to take them, and to what extent they are relevant to me or not relevant to me. So that is another example of conceptual analysis and all the implications it can have, like the previous examples. Now I want to bring one more example. I’ll bring you a story I once saw. I want to talk about—well, I’ll bring you the story first, and then I’ll tell you what I want to talk about. In the Haggadah—there is a ‘Beit Levi Haggadah,’ edited by some Garlitz fellow, which is basically the Brisk Haggadah. At the end of the Haggadah there is a series of stories about the rabbis of Brisk, the people of Brisk. Okay? One of the stories is about the Beit HaLevi. Beit HaLevi, the first of the Brisk dynasty—the book about Beit HaLevi is even called that: ‘The First of the Brisk Dynasty.’ The father of Rabbi Chaim, right? So the story goes like this. Look. Like this—one second, I’ll share. You know, this is from the genre of maskilic stories. It’s a familiar genre, I assume. ‘During one of the visits of our master, the author of Beit HaLevi, to the city of Minsk, one of the wealthy and powerful men of the city, who belonged to the camp of the Enlighteners, came to him and proposed that the time had already come for the great rabbis of the generation to try to ease the severe laws somewhat, and in this way those who had distanced themselves from the way of the Torah would surely draw near again.’ Right? A wealthy man, one of the city’s notables, approaches the rabbi and says: ‘Listen, the time has come for you to be a bit lenient. If you become lenient, it will also bring the public closer to Torah. People will be less alienated from it because it will be more user-friendly,’ and so on. ‘The author of Beit HaLevi smiled and revealed to the proposer of this honorable proposal the remarkable fact that in practice he himself belonged to the rabbis who, for ages, had already been very lenient in many laws. In general, he was a famously lenient man, the Beit HaLevi.’ Now anyone who knows the figures involved knows that the man was hysterically stringent. Just hysterically stringent. There’s another one of those stories there at the end of the Haggadah, about the Radbaz of Slutsk, the father-in-law of Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky, the author of Chazon Yechezkel. He once held a Passover Seder in the Volozhin yeshiva. He came there for the Seder. And as is known, outside the Land of Israel there are two festival days, so he held the first Seder night with the Netziv and the second Seder night with Beit HaLevi. Both were heads of the Brisk yeshiva. The Netziv—he came to the Netziv and said, ‘Ah, what joy, happiness, delight, how wonderful, how many commandments we are performing.’ He was radiating happiness, the Netziv. It was just a pleasure, a real celebration. The Seder night, calm and joyous, continued until dawn. They told the story, ate matzah, enjoyed life, everything with a shining smile. The second Seder night he held with Beit HaLevi. And there the Seder night began in hysteria: when does matzah time finally arrive? Were the matzot they ate scorched so that there wouldn’t be any suspicion of something having become leavened? They were careful to eat it quickly before midnight, because according to most opinions one really has to eat the afikoman before midnight. Then there was hysteria over whether midnight means the earlier midnight or the later midnight, and they kept looking at the clock and checking whether they had fulfilled their obligation. Wait, and there is the opinion of this medieval authority and that later authority, and maybe we didn’t fulfill our obligation, and pressure and hysteria. And they ate an olive-bulk of matzah the size of two watermelons in order to satisfy all opinions. And after midnight they told the story of the Exodus all night until morning in order to fulfill the obligation of recounting the Exodus. In short, a hysterical Seder night. He says: ‘Go out and see the difference between the Netziv and Beit HaLevi.’ There is no moral. The story ends there. It’s just to teach you who Beit HaLevi was. Beit HaLevi was hysterically stringent. Now I return to our story. That same Enlightener comes to him and says, ‘The time has come for you rabbis to ease things a bit.’ He said to him: ‘What? You know, you’ve burst through an open door. I am already known and famous as a great lenient authority.’ ‘As is the way of merchants, who do not immediately offer all their wares,’ replied Beit HaLevi, ‘so I too will present before you seven examples of leniencies that I have ruled, and they will testify to the rest of my merchandise. A: There are those who are strict and say that the time for the evening prayer is only until midnight, and afterward one can no longer pray. If you missed midnight, you can’t pray. And I ruled leniently that one may pray until dawn. B: There are those who are strict regarding Rabbenu Tam phylacteries, that one has to be established in piety in order to put them on. And I ruled leniently that anyone may put them on.’ Right—he is lenient; anyone may do it, even someone not known for piety can put on both Rashi’s phylacteries and Rabbenu Tam’s. A well-known leniency. Another leniency: ‘There are those who are strict not to recite liturgical poems in the middle of the prayer because it constitutes an interruption in the prayer. And I ruled leniently that one may recite them. There are those who are strict not to study on the eve of the Ninth of Av when it falls on the Sabbath—to study Torah. Whereas I ruled leniently: one may study even actual laws. There are those who are strict not to fast on Rosh Hashanah, and I ruled leniently: you are allowed to fast’—yes, to fast on Rosh Hashanah. ‘There are those who are strict and say one must not observe two days of Yom Kippur, to fast two days.’ Right, the issue in China, in Shanghai, during World War II with the International Date Line, there was deliberation over perhaps fasting two days. Two days. And there really were halakhic decisors who sent them instructions: fast two days because of doubt. So he says: ‘There are those who are strict and say one must not observe two days of Yom Kippur, and I ruled leniently: you may fast two days.’ He has a very well-known leniency: you may fast two days. ‘There are those who are strict that if one forgot one night to count the Omer, he may no longer continue counting with a blessing. And I ruled leniently that he may count with a blessing.’ Okay? So this collection of leniencies of Beit HaLevi—I assume the fellow fled with his tail between his legs. Meaning, everyone laughs a lot when they read this story. Because it is obvious to everyone that these are stringencies, not leniencies. But admit that this is not trivial. Why isn’t it a leniency? There are people who forbid something, and Beit HaLevi permits it. Why isn’t that called a leniency? There are people who forbid fasting two days. He is lenient; he permits fasting two days on Yom Kippur. Why isn’t that a leniency? So this depends on the question—and this is the next example I want to focus on here—what is a leniency? And once again, I don’t know anyone who has done this. But one has to do a conceptual analysis of the concept of leniency. What is a leniency? We usually understand leniency as a mode of decision that is more pleasant for me. Right? What is more convenient for me, easier for me, more pleasant for me—that is a leniency. Then the question really arises: so what kind of leniency is this? He is lenient with me by allowing me to fast two days? Fasting two days is a stringency. Especially since if it is allowed to fast two days, then you have to fast two days. Because by the laws of doubt, you have to fast two days, since you don’t know which of the days is Yom Kippur. So if it is forbidden, then one has to find a solution. If it is permitted, then it’s not only permitted—you also have to fast two days. Is that a leniency? Forcing you to fast two days? So if the definition of leniency is what is more convenient for me to do, or more pleasant for me to do, then these leniencies are not leniencies; they are all stringencies, every last one. All seven examples of Beit HaLevi are stringencies. But why nevertheless does it strike us as important? Why do we still feel that there is some sort of leniency here? And it remains this sort of funny thing—but if you ask people why it’s funny, I’m not sure they’ll know how to answer. I tried it and didn’t get good answers. Let me add another point. In principle, why is the feeling that this is a leniency? Because there is something that certain decisors forbid and Beit HaLevi permits. To permit is a leniency, no? Even though he permits me to do something less pleasant for me, still he permitted something others forbid. Therefore there is some feeling that this is a leniency. But it is a leniency that allows me to do something less pleasant, not more pleasant. So what is a leniency? Let me ask the same question from a different angle. I once heard a story about the previous Klausenberger Rebbe from Netanya, Rabbi Yekusiel Yehuda Halberstam, the author of Divrei Yatziv. He said that when it rained, he remained sitting in the sukkah. He just couldn’t—he couldn’t eat outside the sukkah during Sukkot; it drove him crazy. Okay? So for him, if I tell him, ‘I’m ruling leniently for you in the laws of sukkah,’ would leniency mean to sit in the sukkah or not to sit in the sukkah? For an ordinary person, leniency means he is exempt from the sukkah, he doesn’t have to eat in the sukkah, he can eat outside. For the Klausenberger Rebbe, leniency means eat in the sukkah. That’s what is easier for him, more pleasant for him. Or alternatively, ‘in cases of doubt regarding blessings, be lenient.’ What does that mean? It means not to say the blessing. But if someone actually really wants to say the blessing—he loves blessing the Holy One blessed be He, he thinks it’s important, it builds him up, it speaks to him—you forbid him to say the blessing. Why? In cases of doubt concerning blessings, be lenient, so bless. Why does leniency always mean not to bless? Now notice—these are simple questions. But I don’t know anyone who has asked them. What is leniency? The most basic thing that people use all the time in the halakhic field. Leniency, stringency, he ruled leniently, he ruled stringently, this is lenient, this is stringent. What is this concept of leniency? Nobody defined it.

[Speaker E] There’s a passage in tractate Pesachim 52b—I went over it in the daily page a few days ago—there, regarding seventh-year wine, Rav Yosef applied the verse: ‘My people ask counsel of their wood, and their staff tells them.’ ‘Their staff tells them’—whoever is lenient, his staff tells him, meaning… so?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What does that mean? What definition of leniency do you get from there?

[Speaker E] There, in the Talmudic text, leniency is leniency in the sense we use today. Meaning, the person who permits using the wine, drinking seventh-year wine, and Rav Yosef mocks that leniency. Meaning, Rav Yosef too, and the Talmudic text in general, understands leniency in the sense of what is more convenient to do, what is easier, what requires less physical and emotional effort from me.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That is the accepted view. Fine, yes—but it isn’t correct. Because in doubtful cases concerning blessings, they will tell a person not to bless even if he likes blessing more. So what is leniency? I want to suggest the following. Leniency means permitting something that someone else forbids, even if that permission allows me to do something that is unpleasant and inconvenient for me, like fasting two days. In another formulation, I would say it like this: when I have two halakhic opinions, how do I determine which opinion is more stringent and which is more lenient? The answer is: by the number of legitimate options. If decisor A says I have three legitimate options in a situation, and decisor B says I have four legitimate options in that situation, then decisor B is the lenient one. Even if the fourth option he adds is to fast two days—that is, an option that isn’t pleasant for me. But since in his view there is one more legitimate option in the situation, he is the lenient one, because he is permitting something that the first one forbade, namely the fourth option. The first one had only three options, so he forbade the fourth. The second is lenient because he permits the fourth option. Ah, but it’s an option that makes things harder for me, that is less pleasant, less easy? Correct—but he added another option, so he is the lenient one. Leniency and stringency are measured not at all by the question of how pleasant it is for me. Leniency and stringency are measured by the question of how many options are open to me. The more options open before me, the more lenient it is.

[Speaker B] But in most cases there are two options.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine. So whoever allows two options is lenient relative to someone who allows one option. Fine, a particular case.

[Speaker B] No, but if in each case there is this option and that option, and one says this option and the other says the second option?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Then neither is lenient and neither is stringent. Then there is no relation of leniency and stringency between the two rulings. The rulings simply disagree. But when there is a relationship of leniency and stringency, it is always when one opens n options and the other opens n plus one options, or n plus something options.

[Speaker B] Why not look at it in terms of committing a transgression? If there is a situation where either you commit a transgression or you don’t commit a transgression, and I say leniently: you are not committing a transgression in a situation where you acted in such-and-such a way?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] In other words, you opened another option for me. Suppose there is a dispute, say, whether one may separate—I don’t know—waste from food, food from waste, for the sake of discussion, okay? Now one person forbids it and one permits it. The one who permits it opened more options for me, because now I can separate and I can refrain from separating. The one who forbids says I can only refrain from separating. He removes the option of separating and therefore opens fewer options. Got it? Now look, test this: this is the definition of the concept leniency. The concept leniency means this. Except that when I have more options open before me, of course I can choose the one that is most pleasant for me among them. Like with a restaurant… you know, there’s a mathematical sentence that says that food in a kosher restaurant will be at most as tasty as in a non-kosher restaurant, or less. Less than or equal. Why? Because in a kosher restaurant there are more constraints, right? You want to make the tastiest food possible, but within the constraints of kashrut. A non-kosher restaurant doesn’t have the constraints of kashrut. So if the kosher food comes out tastier, then the non-kosher restaurant will make kosher food, because it’s tastier—it doesn’t care about making kosher food. But if the non-kosher food comes out tastier, then the non-kosher restaurant will make that, whereas the kosher restaurant won’t. Therefore, in a kosher restaurant the food will come out less than or equal in tastiness to a non-kosher restaurant. Point too good to be kosher—that’s already a mathematical phenomenon. Okay? Here too, in this context, the same thing. When I have several options that are all halakhically legitimate, then of course I’ll choose the one most convenient for me among them, and therefore usually leniency means doing what is convenient for me. But that’s not because leniency means more convenient; rather, leniency means that the convenient option is also legitimate. Consequently, I choose it. But that is only a result of the fact that there is a lenient ruling here; it is not the definition of a lenient ruling. Do you understand what I’m saying? Now when I speak, for example, about ‘in doubtful cases concerning blessings, be lenient,’ that really challenges this view. ‘In doubtful cases concerning blessings, be lenient’ means: don’t bless. But seemingly, if someone really wants to bless, then if you want to be lenient with him, you should tell him: okay, bless. Why does leniency always mean not blessing? Notice the explanation. ‘In doubtful cases concerning blessings, be lenient’ means: you may bless and you may refrain from blessing. That is called leniency. I’m opening both options for you. Except that once you can bless but can also refrain from blessing, there is the prohibition of ‘Do not take [God’s name in vain],’ yes, not to utter the name of God in vain. And therefore they tell you: the practical instruction is, don’t bless. The leniency in the laws of blessings really says there is no obligation to bless. You can bless and you can refrain from blessing. Except now it is not the laws of blessings that come in, but the laws of not taking God’s name in vain. And in the laws of not taking God’s name in vain, they tell you that if you can bless and can also refrain from blessing, you are forbidden to bless. But that is no longer a lenient ruling; that is a stringent ruling. The lenient ruling is only the ruling that essentially says: you can bless and you can refrain from blessing. After I ruled leniently in the laws of blessings, now there is another dilemma unrelated to the laws of blessings—a dilemma of uttering God’s name. And with regard to uttering God’s name, if you are not obligated, then you are forbidden. Here I am being stringent, not lenient. Therefore ‘in doubtful cases concerning blessings, be lenient’ means…

[Speaker F] Doesn’t it start the other way around—with doubt concerning blessings, that I am concerned about taking God’s name in vain, and therefore I am concerned about that prohibition and because of that I’m willing to give up enjoying this world without a blessing?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You can start wherever you want, but the logical way to start is what I said. Because ‘in doubtful cases concerning blessings, be lenient’ means that you may bless and may refrain from blessing—that is the leniency. After there are two options, the prohibition of taking God’s name in vain comes and says: if this blessing is unnecessary, meaning not obligatory, then you may not say it. But that is not in the laws of blessings at all; it is in the laws of taking God’s name in vain. Therefore in the laws of blessings I really am lenient, because I opened both options. It’s just that in this case—it’s like Yom Kippur. The same thing on Yom Kippur. Why is it that Beit HaLevi’s permitting you to fast two days is a leniency? Because Beit HaLevi says: you have one more option; fasting two days is also permitted. Except that now, in the laws of doubt, there is a rule that a Torah-level doubt is treated stringently. Meaning, if you can fast two days, then you must fast two days, because how else will you know which of the two days is Yom Kippur? But the obligation to fast is not connected to Beit HaLevi’s leniency. Beit HaLevi’s leniency is only the permission to fast. After there is permission to fast, the laws of doubt come and say that you are obligated to fast. But that is not the leniency. The leniency really is the permission to fast. And all of Beit HaLevi’s examples are leniencies, down to the last one. All seven examples of Beit HaLevi are lenient rulings. Except that these lenient rulings can now be intersected by the laws of taking God’s name in vain or the laws of doubt on Yom Kippur, and then they tell you: fine, if you have two options, then already choose the option that plays it safe and be stringent. But the stringency is not the instruction that comes from the lenient ruling. The lenient ruling remains as open options. After that, a stringency comes along and tells me what to decide, tells me what to do among the two.

[Speaker B] In practice, you didn’t really open another option for him. You opened another option in theory, but it immediately got closed because of some other reason.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] This leniency is a leniency in theory; it’s a leniency in the laws of blessings. In the laws of blessings I am lenient, but afterward comes the stringency in the laws of “do not take [God’s name in vain].” That’s something else. I didn’t say that only the laws of blessings are involved in this ruling. Several aspects are involved in this ruling. In the laws of blessings, the rule is to be lenient; in the laws of “do not take [God’s name in vain],” the rule is to be stringent. Okay? Let me have just a few more minutes even though the time is up, because then I’ll finish this example. Look, there is a Talmudic passage in tractate Berakhot 54a. The Talmud there discusses the blessing of HaGomel, the blessing of thanksgiving. Right? The blessing of HaGomel, and the Talmud discusses there before what kind of forum it must be recited. One opinion says before ten. A second opinion says—Tosafot there says: we rule stringently, and therefore one also recites it with ten even without Torah scholars. All right? The Tosafot HaRosh says: we rule stringently, and therefore one recites it only with ten and two Torah scholars. So I didn’t understand—what is the stringency here? Is the stringency this way, or is the stringency that way? In the simple definition, who is being stringent here? Tosafot, not Tosafot HaRosh. Because Tosafot is basically saying: even if you have ten—well, it’s a question; really it’s unclear. If, say, I have ten and there are no Torah scholars among them, all right? Then in fact there are opinions that say you are forbidden to recite the blessing, because you need ten of whom two are Torah scholars, or ten plus two Torah scholars. Only according to one opinion can you recite it with ten ordinary people. So in fact there are halakhic opinions that say you may not recite the blessing. But the one who says it is forbidden is the stringent one, right? Which means that the one who permits reciting the blessing even in such a forum is lenient, right? And that’s what Tosafot says. More than that: Tosafot says that once I permit you to recite the blessing, then you are also obligated to recite it. Because after all, you are obligated to recite HaGomel, right? So if it is permitted to recite it in this forum as well, then recite it. So it’s not only permitted—it becomes obligatory, exactly like the case of doubt regarding blessings. Tosafot HaRosh says: we go stringently, and therefore one recites it only with ten plus two. What is the meaning of this? That is lenient, because what is Tosafot HaRosh really telling me? With ten, when I have ten ordinary people, do not recite the blessing. So that is lenient, not reciting the blessing; when we say in cases of doubt regarding blessings we are lenient, the meaning is not to recite the blessing. No. Tosafot HaRosh says that for him this is called stringency. Why is it stringency? It is stringency in the sense that he says: once you have a doubt whether to recite the blessing or not, and both options are open, then this is lenient—but I am stringent in the laws of “do not take [God’s name in vain].” Therefore, only if I have ten plus two Torah scholars may I recite the blessing. That is why it is stringency. It is not stringency in the laws of blessings; in the laws of blessings it is leniency. In the laws of “do not take [God’s name in vain]” it is stringency. And he calls that stringency. And Tosafot, when he speaks, is speaking about stringency in the laws of blessings. And for him, in the laws of blessings, you are obligated to recite the blessing even with ten. You do not have the option not to recite it with the ten. You must recite it with the ten. So he is stringent in the laws of blessings. So both of them call opposite things “stringency.” And the Tzelach there is left with the matter requiring analysis; he does not understand what they want. What is stringency? Is stringency like Tosafot, or is stringency like Tosafot HaRosh? And I claim that they are both right. Tosafot, who speaks about stringency, is speaking about stringency in the laws of blessings. And Tosafot HaRosh, who speaks about stringency, is speaking about stringency in the laws of “do not take [God’s name in vain].” Both are being stringent. The big question is why here we follow stringency in the laws of blessings when the rule is that in cases of doubt regarding blessings we are lenient. So here one has to say that since you have an obligation to recite the blessing, and now the only question is in what forum, then there you recite it in any forum that there is an opinion permitting. Because you have an obligation to recite it. In an ordinary case of doubt regarding blessings, it is unclear whether you have an obligation to recite a blessing, so in a case of doubt do not recite it. But here it is clear that you need to recite it, because you were saved from prison, or from illness, or from an accident, whatever it may be. You need to recite HaGomel. You have an obligation to recite the blessing. Now the whole question is only in what forum to recite it. So here they tell you: recite it in the minimal forum, because here you are obligated to recite it and the whole question is only whether you are exempt. “In cases of doubt regarding blessings we are lenient” applies when the question is whether you are obligated to recite a blessing, so if there is doubt, do not recite it. But that is less important for our purposes. What is important for our purposes is: what will the definition of stringency be? And you suddenly see opposite definitions of the concept of stringency. And the way I explain it, there is no problem at all; it’s clear. It’s clear because the question is whether you are speaking about stringency in the laws of blessings, or whether you are speaking about stringency in the laws of “do not take [God’s name in vain].” Both really are stringency; the only question is what you are talking about. So here again is another example of how conceptual analysis of the concept of leniency and stringency answers all kinds of difficulties that people run into because they haven’t analyzed the concept. Like the whole Beit HaLevi issue, like “in cases of doubt regarding blessings we are lenient.” When you ask people this, most people don’t think about these questions at all, but when they run into them, they just stare and don’t know what to do with them. I’ve tried this already in the past. The point is that people do not do conceptual analysis. When you do conceptual analysis, it often clarifies the picture in a remarkable way. Okay, we’ll stop here. That was the additional example. Does anyone want to comment or ask? More power to you. Okay, so we’ll stop here. Thank you very much.