Ein Ayah – Berachot 17

Table of Contents

• Introduction and study of Ein Ayah, section 116
• The Torah’s warning not to return to Egypt and Rabbi Kook’s explanation
• Two forces of attraction: grain and wealth versus culture and society
• The meaning of “like a trap with no grain in it” according to Rabbi Kook
• The meaning of “like a deep sea with no fish in it” according to Rabbi Kook, and the connection to Bava Batra
• Comments on deriving the reason for a verse and the difference between homiletics and interpretation
• Maimonides in the Laws of Kings: the prohibition regarding Egypt, exceptions, and the reason of “like the practices of the land of Egypt”
• The anecdote of Maimonides living in Egypt and the discussions around it
• A difficulty with Rabbi Kook in light of Maimonides’ permission for trade
• Ethical questions about harming Egypt in order to prevent a future transgression
• Examples from social policy and justifications for harming one group
• The example of a forced kidney transplant and the limits of saving a life
• “A double explanation”: motivation and justification in the law of the pursuer and parallel cases
• Punishment, prison, and the justification for sanctions
• The example of communal prayer versus the supermarket: need versus risk
• Aggadic sayings and cumulative conditions: “one who recites havdalah over a cup will have sons”
• The Ran in Nedarim and Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman: importance according to textual volume in the Torah
• “Double causality” and the distinction between a psychological explanation and a philosophical explanation
• A rule of thumb: is the component a sufficient condition?
• Questions from participants: prayer as a need, and a discussion of proportionality in war
• Conclusion of the lecture

Summary

General Overview

The text opens with a study of Rabbi Kook’s Ein Ayah, section 116, on the Talmudic statement “and they emptied Egypt,” and the dispute between Rabbi Ami and Reish Lakish over whether they made it “like a trap with no grain in it” or “like a deep sea with no fish in it.” It explains, through Rabbi Kook, that taking the wealth out of Egypt was meant as counsel and protection, so that over time the people would not be drawn back to Egypt because of the danger of returning to lowliness, slavery, and the abominations of Egypt. Later, it brings Maimonides’ rulings in the Laws of Kings about the prohibition against settling in Egypt, along with the permission to return there for trade and business, and discusses the fact that Maimonides himself lived in Egypt and gave the reason “because its practices are more corrupt than those of all other lands.” Out of ethical and conceptual questions about justifying harm to one people in order to prevent a future stumbling block for another people, a conception develops of a “double explanation,” in which both motivation and justification are needed in order to understand actions and punishments. Examples are brought from the law of the pursuer, Moses our teacher and the Egyptian, theories of punishment, and COVID policy. Later the text examines double causality in the context of psychological and philosophical explanations. At the end there are participant questions, including comparisons between communal prayer and shopping, and a broad discussion of proportionality and morality in contexts of war, enemy populations, an “atomic bomb,” Sheva ben Bichri, and Samson the hero.

Introduction and study of Ein Ayah, section 116

The text states that the study is in Rabbi Kook’s Ein Ayah, section 116, and brings the language of the Talmud on “and they emptied Egypt,” together with the dispute between Rabbi Ami and Reish Lakish. The text explains that the commentators link the two opinions to the question of whether “they emptied” should be understood as an expression of emptying out or as related to the deep sea. The text explains the image of “like a trap with no grain in it” as a trap in which the grain is what draws the animals, and the image of “like a deep sea with no fish in it” as the deep place in the sea where fish do not dwell.

The Torah’s warning not to return to Egypt and Rabbi Kook’s explanation

The text quotes Rabbi Kook that from the Torah’s warning not to return to Egypt we learn that counsel and protection were needed so that over the course of many years the people would not be drawn back to Egypt. The text explains that the problem with returning to Egypt is the danger of going back to lowliness of spirit and slavery, and to the familiar abominations of Egypt, along the lines of “You shall not do like the practices of the land of Egypt.” The text suggests that Rabbi Kook is explaining not only the reason for the prohibition, but also why this particular prohibition requires special “counsel and protection.”

Two forces of attraction: grain and wealth versus culture and society

The text brings Rabbi Kook’s words that what draws many people to one country is “if there is grain there and a place to become wealthy,” and that this is a reason that brings even distant peoples to far-off lands. The text adds a second reason according to Rabbi Kook: that a people who became accustomed to a land and then were distanced from it still tend toward love of that land’s society and modes of conduct, and that when orderly social arrangements collapse, the result is that “no one wants to live in a desolate land.” The text presents these two reasons as a basic structure that explains the difference between the two images in the Talmud.

The meaning of “like a trap with no grain in it” according to Rabbi Kook

The text attributes to Rabbi Ami the idea that taking the wealth out of Egypt removes the hope of becoming rich and therefore cancels Egypt’s material pull. The text explains that according to Rabbi Kook, this is enough to eliminate Israel’s attraction to Egypt on the level of economic benefit. The text identifies this as the solution of “grain” as the main component in that opinion.

The meaning of “like a deep sea with no fish in it” according to Rabbi Kook, and the connection to Bava Batra

The text attributes to Reish Lakish the position that removing wealth is not enough because of Israel’s tendency and habit toward Egypt, and their love of its society and culture. The text explains that Rabbi Kook describes “long-range counsel,” in which Egypt’s poverty empties it of the ability to maintain “proper social order,” and therefore it is like “a deep sea with no fish in it.” And where there are fish, “fish stream there out of love of society,” not only out of love of utility. The text brings Rabbi Kook’s reference to the commentator in the chapter Lo Yachpor in tractate Bava Batra on the matter of “one distances a fish-trap from the fish,” and interprets it as a mechanism of being drawn to a place that has fish or food. The text concludes that poverty cancels both the economic attraction and the social attraction, “so that they would not come back there again, in accordance with God’s counsel.”

Comments on deriving the reason for a verse and the difference between homiletics and interpretation

The text raises hesitation as to whether Rabbi Kook’s words are “homily” or “genuine interpretation,” and places this against the question of deriving the reason for a verse, and the ruling “like Rabbi Yehuda against Rabbi Shimon, that we do not derive the reason for a verse.” The text argues that Rabbi Kook is not merely explaining the prohibition, but explaining the need for a divine strategy to prevent the return to Egypt. The text leaves the point open and presents it as a deeper reading of Rabbi Kook’s move.

Maimonides in the Laws of Kings: the prohibition regarding Egypt, exceptions, and the reason of “like the practices of the land of Egypt”

The text quotes Maimonides in Laws of Kings 5:7: “It is permitted to dwell anywhere in the world except the land of Egypt,” and brings the definition of the prohibited territory and the three warnings in the Torah, including “Alexandria is included in the prohibition.” The text quotes Maimonides in law 8 that it is permitted to return to Egypt for trade and business, or to pass through it in order to conquer other lands, and that the prohibition is only on settling there permanently. Likewise, “one is not flogged for this prohibition,” because entry is permitted and permanent residence is a matter of “there being no action involved.” The text emphasizes that Maimonides gives a halakhic and value-based reason: “because its practices are more corrupt than those of all other lands, as it says: like the practices of the land of Egypt,” and presents this as using the reason of the verse to sharpen the permissions and definitions.

The anecdote of Maimonides living in Egypt and the discussions around it

The text brings the difficulty that Maimonides himself lived in Egypt, along with the various answers offered by medieval authorities (Rishonim) and later authorities (Acharonim). The text rejects the explanation that the prohibition depends specifically on returning by way of the Land of Israel, because of Maimonides’ wording: “it is forbidden to dwell in Egypt” and “it is entirely forbidden to settle there.” The text presents a “prosaic” explanation of lack of choice because of his role as the Sultan’s physician, and notes a discussion by the Chida about his route of arrival through Akko.

A difficulty with Rabbi Kook in light of Maimonides’ permission for trade

The text notes that according to Rabbi Kook, they made sure Egypt would not have “grain” so as not to draw people back, but Maimonides permits going to Egypt “for trade and business,” meaning precisely in order to obtain grain. The text notes that this creates a sense of conceptual awkwardness, because the move of neutralizing the economic pull does not fit simply with the halakhic permission to go there for economic needs. The text presents this comment as a point for thought, not as a decisive objection.

Ethical questions about harming Egypt in order to prevent a future transgression

The text presents the difficulty in saying that the Holy One, blessed be He, “emptied Egypt” in order to prevent a future temptation for Israel, and describes this as an action that requires ethical justification. The text argues that a model of “destroy Belgium” in order to prevent people from leaving the Land of Israel sounds problematic, and notes that historically Egypt later recovered and flourished, and Jews were drawn to it, so the solution is not “effective” in the long run. The text tries to reconcile this through a distinction between harm within a single society and harm between societies, but notes that even within a society, justifying harm to one group for the sake of another is not trivial.

Examples from social policy and justifications for harming one group

The text uses the example of a COVID lockdown on the young in order to protect the elderly, and formulates this as part of a discussion of mutual responsibility, though it also raises that the example resembles the law of a pursuer because the young may infect others. The text brings the example of differential taxation as taking resources from the rich in order to assist the weak, and presents the tension between communists and capitalists over whether this is “justice” or only “charity.” The text presents the argument that even those who permit such harm usually rely on a rationale of “they deserve it,” not on a blanket license to harm someone just in order to help another.

The example of a forced kidney transplant and the limits of saving a life

The text presents a scenario in which a person forcibly takes a kidney from someone else in order to save his own life, and argues categorically that this is forbidden, even though it is not murder but only the prohibition of causing bodily injury. The text uses this to argue that even for the sake of saving a life, there is no simple permission to harm an innocent person without justification. It presents this as all the more so with regard to harming Egypt in order to prevent the “suffering” of returning to Egypt.

“A double explanation”: motivation and justification in the law of the pursuer and parallel cases

The text develops the idea of a “double explanation,” in which an explanation does not stand on a single component but requires a combination of motivation and justification. The text explains that in the law of the pursuer, the motivation is to save the pursued person, but that alone is not enough, and an additional justification is needed to kill the pursuer. It brings Rashi’s interpretation that the justification is to prevent the pursuer from committing the transgression of murder. The text illustrates this also with Moses our teacher, who killed the Egyptian, while interpreting “and he saw that there was no man” as seeing that no convert would eventually come from him, and presents this as an accompanying justification alongside the motivation of saving the Hebrew.

Punishment, prison, and the justification for sanctions

The text presents a theory of punishment as combining protection of society with the claim that the offender deserves punishment, and emphasizes that protecting society by itself does not justify harming a person apart from guilt. The text argues that discussions of criminal intent and the severity of the offense serve as the justificatory component that allows the motivation of social protection. The text formulates this as a structure that explains why a single explanation creates difficulties, and what is needed in order to “complete” the explanation.

The example of communal prayer versus the supermarket: need versus risk

The text brings an example from a WhatsApp group about the puzzlement over why communal prayer was forbidden while shopping in the supermarket was allowed, and presents the answer as a model in which the consideration of risk is weighed against the consideration of need. The text states that a comparison based only on risk misses the component of need, because without food “we’ll die,” whereas prayer has the alternative of praying individually. The text uses this example to demonstrate how focusing on only one parameter creates an artificial “this requires further study.”

Aggadic sayings and cumulative conditions: “one who recites havdalah over a cup will have sons”

The text brings Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman’s discussion of the saying of the Sages that whoever recites havdalah over a cup “will have sons,” and asks from the Chazon Ish, who had no children. The text suggests that the saying functions as a consideration that adds “points,” not as a single decisive condition, and brings the example of “because of the sin of vows, a person’s children die” to show a combination of considerations. The text uses this to strengthen the view that many explanations are partial and require a combination of parameters.

The Ran in Nedarim and Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman: importance according to textual volume in the Torah

The text brings the Ran on Nedarim 8a, that an oath does not take effect on something that is already a commandment, but it does take effect on something derived from interpretation, and presents Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman’s explanation that the amount of space a matter occupies in the Torah is an indication of its importance. The text raises a difficulty from the comparison between the lengthy story of Eliezer and the brief wording of “You shall not murder,” and answers that the importance of “You shall not murder” is obvious even without length, whereas in the conversations of the servants of the Patriarchs one might have thought they were not important, and so the Torah lengthens in order to teach their importance. The text concludes that what is involved is a balancing between intuitive importance and the need for textual emphasis.

“Double causality” and the distinction between a psychological explanation and a philosophical explanation

The text describes “double causality” through the example of Newton and the apple, as a physical explanation versus a theological explanation, and continues to examples of repentance and leaving religion as cases of psychological explanations versus philosophical explanations. The text argues that the tendency to say both explanations are true at once creates a logical problem, because a causal explanation should be a sufficient condition, and therefore neither of the two explanations by itself is a sufficient condition. The text suggests that the full explanation is “the sum of the two,” meaning a combination of psychology with value-based or ideological justification.

A rule of thumb: is the component a sufficient condition?

The text suggests a working rule of checking for a “sufficient condition” in order to identify when an explanation is only part of the picture. The text states that when a component like risk is not a sufficient condition for policy, it is clear that another component exists, such as need, difficulty, or other considerations. The text applies this also to psychological analysis, and states that a psychologist may focus on the psychological prism, but should know that this is only half the picture, and that other factors may be decisive.

Questions from participants: prayer as a need, and a discussion of proportionality in war

The text brings a participant’s response claiming that prayer with a quorum is a need, and the respondent accepts that the question is where the line passes between need and saving life, while adding that the conclusion that this is anti-Semitism is mistaken. The text describes a participant’s question comparing this to Sheva ben Bichri and to an atomic bomb in Gaza, with an answer that distinguishes between harming decision-makers and harming the public as a whole, and brings in considerations of proportionality and the number of casualties. The text presents the respondent’s answer that the discussion of Sheva ben Bichri belongs to the laws of sanctifying God’s name, not to the laws of preserving life, and that in the case of an enemy population, an element of the law of a pursuer may come in, though proportionality considerations may still carry weight. The text concludes with questions about nuclear deterrence, revenge versus deterrence, and the determination that an act of revenge after people “are already dead anyway” is forbidden, and that the balance of terror functions as a threat to prevent a first strike, not as permission for retaliatory revenge.

Conclusion of the lecture

The text describes microphones being opened for questions, a request to close microphones to prevent noise, and a preference for spoken questions instead of chat. The text ends with an announcement of another lecture on Thursday, and that on Sunday there is expected to be a final Ein Ayah lecture before Passover, after which the call is ended with thanks.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, we’re starting. We’re dealing with Ein Ayah of Rabbi Kook, section 116. I’m sharing it with you; let’s read it inside. In the Talmud, the Talmud says, “And they emptied Egypt.” Rabbi Ami said—I’m reading above the quotation from the Talmud—Rabbi Ami said: this teaches that they made it like a trap with no grain in it. And Reish Lakish said: that they made it like a deep pool with no fish in it. The commentators here explain that this depends on the question of which word is being interpreted. “And they emptied Egypt” can be understood in the sense of a deep pool, or in the translation it can mean to empty out. And so these are really the two opinions that appear here in the Talmud. What does it mean, “like a trap with no grain”? A trap is a snare, a trap for animals, where they put grain inside so the animal will come in and then be caught. And if the trap has no grain, then no animal will come to it. So basically they made Egypt like a trap with no grain. And Reish Lakish said they made it like a deep pool with no fish, and Rashi explains that these are the deeper parts of the sea where fish don’t dwell. Fish dwell mainly in the shallower parts, and basically they made it like a deep pool with no fish. It sounds like some kind of issue—I’d even say a wordplay. What difference does it make, trap, pool—what is the basic difference between these two suggestions? So let’s read Rabbi Kook.

“From the Torah’s warning not to return to Egypt we learn that some counsel and safeguard were needed so that the nation would not, in the course of time, be drawn back to Egypt.” Meaning, the Torah warns us not to return to Egypt after we left there, and therefore he says there has to be some kind of strategy that will protect us from being drawn to violate this prohibition and return to Egypt after many years. Why, what’s the problem? “For there they might return to the lowness of spirit and slavery, and along with that to the accustomed abominations of Egypt.” Meaning, what’s the problem with returning to Egypt? Because if we return to Egypt, then we’ll also go back to becoming accustomed to Egyptian ways—“You shall not do as the practice of the land of Egypt,” as it says in the Torah—meaning, certain corrupt ways that the Torah does not want us to cling to.

By the way, in a certain sense there’s here an interpretation of the reason for the verse. We derive the reason for the prohibition against returning to Egypt, even though the tannaim disagreed whether we do or do not derive the reason for the verse, and Jewish law rules like Rabbi Yehuda against Rabbi Shimon, that we do not derive the reason for the verse. But here I think what Rabbi Kook is trying to explain is not just the prohibition itself of returning to Egypt—that would be deriving the reason for the verse—but why the Holy One, blessed be He, acts in order to prevent our return. Why, for example, does He not come up with devices to make sure we recite Grace after Meals, or any of the other 613 commandments? Why specifically with Egypt does the Holy One, blessed be He, do some special maneuvering to make sure, or help us, avoid returning to Egypt? So it seems to me that Rabbi Kook’s explanation is not only an explanation of the prohibition itself—that would be deriving the reason for the verse—but an explanation of why this prohibition needs “counsel and safeguard,” as he writes here, so that the nation should not in the course of time be drawn back to Egypt.

So why? Since if they return to Egypt, beyond the formal halakhic prohibition involved, there is also a danger that they will cling to Egyptian ways, that they will act like the practice of the land of Egypt. And then he says: so how do you do this trick? How do you make sure that the Jewish people won’t come to return to Egypt? “And behold, the One who calls the generations prepared, blessed be He, counsel from afar”—“from afar” meaning well in advance, very early on, long before the possibility of returning to Egypt was relevant—“to nullify the influence of the force drawing the people to Egypt.” Meaning, the trick is to think what might bring the nation back to Egypt and try to neutralize that—meaning, to make sure those things aren’t there, the things that would draw us back there.

So what are they? What are those things that draw us there, could draw us there? “Now, that which draws many people to one country, first and foremost, is if there is produce there and a place to grow rich.” Meaning, the first thing, right, what’s the first thing that draws many to one country, to some country where they are not, some other country? If there is produce there and an opportunity to become wealthy. “For every nation has a great desire for this; many stream there.” And that’s why even distant peoples come to lands far from them in place and in spirit. Meaning, even though going to a distant place—we know that being an immigrant is not a pleasant condition, nobody is especially happy to be an immigrant—but if it’s a place where one can grow rich and there is produce, then people will migrate there anyway. Therefore it draws distant peoples to come to lands far from them. Meaning, although it involves the hardship of being an immigrant, since there is “produce” there—there’s a kind of wordplay here—because there is produce there, still that is something liable to draw people there.

So one thing that draws people back to some land is if there is produce there and an opportunity to get rich. There’s another reason that can draw them. “However, a people that became accustomed to one land and then moved away from it”—meaning, there is another thing that can draw us to a land, and that is its culture. But of course this draws people who were there and then left. A people that became accustomed to one land and moved away from it—after all, we were in Egypt and then moved away from it, left it—there is some concern there. “We remembered the cucumbers and the onions” that were in Egypt. You can understand that as a longing for the produce that was there, for the food we had there or for livelihood, and you can understand it as a longing for Egyptian culture. We already want to go back to Egypt; the wilderness isn’t good for us. “It may incline toward love of the society of that land.” So the second thing that draws us back there, beyond the fact that it has objective material advantages, is that there is also a certain culture there—right, love of the society or the cultural ways of that place can also draw us back there, especially as people who were already there. “And it is impossible,” says Rabbi Kook, “that his heart not be drawn to it,” right—so how can it be that we won’t be drawn back there? “Only if ordered social arrangements there are abolished, so that no one will desire to dwell in a desolate land.” Right. Meaning, so how do you prevent us from going back there? First, you make sure there is no produce there, that one cannot get rich there. And second, that the social order there collapses, that the culture there is no longer what it was, and therefore we will not have any attraction to return there.

“Therefore Rabbi Ami said: that they made it like a trap with no grain in it. For by taking away its wealth, it would no longer draw people with hopes of becoming rich. And this was enough to nullify the force drawing Israel to Egypt.” So the first opinion in the Talmud above, Rabbi Ami—“this teaches that they made it like a trap with no grain in it.” What does that mean? It means they took away, removed from it the food it had, as with a trap, and in effect they removed the produce that was in Egypt, and therefore we would not be drawn to go back there. So that is Rabbi Ami’s opinion.

But Reish Lakish says: “that they made it like a deep pool with no fish.” What does he hold? “And another sage held that this was not enough, because of Israel’s inclination and habit there.” Even if there would be no produce there, since we had already been there and left, people could long for it because of the second reason—not because of the produce, but because they want to return to that familiar culture they left behind. Apparently also a developed culture. Right, we know there was a developed culture there; certainly a material culture was developed in Egypt. “Therefore the blessed God prepared counsel from afar”—again, “from afar” means much earlier, setting up later things in advance—“that Egypt was so greatly humbled by its poverty”—right, “and they emptied Egypt,” they took all the silver and gold and everything that was there, and then Egypt was emptied of its property—“that it was no longer able to maintain proper social order, and it was like a deep pool”—that’s a mistake, it should be “a deep pool”—“with no fish in it. For if the deep pool had fish in it, fish would stream there out of love of company.” After all, why are fish not found in the deep pool? If there were fish there, then other fish—it’s not that they’re not there because there’s no food. But if there were fish there even without food, other fish might come simply out of love of company—they want to be together with other fish. So these are really the two reasons, and that is the illustration of “a deep pool with no fish,” “and not only out of love of benefit,” as he writes here.

“As the commentator says in the chapter Lo Yachpor, regarding distancing one fisherman’s net from another fisherman.” This is where that wordplay between deep pool and trap comes from. In the Talmud it says “they made it like a deep pool with no fish,” and here he says “like a trap with no fish,” because in tractate Bava Batra the Talmud discusses what happens if I see some sort of opening in the sea and I see all kinds of fish coming out of it. So I put some food there to attract the fish with a trap in order to catch them. Other fishermen are forbidden to come to that place because that is like cutting off my livelihood—they are harming my income. And the Talmud there says that this is not the same as other forms of livelihood. Like someone who sets up millstones to grind things in the same place, so that whoever wants to grind things will come to me and not to the other mill owner—there that is permitted, but with fish it is forbidden. And the Talmud there says why: because the fish are actually drawn to the place of the food; I am the one who drew them there. It is obvious they will come to me, and therefore whoever comes there is in effect taking something that is already mine, because in potential it is clear that the fish will come to me. In contrast, with millstones, let’s compete, and whoever gives better service, people will come to him; therefore there it is permitted. So that is the Talmud there in Bava Batra, in the chapter Lo Yachpor, and Rabbi Kook uses it to show that the “deep pool with no fish” and the “trap with no grain,” right—these two mechanisms are really mechanisms of being drawn to a place where there are fish or being drawn to a place where there is food. Fish always come to a place where there is food, and a deep pool—even if it had no food but did have fish—they would come there too. Okay, that’s not really a proof, it’s just an illustration.

“And it was necessary that through their poverty”—the poverty of the Egyptians—“Israel’s love of their company be nullified.” Meaning, because of great poverty, the society there would no longer function as it had, the culture there would no longer function as it had, and therefore this poverty—that they emptied Egypt and took their property—actually solved both problems. It also caused Egypt not to be attractive in the material sense of there being produce in Egypt, and also in the social-cultural sense, “so that they would not seek to return there, according to God’s counsel.” Meaning, so that they would not want to go back there.

Okay, those are Rabbi Kook’s words. Before I begin, I just want to make one small comment. I’m always unsure about this, I’m always torn on this issue. As is known, one does not refute homiletics. But here I think Rabbi Kook’s interpretation could definitely be not mere homily, but a genuine interpretation—unlike, say, the passage we learned on Sunday, where it seemed to me that it was homily. In any case, here it definitely could be a plausible interpretation of the Talmud.

But as for the prohibition of returning to Egypt, let’s read two laws in Maimonides. In Maimonides, Laws of Kings, chapter 5—I’ve just shared it with you now—law 7, he writes as follows: “It is permitted to dwell anywhere in the world except in the land of Egypt.” An interesting remark, by the way—what about living in the Land of Israel? Why doesn’t he address the fact that one is obligated to live in the Land of Israel? So Maimonides omitted the commandment of settling the Land of Israel, and there are major disputes whether he holds that this commandment exists and omitted it for some other reasons—we won’t get into why—or whether he truly does not count this commandment because in his opinion there is no such commandment. Okay, I don’t know. Here there is some hint from which it appears that one may dwell anywhere in the world, only not in the land of Egypt. You can argue, of course; it is not decisive proof. “From the Great Sea on the west, four hundred parasangs by four hundred parasangs, corresponding to the land of Cush and corresponding to the wilderness, all of it is forbidden to settle in.” Meaning, he defines the places in Egypt where it is forbidden to live, what counts as Egypt. “In three places the Torah warned not to return to Egypt, as it says: ‘You shall never again return by this way’; ‘You shall never again see them’; ‘You shall never again see them forever.’” “And Alexandria is included in the prohibition.” I don’t know, he has some addition there. In any case, this is the prohibition against returning to Egypt; this is a counted commandment according to Maimonides.

And in law 8 Maimonides writes as follows: “It is permitted to return to the land of Egypt for business and commerce, and to conquer other lands,” to pass through there in order to conquer lands. “The prohibition is only to settle there permanently.” Meaning, to come and live—not for business or commerce, or to pass through there on the way to other places. “And one is not lashed for this prohibition.” True, he counts it as a prohibition, but one is not lashed for it. Why? “Because at the time of entry it is permitted. And if he intends to dwell and settle there, there is no action involved.” “And it appears to me that if a king of Israel conquered the land of Egypt by authorization of a religious court, it would be permitted”—yes, if they annexed it to the Land of Israel through conquest, public conquest, individual conquest, there is room to discuss that—“it would be permitted. The warning was only against individuals returning or dwelling there while it is in the hands of idolaters, because its practices are more corrupt than all other lands, as it says: ‘Like the practice of the land of Egypt.’”

Now this is very interesting, because here Maimonides himself gives the reason why it is forbidden to dwell in Egypt—because its practices are corrupt—and he really does derive the reason for the verse. With Rabbi Kook I said it need not be that he is deriving the reason for the verse, but here—I don’t know if he is deriving it, but he is explaining the reason for the verse, and it somewhat seems he even derives legal conclusions from it. Why? Because he infers a conclusion from it. Meaning, we explain commandments all the time. The dispute whether to derive or not derive the reason for the verse is not about whether to explain commandments or seek a reason, but whether to use the reason in our halakhic interpretation. That is the dispute over deriving the reason for the verse, and as I said, in Jewish law we rule that we do not. But here Maimonides does derive it. Maimonides says that because what is the basis of the prohibition? The basis of the prohibition is not to cling to their corrupt practices, “like the practice of the land of Egypt.” So if that is the case, if we are only going there for business and commerce and not to live there and settle as one of the residents, then there is no prohibition. That is really deriving the reason for the verse, and there is room here to discuss what justifies deriving it here.

We won’t get into that. Maybe in one sentence: there is a Tosafot HaRosh in Bava Metzia 90. Tosafot HaRosh says that where the reason is clear, then we do derive the reason for the verse. We do not derive the reason for the verse only where the reason is not entirely clear. Here, “like the practice of the land of Egypt”—the Torah itself gives us hints as thick as a beam as to why we are forbidden to return to Egypt, and perhaps that is why here we do derive the reason for the verse. There is room to hesitate.

In any event, for our purposes, first of all I’ll open with an anecdote. Maimonides himself, after all, lived in Egypt. And this was already asked among the medieval authorities and also later authorities: how can Maimonides rule that there is a prohibition against living in Egypt, while he himself lived in Egypt? And there are all kinds of strange answers. Maybe according to Maimonides, what is forbidden is not living in Egypt but returning there—right, that is what the Torah says: “You shall never again return by this way.” What does that mean? That returning to Egypt is forbidden only if we go by the same route as the one by which we left, only in reverse—that is, from the Land of Israel to Egypt. But to come from other places or by another route is permitted. Fine, nice pilpul, but in Maimonides himself that probably doesn’t work, because Maimonides says it is forbidden to dwell in Egypt. Not to go to Egypt, not to come from the Land of Israel to Egypt—it is forbidden to dwell in Egypt. “It is permitted to dwell anywhere in the world except in the land of Egypt,” and therefore he also says that it is forbidden to settle there, although for business it is permitted. Meaning, clearly the conception here is that I am forbidden to live in Egypt no matter how I got there and in what way. True, he explains here that one is not lashed for this prohibition. Why not? Because if I go to Egypt, that in itself is not a prohibition; perhaps I went for business, for commerce. To go to Egypt is permitted. Suddenly I arrive in Egypt and decide to settle there. At the moment I decide to settle there, then there is no act involved; I simply settled there. Going to Egypt, arriving there, is not in itself prohibited, because it depends on my intention. But in practice when I decide to settle there and I violate the prohibition, then it is a prohibition involving no action, and there too there are all sorts of discussions whether such a thing is indeed called a prohibition involving no action or not. That too has been discussed.

But for our purposes, Maimonides did not go there for business or commerce—or even if he did, in the end he remained there permanently. So even if one is not lashed for this prohibition, he still violated it. He is not liable to lashes, but he violated the prohibition. How can that be? He himself rules that this is forbidden. So there are all kinds of answers; none of them is really convincing except a prosaic explanation that says he had no choice. He was the physician of the sultan there—I don’t know exactly what—and therefore he had no choice; he had to settle there. Of course it was also his livelihood to be the doctor, but he also settled there and was there for many years. Even those answers that he did not come through the Land of Israel—the Chida says that he did arrive through the Land of Israel by way of Acre. In short, there is a whole lot of discussion around this anecdote: how Maimonides himself violates the law that he himself ruled. But that’s an anecdote.

For our purposes, one more remark before I return to Rabbi Kook. Rabbi Kook says there are two things that can draw us to Egypt. One is the produce there, the livelihood there—we want to get rich or make a living. The second is the culture, longing for the culture. Fine. It seems to me that in later periods, those who no longer lived in Egypt but had left it—the second reason is already less relevant. To long for Egyptian culture—someone who was never there does not know how meaningful that is. Mainly what matters is the produce. But if so, that is very strange in light of the laws we saw in Maimonides, because Maimonides says that specifically for produce, for provisions, it is permitted to go to Egypt. For business and commerce that is permitted. Only to settle there is forbidden. So the whole move of Rabbi Kook is based on the idea that they made sure there would be no produce there so as not to draw us to go there and settle there. I would have expected that as the very first thing, instead of doing financial maneuvers, they would just tell us not to go there even for provisions—that that too would be forbidden. Why is that permitted, and only dwelling there, settling there permanently, forbidden?

Okay, that is just an observation. Again, maybe this falls under “one does not refute homiletics,” I’m not sure. In any case, there is an observation here worth thinking about in a more conceptual sense. Essentially, what Rabbi Kook is arguing here is that the Holy One, blessed be He, decides to empty Egypt—to make it, right, like a deep pool with no fish and no grain and so on—to reduce it completely to ruins, so to speak, in order that we not be tempted to return to Egypt. This is somewhat problematic. Meaning, we are used to all sorts of sayings of the kind that the whole world exists only for Israel, and everything done in the world is only for Israel. Even in Maimonides there is this idea that some huge palace is built somewhere only so that some sage will arrive there and have shade—or statements of that sort. By the way, I’m not sure that it necessarily means a Jewish sage. Maimonides values wisdom in general. But these are not exactly the kinds of statements we hear today; I’m not sure they are exactly the same kinds of statements we hear today.

So in any case, it is a bit hard to say that we abuse an entire country in order to remove some obstacle that might perhaps draw some Jew in the future—possibly hundreds of years later—back to Egypt. I don’t know. By the way, there were periods in Egypt when it was certainly a prosperous land and many Jews were indeed drawn there, so the property that the Jewish people took from Egypt at that time—let’s say, I’ve seen more efficient tricks for making sure they wouldn’t return to Egypt. It did not really work in the historical sense. But I’m leaving aside these prosaic difficulties for the moment. Let’s try to think for a moment about the principles Rabbi Kook is saying here.

Basically what he is saying is that the Holy One, blessed be He, abuses Egypt in order to make sure we don’t return to Egypt. Fine. This is an action that requires some kind of ethical justification. Meaning, what justifies abusing one person or one people or one country for the sake of some benefit to another people, or preventing a prohibition for another people? Suppose that if I were to arrive in Belgium, then—who knows—it might be very attractive, and I would leave the Land of Israel, Heaven forbid. Therefore let’s destroy Belgium and turn it into a deep pool with no fish so that, God forbid, someone from the Jewish people won’t violate the prohibition of leaving the Land of Israel. That sounds a bit problematic on the ethical level. And again I say, without getting into whether this is the interpretation of the Talmud or how well this interpretation really stands up, let’s just take this interpretation as is. This is what Rabbi Kook says. What stands behind it? Meaning, can this kind of action be justified?

Now of course one could say that Egypt deserved punishment for all the ways they abused us. Meaning, it’s not just that they take some random country or some random person and abuse him for the sake of someone else. But if that is so, then the question arises: fine, then say that they abused Egypt in order to punish them. Why bring in here the desire to prevent prohibitions for the Jewish people? If they deserve punishment, then give them the punishment and that’s it. Rabbi Kook’s explanation does not rest on punishment. It says this was done in order to prevent some future prohibition for the Jewish people.

So when I thought a bit about this point, I thought that perhaps there is room to distinguish between conduct within a state or within a certain group and conduct between states. In this case it was between two different peoples. Say, within a state—these are of course huge ideological disputes—but within a state the feeling is that there is some justification for harming one person or one group for the sake of the interest of another group. For example, one example: say, in our own day, they impose lockdown on the young so that the old won’t be harmed—right, with corona, okay? What are the young guilty of, that you shut them down so the elderly won’t be harmed? You are harming one population that is actually not really at risk. The assumption is that the risk of corona for the young exists to some extent but is negligible. Meaning, for that alone you would not have needed all these measures, no more than the flu, say, or something like that. And yet they do it for the elderly. The feeling is that within one society, when a society has different components or different people, different groups within one society, there is supposed to be some mutual responsibility, and sometimes, in certain proportions, it is justified to harm one group for the sake of the interest of another group.

But even that is not a good example. It’s not a good example because here there is a justification for harming the young because they are the pursuer. Meaning, I tell the young to shut down so that they won’t harm the elderly. Why? So the elderly won’t be harmed. Why? It’s not that I’m harming the young so the elderly won’t be harmed by some third factor. The elderly are supposed to be harmed by the young themselves. If they carry the disease and infect the elderly, then the elderly are put at risk. So there is here some sort of law of the pursuer—not intentionally, of course—but the law of the pursuer says that I am allowed to harm you not only because of the other person’s interest, but because the one who can potentially harm the other person’s interest is you. We are not harming some random person without justification; this is someone whom we do have a justification to harm for the sake of the other. If I really had to detain someone who posed no danger whatsoever to the elderly, but for some reason if I detain him that would save the elderly—that is another question, and maybe it would be handled differently. I’m not ruling it out; maybe you can do such things. But that is not the corona example.

Perhaps there’s another example, for instance taxes. We take taxes from the rich in order to help weaker people. Differential taxation. So in this case, here is an example of some distribution within a society that justifies harming one part in order to care for the other part. But even here it is not trivial. It is not trivial because really—let’s take at least the two extreme poles—communists versus piggish capitalists, okay? Not those who say all capitalism is piggish; I mean really piggish capitalism. So the communists basically say that when I take from the rich to give to the poor, that is justice. Why? Because their wealth is utterly based on society. Without society they could not have amassed that wealth either. So there are all kinds of explanations there that explain why this distribution of productive resources, the means of production, really belongs to the poor. It’s not some distribution done out of charity—what they always call justice and not charity, distributive justice, that is what it is called in communist language and its offshoots. And that term basically conceals behind it some conception saying: I am not just harming the strong in order to care for the weak; rather, it belongs to the weak. Meaning, there is a justification for harming the strong. And if that is so, then again it is not so trivial that even within a society I can harm one group in order to benefit another. Rather, only because they really deserve it. But if that justification were not there, then perhaps even the communist would say—at least the communist who bases himself on that justification—that really no, there is no justification for harming the strong in order to help the weak. He claims simply that it actually belongs to the weak. So that too is a kind of justification, and not really harming one in order to help another.

By the way, the capitalists who look at it truly say: exactly so, there is no justification. The piggish capitalists I’m talking about. There is no justification, that’s wrong. If the rich person wants, he can give charity to the poor, but the concept of justice they are not willing to accept. Charity, certainly yes. They can be piggish capitalists and great righteous people. They are piggish in their social conception—again, without any connotation, that’s just what they’re called. Piggish in their social-economic conception. Quite apart from that, he can be a millionaire who voluntarily distributes his money to charity according to what he decides. But again, both the capitalists and the communists—the communists as I described them here, which of course is terribly simplistic and crude—agree that without a justification for harming the strong, there is no justification for doing it, even if the weak are suffering. So the capitalists really say there is no justification and therefore it must not be done, and the communists say there is justification and therefore it may be done. But just to harm the strong because the condition of the weak is bad—that is not enough to harm the strong. So if that is the case, even within a society it is not trivial that it is truly justified to do that. Possible—you can do it by force, if the Knesset legislates it then they will do it—but the question is whether it is justified.

Beyond that, this distinction between distribution within one society—state or group—and distribution between people belonging to different societies, or between different societies, may in this context actually be less relevant, because the Holy One, blessed be He, is the master of the whole world. So as the ruler of the entire matter, perhaps from His perspective this does look like a government making allocations among its subjects, among its citizens. And from the perspective of the Holy One, blessed be He, the subjects are the whole world. So harming Egypt in order to care for Israel is perhaps something within His frame of reference and not between foreign groups. But as I said earlier, even within the group itself it is not so trivial that one may harm one person in order to care for another. So why is it justified here? As I said before: because the Egyptians really deserve it. Meaning, there is a justification to harm them; it is not as though they simply grabbed some victim just in order to save someone else.

Let’s take perhaps an extreme example. I’m remembering this example now; I once had an argument about it with someone. After all, all the prohibitions in the Torah are overridden to save a life except the three severe sins. What happens if I need a kidney? Otherwise I die. Okay? The doctors told me that if I do not get a kidney transplant, I die. Fine. So I grab someone on the street who for some reason I know has a matching kidney—it doesn’t matter—by force I take him, anesthetize him, bring him into a hospital, into an operating room, hire some doctors to take out his kidney and put it into me. I didn’t kill him; killing is forbidden. “Who says your blood is redder?” But I did not kill him, I only violated the prohibition of injuring someone. Okay? Am I permitted to violate the prohibition of injuring someone? For me this is a life-threatening situation, so it’s life-saving. Does life-saving override it? I have no doubt that it does not. I have already heard halakhic decisors claim that it does; I have no doubt that it does not. And not only because of the question—as some decisors say—“Why are you taking him? Take someone else. What did he do?” Meaning, you cannot attack one specific person because he specifically—there is no justification to take from him. But suppose there is only one person whose kidneys are compatible with mine. Then indeed that argument does not stand, and so yes, one could attack him. If I have some rare blood type, I don’t know exactly what, and the match is only with that person—then yes. I say categorically: I think that is wrong. You cannot harm one person without justification, even if it is non-lethal harm, in order to save even another person’s life. Meaning, that is not a trivial statement, but it seems to me to be correct. That I cannot attack one person in order to save my own life, even if it only involves the prohibition of injuring him and I am not killing him. All right? Does the prohibition of injuring someone get overridden by saving a life? No. It is not overridden by saving a life. If he does not agree, I am supposed to die. I cannot take the kidney from him.

Therefore I say that basically, even in extreme situations it is not at all clear to what extent one may harm one person to save another. All the more so here: to save us from some prohibition of returning to Egypt, through something so indirect—taking away their property so that I should not be tempted to return, when there is already a prohibition against returning. That prohibition itself should do some deterrent work, right? prevent me from returning. And if I am a sinner and the prohibition is not enough, then the Holy One, blessed be He, still takes care of me—and at the price of such severe harm to Egypt? That sounds problematic.

And therefore I say that of course one cannot ignore the other side of the equation here, namely the side of “they deserve it.” I asked earlier: if they deserve it, then why do we need all these maneuvers saying that this is to prevent us from sinning? It turns out that here we have a phenomenon I’ll call a double explanation. In several places we can see that a certain explanation is offered—and that explanation by itself does not hold water. Meaning, it needs some additional completion, some further component, to turn the explanation into a full explanation. I’ll give perhaps one example, or several examples.

Let us start perhaps with the law of the pursuer. The law of the pursuer basically says—and this is somewhat connected to the examples I gave earlier—that I am permitted to harm the pursuer in order to save the pursued. Right? The question is why. Why am I allowed? Who says the blood of the pursued is redder than the blood of the pursuer? So here of course there are many justifications, or a few justifications. One of them: don’t pursue and then complain. Meaning, you created the situation, you are guilty in it, and since you are guilty, then you deserve to be killed. So the reason why I kill him is not because he is guilty. Meaning, if I know he will not succeed in killing the other, I am forbidden to kill him even though he intends to kill him. Say there is a problem with the firing pin of the gun, like those conspiracy theories about Rabin’s assassination. Suppose there’s a problem with the firing pin, and I know it. Now he’s chasing someone and wants to kill him. In terms of his intention, he deserves to die, but he will not succeed in killing the other, we know that. Meaning, the interest of saving the other is not present here. Am I permitted to kill him? Certainly not. Why? Because the only reason I kill him is in order to save the other. So why do I need his guilt? Because without his guilt I could not kill him in order to save the other. I need both components in order to justify killing the pursuer: both that he is guilty, that he deserves it, and also that killing him will help save the other. Meaning, there is here an explanation, and it is a double explanation.

By the way, Rashi in Sanhedrin says that the second justification, apart from saving the pursued—and all the medieval authorities talk about this, they don’t say it but it is obvious—they speak only of the second justification. It is obvious that first of all I kill him in order to save the other. But to save the other, after all, is not enough in itself. I am forbidden to kill one person in order to save another, exactly like the example I gave here with Egypt. I need a justification that permits me to kill the other, but that by itself is also not enough, because if it were enough then I would kill the other by virtue of that justification, not in order to save the pursued—after all, he deserves to die. So there is here an additional justification that allows me to act for the sake of the primary motivation. Rashi, for example, says that the justification is to prevent him from committing murder. I may kill him because thereby I prevent him from committing murder. What does that mean? Leave him to worry about his own sins—why are you worrying about his spiritual condition more than he worries about it himself? The answer is: obviously not. I kill him in order to save the pursued. The question is only: who says the blood of the pursued is redder? Why do I kill one to save the other? To that Rashi says that his blood really is less red, because there is also an interest of his own that he be killed—an interest that we, of course, decide for him paternalistically. To kill me in order to save me from a sin—that justifies his killing in order to save the pursued. That of course would not by itself justify killing him. I need both things: both that he be liable to death, or at least that preventing the sin of murder justifies killing him, and also I need a motivation to kill him. The motivation is not to prevent him from sinning; the motivation is to save the pursued. The justification is that I am preventing him from sinning. So there is a justification and there is a motivation; these are two different things. The motivation alone is not enough, and the justification alone is not enough. I need the motivation and the justification together.

And if I return to Rabbi Kook, then basically it seems to me that what he is saying here is that the justification is that they are wicked. But if they are wicked, fine, then they already got their plagues, the Jewish people already left—why are you now starting all these new maneuvers? So Rabbi Kook says: no, no. These maneuvers, emptying them of their property, are in order to prevent the future sin of the Jewish people—that is the motivation. What is the justification? The justification is that they are wicked. Clearly one may not just harm someone in order to save someone else from sinning; it is like the law of the pursuer. But here there is a justification—they deserve this. And since they deserve it, I harm them, but I harm them not as punishment; I harm them in order to save the Jewish people.

Perhaps another example of this idea: with Moses our teacher, it is written that when he went out in Egypt and saw an Egyptian man striking a Hebrew man, “He turned this way and that, and saw that there was no man; and he struck the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.” What does “he turned this way and that” mean? Rashi there brings two interpretations: either literally, or that he saw that no convert would ever come forth from him. So of course the question is: what, does that justify killing him? Fine, no convert will come forth from him—there are plenty of Egyptians from whom no convert ever came forth, so because of that one may kill a person? And in particular, they ask, regarding Ishmael we say that a person is judged only according to his present state, according to the midrash of the Sages there. So how can it be that here we kill this Egyptian on account of his future, because in the future no one will come forth from him? So because of that we kill him? Obviously not.

I kill the Egyptian because he is striking the Hebrew, in order to save the Hebrew. But what is the justification to kill him? He is striking him, not killing him. If this were the law of the pursuer, no justifications would be needed. He is striking the Hebrew. So to save the Hebrew from the blows, I kill him—but that in itself does not justify killing. However, since no one will come forth from him who will convert, there is also a justification for killing him. My motivation is to save the Jew. The justification—because that in itself does not justify killing—why am I allowed to do such a thing in order to save the Jew? Because of the spiritual state of the Egyptian. Of course there is much more to discuss about this; I am only bringing these examples here to show this idea of the double explanation.

Often, for example, one can discuss justifications for punishment. When we put a criminal in prison—what is the justification for doing that to him? Only to protect society, right? If he is in prison, he won’t harm society. So if that’s the case, then even a person who is not guilty should sit in prison in order to protect society, right? As long as he poses a threat to society. Why do I need to judge the degree of his guilt? How severe the offense was, criminal intent, all the things always taken into account—why? What difference does that make? The question is what harm he threatens to bring to society; that is really what should cause his imprisonment. By the way, more than that: the length of the punishment should also be according to how long the threat continues, with no connection to how severe the offense he committed was. By the way, I actually think this is the correct way to act in terms of a theory of punishment in legal systems, but I am probably in a distinguished minority. People do not think that way. And so what they basically say is: because he deserves punishment too. What does it mean that he deserves punishment? What are you, the Judge of all the earth? Are you responsible for sanctioning wicked people? Are you the cosmic educator? No, I really want to protect society. But protecting society does not justify putting someone in prison—what, you harm him in order to protect someone else? But no: since he deserves to sit in prison because he is a criminal, therefore I may imprison him in order to protect society. Meaning, once again, the double explanation. The motivation is to protect society; I am not coming to educate him. But I cannot protect society just at someone else’s expense without there being a justification for it. And since he is a criminal and deserves a sanction, then true, I am not the Holy One, blessed be He, but he deserves a sanction. And if I need to give him that sanction in order to protect society, then it is justified. So here too there is a kind of dual level of explanation.

This is very confusing in many contexts, because in many places people raise a difficulty: the explanation that is presented does not hold water, and people do not think of this logical possibility—that this explanation is only the second story; beneath it sits another component, and the two together give the full explanation.

I’ll just give you an example that came up only yesterday in some WhatsApp group I saw. Someone asked there—complained, really—that they forbid public prayer, yesterday or the day before, I no longer remember, but in supermarkets you’re allowed to go shopping. What, is a supermarket less dangerous than public prayer outdoors? Not in a synagogue—outside, with distancing, in the open air—far less dangerous than a supermarket. So how can that be? It’s just anti-Semitism, or because the Haredim annoyed them—this is what he wrote there—just anti-Semitism, persecution, right, law of the pursuer. So he says it makes no sense. What is he of course missing? That there is another component here. The component is need, not only risk. Meaning, when you have to decide whether to forbid some activity, you weigh against each other the need for that activity and the risk it brings. The question is which outweighs which. Now true, in terms of risk, prayer is less dangerous than the supermarket. Outdoor prayer with distancing and everything is less dangerous than the supermarket—you’re not touching shared objects either, there is no comparison. Clearly it is less dangerous. But on the other hand, as for need—pray alone. But without a supermarket, if we have nothing to eat we will die—not from corona. Meaning, the need here is important. And you are ignoring one of the components, focusing on the other, and then you have a contradiction. Meaning, you don’t understand—within the second component it doesn’t work. Why? Because the second component does not stand alone. Risk in this case always stands not in addition to need but against need. Meaning, the risk stands against the need—of course lack of risk along with need, or risk against need, right, it’s the same thing. Therefore, many times when we focus on one side of the equation and forget that there is another—let me give another example.

Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman brings an example: it says in the Talmud that “one who recites Havdalah over the cup will have sons.” Meaning, someone who makes Havdalah over a cup of wine, who is careful every Saturday night to make Havdalah over a cup of wine, is assured of male children. Fine. We know quite a few people who were careful about Havdalah over a cup and did not have male children, and perhaps had no children at all. One example that comes to mind is the Chazon Ish. I believe he was careful about Havdalah over a cup. And he had no children at all, neither male nor not male. “Happy is he whose children are daughters,” as they say. So how do you explain the Talmud? Fine, first of all it could be that the Talmud was wrong; that too can happen. But beyond that, I think that is a somewhat childish conception of the Talmud. The Talmud does not say that everyone who recites Havdalah over a cup will have male children. What the Talmud really meant to say is that Havdalah over a cup gives you points in favor of the Holy One, blessed be He, remembering you with a male child. Now of course there can be other considerations. “Because of the sin of vows, a person’s children die”—that too is written in the Talmud. So what happens if someone violates vows but is careful about the cup? Sorry for these pilpulim about aggadic sayings—Chayuta is already smiling over there. So how do you reconcile these two things? Obviously each one of them is a consideration. In the end, on the bottom line, you have to take all the considerations and make a decision. So if he made Havdalah over a cup, very nice—but he has the sin of vows. So instead of his children being born and then dying, obviously it is already preferable not to give him those children at all, and that’s that. A sensible consideration, right? If I sum up there, what does that mean? That when I look at one who recites Havdalah over a cup as a parameter that determines whether I will have male children, I am looking only at part of the picture. In the end there are other parameters that enter here, and they are what give the full explanation.

Let me give perhaps another example. There is a Ran in tractate Nedarim 8. The Ran writes there that an oath—in principle the law is that an oath does not take effect on something that is already a commandment. Meaning, if I swear to fulfill some commandment, a Torah commandment, the oath is null because I am already sworn from Mount Sinai; I am already under oath regarding it. You cannot impose another oath on an existing oath. But, says the Ran, something derived through exegesis—that, yes. If I swear to fulfill that, it takes effect. So Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman, in Kuntres Divrei Sofrim, explains why it takes effect: because something derived through exegesis is something not written explicitly in the Torah. What does it mean that it is not written in the Torah? It comes from some inference or inclusion of the word “et,” or a verbal analogy, or some hint in the Torah. So what? Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman says there is a principle that the amount of space something occupies in the Torah is an indication of its severity. Where do we see this? Again, a midrashic statement: “The conversation of the servants of the patriarchs is more beloved than the Torah of the sons.” This is said about Eliezer, that the Torah goes on at length telling the whole story there—how he came, and the camels, and this and that—while “You shall not murder” it writes in two words. Why does the Torah spend so much time there? So Rashi says, quoting a midrash, “The conversation of the servants of the patriarchs is more beloved than the Torah of the sons.” Because it is something so important, therefore the Torah elaborates. So Rabbi Elchanan says—and this is how a Litvak interprets aggadot—that you see from here that the length something occupies in the Torah is an indication of its severity or importance.

So if that is the case, then apparently something written only by way of exegesis—he returns to the Ran, this is how he explains the Ran—since it is written only through exegesis, it is not written explicitly in the Torah, it is not written there at length, it is written only as a hint, so it is apparently less important. And since it is less important, an oath can take effect on it. Not like full Torah law, okay? Maimonides in general said that things derived through exegesis are only rabbinic, though the Ran disagrees with him, but still, apparently they are less important.

So now I ask: when I read this Rabbi Elchanan, I asked myself: so I don’t understand—does that mean that the story of Eliezer is more important than “You shall not murder”? It takes, I don’t know, a whole chapter there, a lot. And even more. And “You shall not murder” is two words. So what is more important? How can you take this principle in such a sweeping way? And the answer I gave myself is once again the same logic I spoke about earlier. Obviously “You shall not murder”—you do not need to make it clear to me that it is important by the Torah devoting a chapter and a half to it. Everyone understands that this is an extremely severe matter. The Torah writes very clearly, right, that it pollutes the land and corrupts the land if one murders. And by simple reasoning too, it is completely obvious that the prohibition of murder is very severe. Therefore it does not need elaboration in order to explain that it is severe. But with “the conversation of the servants of the patriarchs,” there I would say: what are all these stories? Why do I need this at all? And since there is a plausible assumption that this is not important, the Torah has to elaborate in order to explain to me that it nevertheless is important. With “You shall not murder,” it does not need that. So what does this mean if I sum up—again, a Lithuanian summary—how do I know the importance of a matter? It is a combination of two things: not only the length or space it takes up in the Torah, but also the intuitive or a priori importance of the matter, how much explanation is needed. And given two things, both of which require the same level of explanation in order to explain their importance, if one of them the Torah devotes more time to, then it is apparently more important—or if it takes more space, then it is more important. Meaning, there is an interplay here between two parameters. Therefore, when you look only at one of them, you always miss something.

These things can actually be expressed in many more examples. I’ll bring maybe a few more in the few minutes left. In a number of examples we can see that we deal with what may be called double causality. What does double causality mean? We explain the very same phenomenon in two different ways. Meaning, I have one explanation and I also have another explanation—two explanations, two different explanations—for the same thing itself.

Let’s give one example, or a few examples. One example: Newton, sitting under a tree and an apple falls on him—according to the well-known myth. So he asks himself: why do apples fall on yeshiva students sitting under trees? And he found the law of gravitation; he found a physical explanation for this, a mechanical explanation for this. Of course there is also a theological explanation. Newton was a devout Christian; there is a theological explanation. Newton can also explain that he sinned, and therefore he got hit on the head by an apple because he did not turn the other cheek. So he got an apple on the head because he sinned. Now which of the two explanations is correct? Seemingly both. We use both. This is a theological explanation and this is a physical explanation. If you are looking for an explanation on the physical level, that is the explanation; if you are looking for an explanation on the theological level, then that is the explanation.

There are many examples of this. Someone becomes religious—this is a favorite example of mine. Someone becomes religious, and his secular friends of course immediately ask what happened to him, what crisis he went through. They look for the psychological reason for what he did. And his religious friends explain it in the philosophical sense: at last he understood that this is the truth, and until now he lived in error. Okay? So the religious are philosophers and the secular are psychologists. What happens with someone who leaves religion? There the religious explain that he wanted to permit sexual immorality to himself, right? So therefore he left religion. What do the secular say? Well, at last he understood that all that was nonsense over there; he understood what the truth is. So the religious are psychologists and the secular are philosophers. And who is right? In the simple sense, it seems that both are right. Meaning, every person who takes some step has a psychological explanation. On the psychological level you can offer one explanation; on the philosophical, ideological, evaluative level you can offer another explanation. We usually do not hesitate to offer both explanatory levels in parallel, exactly like with Newton. There are more examples, but we’ll spare you them.

What does that actually mean? It means that we can explain things on two explanatory levels at once. But that in itself cannot work. That is a mistake. And this is my major objection to theological conceptions of providence and scientific explanations. Why? Because an explanation, in the logical-philosophical sense—an explanation or causal explanation—must provide a cause that is a sufficient condition for the effect. It need not be necessary, but it must be sufficient. What does sufficient condition mean? That given the cause, the effect will occur. Meaning, if the cause was there, it is impossible that the effect should not occur. The effect must result. It is not necessary because perhaps some other cause could also produce the effect, but this cause—if it is a cause—then the moment it occurred, the effect must occur. That is a sufficient condition.

Now if so, then it is impossible to reconcile the two explanatory planes with each other. You have to choose. Because if a person sinned and sat under a tree, then an apple will fall on him even if the mechanical conditions are not ripe. Even if the stem is strong enough and can bear the weight of the apple, gravity will not drop the apple here. Or conversely, if the scientific explanation is correct, then once the physical conditions are ripe, I don’t care whether the fellow down below sinned or didn’t sin, it will fall on his head. So that means that each explanation, if each is truly an explanation, then it has to provide me with a sufficient condition. And if it is a sufficient condition, then these two cannot both be explanations of the same thing. Because a sufficient condition means that if it is present, that is enough to explain the effect. I’ll take specifically the second example, because there it is more convenient for me to explain the point I want to make: the example of the person becoming religious or leaving religion—psychology and philosophy.

What do I say there? There it is perfectly clear what the answer is. The answer is that neither of the two planes is an explanation that stands alone. The explanation that stands alone is the sum of the two. Meaning, when someone takes a certain step, clearly there are psychological triggers for what he did. On the other hand, he also gives himself some sort of philosophical account when he decides to adopt a new worldview. Usually, almost every person gives himself some kind of justifications, this way or that, better or worse, each according to his own justifications, but he has some sort of justifications on the merits. This does not contradict the fact that there was some psychological crisis that caused it, or some motive, or some psychological event that caused this matter. What does that mean? That psychology is not a sufficient condition, and philosophy is not a sufficient condition either. What constitutes the sufficient condition here is the sum of the two: psychology plus philosophy.

And thus the double explanations I spoke about earlier are created. The double explanations I spoke about earlier arise precisely because neither of the two components can constitute a sufficient condition for the result. If it existed alone, the result still would not be justified or would not occur. Whether we are talking about justification or about an explanation of what happened. You need the second thing as well so that together they form a sufficient condition. When the combination of the two things together gives me a sufficient condition, that is the double explanation I spoke about earlier.

And therefore the practical advice for all the examples I gave during these remarks, all kinds of mistakes that arise because we focus on one component and ignore the second component, is to check very carefully whether the component we are focusing on is a sufficient condition. Meaning, if it is a sufficient condition, then you are right—then that is the explanation, and we need to understand, in light of that explanation, the difference between a supermarket and outdoor prayer. But if this component alone—the component of risk—is not a sufficient condition, because if the component of risk were a sufficient condition then we would have to lock all of us in our homes and not allow anyone to go out in any way. Clearly it is not a sufficient condition; there is also the condition of need, right? And since that is so, that is the indication that you are missing something here. Clearly there is another component. Now think what the other component might be. It is not so hard to understand that in this context the second component is need, and I assume there are other explanations as well—perhaps difficulty, it doesn’t matter, perhaps one could bring in more components here—but there are certainly at least two.

And I think this is the root of many, many failures. I could have brought several more examples showing that people focus on one thing, see it as the explanation, and then run into all sorts of difficulties or contradictions with another place where it doesn’t work, when in fact they ignore that this explanation is not really an explanation. You are focusing on one aspect of the explanation, but really there is another aspect. Suppose someone goes to a psychologist. Then the psychologist will analyze why he became religious or why he left religion and will find the psychological explanations, and that is perfectly fine—that is his role. He looks at it through the psychological prism. But someone else, with the same—at least in my view, I am not a determinist—so someone else with exactly the same psychological state is not necessarily going to become religious or leave religion. It may be that from his point of view he won’t do it. Why not? Because the philosophical justification will not seem convincing to him. To the first person it does seem convincing, to the second it doesn’t. Meaning, the psychologist by definition focuses on half the picture, which is his role. He should, by the way, know that there is another half—if he doesn’t know that, then his psychological analysis is lacking too. But the fact that he focuses specifically on his part is perfectly fine; that is his role, his mandate.

And the same with the philosopher when he looks at it. We all say: ah, he did it because he went through a crisis. And I explain: he did it because he has the physico-theological proof for the existence of God. People laugh at that—what do you mean? Obviously he broke up with his girlfriend, so he became religious. And I say: that is not true. Not everyone who breaks up with his girlfriend becomes religious. So they tell me: yes, but not everyone, because there are also other psychological circumstances, other psychological components at play. And I say: true, but not only that. There are also components that are not psychological—ideological components, philosophical components, logical components, other things, all kinds of other components. Psychology is not the whole picture unless you are determinists. But if not, then one has to understand that a psychologist can write a learned article, an analysis of what that person did, and still he is focusing on half the picture. Therefore he always, always has to remember in the background that this is only half the picture, even though he has every right to focus only on it. He needs to understand that focusing on it actually means that he still will not always truly understand what happened here, because perhaps there are other components that are really what produced the outcome.

Okay, there are many more examples, but I’ll stop here. That’s it, I’m opening the microphones as usual, and then we’ll begin with questions related to what I spoke about today, and afterward of course everyone is also welcome to ask other questions. So I opened them, released the microphones, and also gave you control over your own microphones. Now I ask that you use that control and close them again. Only the person speaking should open the microphone, otherwise we’ll have trouble here. I just want you to control it and decide for yourselves who speaks and who doesn’t, so that’s why I released it. But everyone close the microphones except the person speaking. By the way, as I said on previous occasions as well, even someone who sent me things in the chat—I’d prefer that he ask them aloud now, because during the lecture I wasn’t looking at the chats. Okay, I’m opening. Yes?