Ein Ayah – Berakhot 124
This transcript was produced automatically using artificial intelligence. There may be inaccuracies in the transcribed content and in speaker identification.
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Table of Contents
- Beruriah, “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth,” and the version *min*a versus *tsadoki*
- Historical context: dating the virgin birth myth and the early controversy
- Rabbi Kook’s interpretation: multiple factions, the boundaries of legitimacy, and the “barren woman” who does not give birth to destructive sects
- The Sadducee as a principled question: multiplicity of opinions versus sects that dismantle the Torah
- “These and those are the words of the living God”: Eruvin, Gittin, and harmonism versus pluralism
- Practical decision-making within a multiplicity of facets: fighting for your view without denying the value of the other side
Summary
General Overview
The text opens with the story in Berakhot 10a about Beruriah and that *min*a (and in other printings, *tsadoki*), and suggests that Beruriah’s interpretation of the verse “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth” is aimed, if the version is *min*a, at a theological clash with Christianity סביב the idea of virgin birth. It then brings Rabbi Kook’s interpretation, which sees the passage as a confrontation with Sadducees and develops a view according to which a multiplicity of parties and opinions within the people can contribute to their perfection, but there are destructive sects that are not “born” from the spirit of the Jewish people. Later the text expands on “These and those are the words of the living God” through passages in Eruvin and Gittin, and proposes a distinction between pluralism and “harmonism,” in which there is one truth with many facets, while still preserving practical decision-making. It concludes with questions and answers that sharpen the point that this model is not limited only to Jewish law, and that even within the halakhic realm itself there is room for integrating different facets within the framework of an actual ruling.
Beruriah, “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth,” and the version *min*a versus *tsadoki*
The Talmud in Berakhot 10a tells that a certain *min*a asks Beruriah how it could be that “the barren woman who has not given birth” should “sing,” and Beruriah answers him to read the end of the verse: “For more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married woman, says the Lord,” and explains that “the Jewish people” are like a barren woman in that they do not give birth to “children for Gehenna like you.” The text points to the difference between the Talmud’s wording “that *min*a” and printings in which it says “Sadducee,” and argues that the replacement of the term is connected to censorship, with *min*a understood as “Christian.” The text suggests that if the figure is a Christian, the picture changes because the question carries a subtext about birth without intercourse, and Beruriah responds with a polemic that frames “those children” as children who would have been better off never being born.
Historical context: dating the virgin birth myth and the early controversy
The text tries to place chronologically the possibility of a Jewish-Christian clash already in the generation of Beruriah and Rabbi Meir, who are presented as fourth-generation tannaim and disciples of Rabbi Akiva, at the end of the first century or beginning of the second century CE. The text notes that an early source for the virgin birth myth is attributed to the Protoevangelium of James, dated to around 150 CE, but also points to Matthew chapter 1 as a text that includes a description of birth without intercourse, together with scholarly questions about its dating and editing. The text concludes that if identifying the *min*a as a Christian is correct, this sheds light on the possibility of very early theological controversies with Christians or with early Gnostic sects that eventually developed into Christianity.
Rabbi Kook’s interpretation: multiple factions, the boundaries of legitimacy, and the “barren woman” who does not give birth to destructive sects
Rabbi Kook states that the division into factions within a “great people” contributes to its perfection when they proceed along “the path of justice,” and he lists factions such as sages, pious people, artisans, and farmers, and even disagreements in views concerning ethics, leadership, policy, and the service of God. The text explains that Rabbi Kook distinguishes between a division of roles that contains no essential disagreement and parties of opinion that by nature see one another as mistaken, and yet each has its own “special craft” that benefits the whole. Rabbi Kook qualifies this by saying that it applies only to approaches that do not strike at “the essential life of the nation so as to destroy it,” whereas sects whose goal is to place enmity between Israel and their Father in Heaven, to cancel unity and holiness, and to rebel against the Torah, are “like rot to Israel” and are not born from “the inner spirit of the nation” but from “an external destructive spirit.” Rabbi Kook argues that the Jewish people have no power “to give birth to such evil and depraved growths,” and when such groups crystallize into a sect and a system, “they will separate from the tents of Jacob and assimilate among the nations, for they are not of God,” and the text notes that this move fits especially well with understanding the development of Christianity as a sect that emerged from the Jewish world.
The Sadducee as a principled question: multiplicity of opinions versus sects that dismantle the Torah
Rabbi Kook interprets the *tsadoki*’s question as the claim that the very multiplicity of factions and outlooks introduces “vital spirit and good new perspectives,” and therefore there is no reason to rejoice over a “barren woman who has not given birth.” Beruriah replies that regarding factions that build the house of Israel, multiplicity of views has value, but sects like the Sadducees “strike the house of Israel to pieces with their loathsome views” by canceling reliance on tradition and the Oral Torah. Rabbi Kook says that without the Oral Torah there is no limit to alien interpretations and each person will say “thus far you may come,” until no uniformity of practice from place to place remains, with the result being “the nullification of the Torah and its laws altogether.” Rabbi Kook concludes that “it is a joy for the Jewish people that it is not in their nature to give birth to children for Gehenna like you,” and that such people are not born from the Jewish people but from “a spirit of malice or foolishness” drawn from “foreign broken cisterns,” and therefore they cannot endure within Israel.
“These and those are the words of the living God”: Eruvin, Gittin, and harmonism versus pluralism
The text brings from Eruvin the example of Rabbi Meir’s students, who could declare things pure and impure with many arguments, and the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel that concludes with a heavenly voice: “These and those are the words of the living God, but the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel,” with the reason given that Beit Hillel were “gentle and humble” and would state Beit Shammai’s words first. The text presents two readings: a monistic one in which “the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel” because they are true, and a pluralistic one in which “these and those” is taken literally but the decision is explained by an educational criterion; it also cites Rabbi Yosef Karo in the name of a monistic interpretation according to which the humility of Beit Hillel is a method that brings one closer to the truth. The text then brings from Gittin the dispute between Rabbi Evyatar and Rabbi Yonatan over the phrase “and his concubine played the harlot against him,” and Elijah’s answer in God’s name: “My son Evyatar says thus, and My son Yonatan says thus,” together with “these and those are the words of the living God,” emphasizing there the possibility of explaining that both descriptions fit together: “he found a fly and did not object; he found a hair and he objected.” The text uses this to distinguish between pluralism as a multiplicity of truths and “harmonism,” which is one truth built from different facets, where each side grasps a partial facet of the truth and the whole is created by combining them.
Practical decision-making within a multiplicity of facets: fighting for your view without denying the value of the other side
The text argues that harmonism does not lead to “peaceful pastoral bliss” and does not eliminate argument, because even if the reasons of both sides are correct, one still has to weigh them and make a practical decision, like in the example of chocolate being both tasty and fattening, or in a system of reasons in both directions where “in the end the creeping thing is impure.” The text presents a situation in which the dispute is over the weight of the arguments rather than over their very existence, and therefore one can recognize the truth in one’s opponent’s words and still fight for a halakhic ruling or a decision against him. The text concludes with a distinction between “children of the married woman” as participants in a shared framework of discourse in which there is disagreement but also mutual recognition of the value of the different facets, and “children of the desolate woman” as those who have left the framework so completely that discussion with them no longer has meaning. It then records a participant’s comment linking Rabbi Kook’s words to the three forces in Orot HaTechiyah and to the wholeness of reality beyond Jewish law, and the speaker replies that he accepts the basic structure regarding the importance of differing views but doubts the attempt to attach it דווקא to Torah-based categories. Another question asks whether harmonism belongs only to factual disputes, and the speaker answers that harmony exists at the level of reasons even in normative discussions, gives examples from the world of Jewish law, and emphasizes that integrating multiple facets can affect not only the reasoning but also the bottom-line ruling.
Full Transcript
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, we’re in the Talmud, tractate Berakhot, page 10a. First of all I’ll share the Talmudic text, because there’s something interesting here in the Gemara itself. Here. So the Gemara in Berakhot 10a—the previous story also dealt with Beruriah and Rabbi Meir regarding those hooligans who were tormenting Rabbi Meir. Immediately after that comes another story with Beruriah. “A certain heretic said to Beruriah”—that heretic said to Beruriah: It is written, “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth.” Because she has not given birth, should she sing? Meaning, what exactly does she have to rejoice about if she’s barren and doesn’t give birth? Why should she rejoice over not giving birth? She said to him: Fool, fool of a world, look at the end of the verse. It says, “For more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married woman, says the Lord.” What does that mean? The desolate one has children—so this isn’t a barren woman who didn’t give birth. So why does it say she is barren and did not give birth, and on the other hand it says she has children—despite being desolate and barren, she has children? So what does “barren, who has not given birth” mean? Rejoice, O Jewish people, who are like a barren woman who did not give birth to children for Gehenna like you. Meaning, there are children such that even when you do give birth to them, you’re still considered barren—children like you, meaning the heretics.
Now one interesting thing—let me just take you for a moment to the quotation in Rabbi Kook. In the standard printed editions there’s a difference of one word. Sorry that I’m becoming a scholar in my old age. “A certain Sadducee said to Beruriah: What is meant by ‘Sing, barren woman who has not given birth’? Because she has not…” etc. The difference is between “heretic” and “Sadducee.” Here it appears as “Sadducee.” In the Gemara it appears as “a certain heretic.” Now, in the printed editions we have, it says “Sadducee.” “Heretic” was a correction, apparently the result of censorship or something like that. Originally it was “heretic,” and they changed it to “Sadducee,” as happens in many places, where “min” basically means a Christian. That’s the accepted interpretation of the term.
Now that’s very interesting. I think this is really fertile ground. I’m sure people have already made a whole stew out of this; I didn’t check, but I have no doubt. Because you understand the interpretation Beruriah is really making here. After all, Christianity begins with a virgin birth, right? That’s their myth. And for some reason that heretic, which gets translated as Sadducee—and therefore Rabbi Kook didn’t even know this was talking about a Christian; look at his commentary, he talks about a Sadducee. But if this is talking about a Christian, that casts a completely different light on the whole exchange. Not an exchange, really—it’s a clash. Because basically Beruriah—he says, what does this mean, why should she rejoice if she is barren and did not give birth? While in the subtext, of course, even barren women can give birth. What, are you mocking us by saying that a virgin can’t give birth? A virgin can give birth, yes, even without intercourse she gives birth. She can even be barren and give birth. I think that’s pretty obvious. If this is a heretic, it’s very hard to avoid that context.
And to that Beruriah says, in a very polemical way, yes, with children like you, then even when such children are born she is indeed barren. Meaning, the entire subtext of the discussion here is really a discussion of Christian theology. Now this is interesting because I tried to look into it a bit before the lecture. I tried to check chronologically how this works. When did this myth of virgin birth arise? After all, Beruriah and Rabbi Meir are fourth-generation tannaim, meaning students of Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Meir is a student of Rabbi Akiva, which means—I don’t know—end of the first century CE, something like that, maybe beginning of the second.
Now with regard to this myth, it’s not so simple. I saw somewhere that someone cites some Protoevangelium of James—whatever, some gospel that didn’t enter the canon of the New Testament—as the earliest source, dated to around the year 150 CE, and that this is the first source for the myth of virgin birth. But actually in Matthew, yes, in chapter one of Matthew—Matthew is more occupied with theology, it’s the first of the four gospels of the New Testament—and in chapter one it explicitly appears that she gave birth as a virgin, and then it says there—not that she was a virgin, but that her husband had not had relations with her and nevertheless she gave birth, and then he thought she had committed adultery, and he had a revelation: leave her, etc. So it’s not exactly virgin birth, but after the angel’s revelation I think that is basically what’s written there.
And again, there are big arguments about exactly how to date it. If Matthew himself wrote it, and he’s one of the apostles, then that’s very early; or if it’s some later editorial layer—as is well known, these things underwent editing just like ours. And there too, of course, the religious people defend with absolute ferocity the claim that Matthew wrote it, while the scholars explain that these are later materials. But for our purposes, it seems to me that if—I think I’m right about this context—it’s very hard to ignore the context. If I’m right, then there is already some dispute, say at the end of the first century or beginning of the second, between a Christian and a Jew about virgin birth. Meaning, this sheds some light at least on the dating question: apparently by that time this was already a known Christian theology and arguments were being conducted around it. So that’s—or else Christians, or maybe, you know, early Gnostic sects that eventually crystallized into Christians, I don’t know. Again, the ideas there rolled around in various forms. I’m not sufficiently expert in this and I don’t know if anyone really knows it all the way through—but certainly not me. In any case, I think it’s an interesting historical note.
I’ll come back to that note after we see Rabbi Kook’s words, because Rabbi Kook reads this as “Sadducee.” And that was the printed version before him, so from his point of view this is basically a dispute between Beruriah and someone belonging to some intra-Jewish sect. Now one has to remember that Christians in that period too were more or less an intra-Jewish sect. I assume it had already started spreading more broadly, but still I think that overall it was still basically Jewish. By 180 CE it already had some broader standing in the Roman Empire and so on, so it became wider, but at that period I think it was still more or less a Jewish sect. But Sadducees were certainly a Jewish sect. And from Rabbi Kook’s point of view, his whole interpretation of the matter—soon we’ll see—is really an interpretation that enters into the question of how to relate to different sects within the Jewish world. When you see that this is actually a heretic, the whole business gets a completely different picture—but I’ll come back to that later, because maybe it’s not so completely different.
So let’s see Rabbi Kook. Okay. “It is well known”—I’m beginning to read, because the Gemara appears above, we saw it—“that the division into factions within a great people is something beneficial to the perfection of the nation when they proceed along the path of justice.” First of all, within a great people—interesting. In a small people, division into factions is apparently more problematic. In a great people there is room to contain more possibilities. We know this from our world too. It seems to me that today less so, but it seems to me that ideological monolithicity in Israel is much more pronounced, say, than in the United States. In the United States, in public discourse there are some very conservative outlooks that here would hardly be recognized at all, except maybe among a few religious types. And part of that is really the question of size. When a place is large enough, it’s very hard to control it so that one outlook has absolute hegemony. Also in legal conservatism—I’m not specifically talking about religion versus secularity, but conservatism of various kinds—somehow in the United States it appears more than here. We’re a small place; they’re a big place. That’s part of the explanation. I don’t know if it’s the whole explanation.
In any case, he says, division into factions in a great people—meaning in a small people there might indeed be some problem when it divides, but in a great people we can contain it—is something beneficial to the perfection of the nation, when those factions proceed along the path of justice. Then the thing is positive; it contributes to the perfection of the nation. “Like the faction of sages, pious people, artisans, farmers”—right? Which is a little strange. It begins with the faction of sages and pious people, which sounds a bit like ways of serving God or different religious outlooks, and then artisans and farmers. Artisans and farmers are professional guilds. Why do they appear in the same list? But immediately afterwards he writes: “And even factions of divided opinions in the ways of ethics and leadership, in policy or in the service of God, each one brings benefit and good.”
So this “and even” means—what is “even factions of divided opinions in the ways of ethics and leadership, in policy or in the service of God”? Let’s return for a moment to the first part of the list: sages, pious people, artisans, and farmers. The sages and pious people there apparently are not “divided opinions in ethics and leadership”; it’s not what today we call Hasidim, as a particular way in the service of God. When he speaks about sages and pious people above, he’s probably speaking about spheres of activity. Sages and pious people are like artisans and farmers. Sages are people engaged in wisdom—call them academics, or people of the study hall, but not in the sense of a particular path in the service of God. It’s a kind of guild within the people. Some engage in craftsmanship, some in agriculture, namely farmers, some in Torah study, and some in service—pious people. Meaning, they engage in charity, prayer, things of that type. But again, not in the sense that there is an argument between the sages and the pious people. These are just people focused on different areas of activity.
Only afterwards does he get to: “And even factions of divided opinions in the ways of ethics and leadership.” Now, say we insert here Hasidim in the modern sense—then the dispute between Hasidim and Mitnagdim obviously belongs to the second part. These are parties of opinion divided in ways of ethics and leadership. It’s not merely an argument about what to dedicate my life to, or what occupation to pursue. It can also be expressed that way, but it doesn’t start there. It starts with the question of what is correct. And the practical implication is only an implication of that outlook.
Above there are sages, pious people, artisans, farmers—there is no argument among them. Each one focuses; all are important and all are recognized, everyone agrees that everything is important, each one simply focuses on what he chooses to focus on. So there are distinctions here between different guilds, or different spheres of activity, or different designated roles, and there are parties of opinion. Parties of opinion are already something completely different, because there one party thinks the other is mistaken. Unlike the first list. In the first list, it’s easy to say what Rabbi Kook says. Everyone is proceeding on the path of justice, because we need sages, we need pious people, we need artisans, and we need farmers—we need all of them. Okay, so there’s no problem at all, excellent, we divide among ourselves, each one does one kind of work, and in the end the entire public benefits, because every task has someone taking care of it.
But “parties of divided opinions in ethics and leadership”—that’s not a division of labor, apparently. There it’s an argument. It’s an argument. I think you’re wrong and you think I’m wrong. I’d be happy if you didn’t exist in the world at all, and you’d be happy if I didn’t exist in the world at all. And Rabbi Kook wants to say—and that’s why I think he divides this list into two parts—that just as we all understand regarding the first part of the list, that there the division is only for the good and it is complementary and we need all these roles and all the benefits they bring, so too, Rabbi Kook says, with divided opinions. Even though there there is an argument about who is right and who is wrong, still, in the end, although I don’t think like you, I’m supposed to relate to you the way an artisan relates to a farmer, or vice versa, or a sage to a pious person, or an artisan to a pious person. Okay? And I think that’s why he divides the list into two parts.
Then he says: “For each faction perfects a special craft that is beneficial for the work of the whole and its completion.” That is, here is the explanation of the “even.” Why in the first part it is obvious why everyone is needed and there is no problem with our being divided into different occupations—but why is it important that there be different factions divided in ethics, philosophy, leadership, service of God? One is right and the other is wrong—why is it so important that there be many such positions? So he says: because each faction perfects a special craft that benefits the work of the whole and its wholeness. In other words, what he is really saying is that even in divisions whose basis is disagreement—about the service of God, about ethics, about worldview, and so on—even there each one has some role. And I, who disagree with him, am supposed to see him the way an artisan sees a farmer, or vice versa. I’m supposed to see him as someone doing something that I am not doing. And in that sense, yes, he brings the collective to completeness.
Does that mean that I’m not supposed to disagree with him, or that I’m supposed to think he’s right just like me? I don’t think so. Because then once again we’ve gone back to the first part of the list—artisans and farmers. I think Rabbi Kook still concludes that there is a difference between these things, and that is exactly his innovation. Although the second part of the list is not the same as the first, still I can disagree with you, yes, but defend your right to say what you say or do what you do. And this is very important for the perfection of the collective work and its wholeness. I’ll come back to this shortly because there are several subtle points here.
“However, all this is said only about such methods and factions as do not touch the essential life of the nation so as to destroy it. But the evil sects that arise within Israel…” You see—Sadducee. For him, the Gemara is dealing with a Sadducee. “The evil sects that sometimes arise within Israel in order to destroy Torah and commandments, which are the house of life of Israel, are not born from the natural general spirit of the nation like the other sects and factions that benefit perfection and development.” Meaning, there are sects that are outside this collective of the nation. They are, of course, ethnically or biologically included—they are children of a Jewish mother, they are Jews in terms of identity, ethnic identity—but their tendency, their ideology, is destructive. It is not something that joins in and perfects a facet that complements our collective, and in that sense they are really supposed to be outside.
So that’s what he says: they are not born from the general spirit of the nation, like the other sects and factions that benefit perfection and development—that was the “however” above. “For the sects that touch the life of Israel in order to place enmity between Israel and their Father in Heaven, to nullify Israel’s unity and holiness by rebelling against the Torah altogether, to look to foreign children and evil and alien ideas that are like rot to Israel…” Meaning, this does not perfect the collective but rather rots it, introducing something infectious that effectively rots the entire collective. These views, these sects, he claims, do not blossom from the inner spirit of the nation like other beneficial factions.
Now he already has some interesting thesis. If we go back to the verse “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth,” these sects—if we look at this at least metaphorically, as though there is some great mother giving birth to various sects within the Jewish people, the Shekhinah, as it were, or however you want to call it, giving birth to all these sects within the Jewish people—those are the sects that perfect the Israelite, Jewish public, its service of God, its life and service of God, including material life. But the destructive sects, these sects that go against unity, against the service of God, that seek to detach the people, “to place enmity between Israel and their Father in Heaven,” as he says above—that’s the father. Those who place enmity between the children and their father apparently did not come from the mother. Those who place enmity between us and our Father in Heaven, the Holy One, blessed be He, were not born from the inner spirit of the nation, which is the Shekhinah, His partner in kabbalistic terms.
So there is a kind of metaphor here that basically says: you are foreign children; your mother is really barren. I’m returning to the Gemara—your mother is really barren; you weren’t born from her. Physically yes, physiologically yes, but essentially no. And therefore she is “barren, who has not given birth,” even though afterward it says, “for more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married woman.” What are “the children of the desolate”? She is basically not considered to have given birth to you, even though you did come from her. You are children of desolation. And that is exactly the point. Therefore it would have been preferable had she not given birth to people like you—they are children of desolation. That is exactly the point. Therefore: “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth.” If the children are like that, better to remain barren and not give birth to them at all.
Yes, so he says: “And the Jewish people have no power at all to give birth to such evil and depraved growths; they are born only from an external destructive spirit.” Again, of course he means spiritual birth. We’re talking about ethnic Jews, yes, biological too, children of a Jewish mother, but their Jewish idea, their idea, is not Jewish. It was not born from the Jewish spirit, so to speak. “Only from an external destructive spirit were they born. Therefore they will not cling to Israel as being the essence of the nation, of the nation’s very bones. Rather, when they prepare for themselves a faction and a method, a distinct sect, once they have crystallized into a well-defined sect, they are no longer isolated individuals, but have an ideology, and around it there also forms some kind of group carrying that ideology, then they will separate from the tents of Jacob and assimilate among the nations, for they are not of God.” We’ve gone back to the father—from the mother to the father. Meaning, they are not of God because they were not born from the mother, and therefore once they crystallize and grow, they will no longer be among us; they will no longer be here.
Which is a fascinating move, because he begins with Sadducees. The Sadducees, what happened to them? Apparently they disappeared in some way. Some perhaps Hellenized at some point, I don’t know, but they disappeared as a sect. By contrast, Christians—if we return to “heretic” in the Gemara—if it’s talking about Christians and not Sadducees, there that is exactly what happened. They began as a kind of Jewish sect, and today no one would think of seeing Christianity as a Jewish branch. It isn’t considered a Jewish branch. They didn’t perish; on the contrary, they’re far stronger and far larger than they were then, unlike the Sadducees, who no longer exist. But Christians certainly exist—only they left us, they are no longer considered a Jewish sect. And in that sense Rabbi Kook’s description here actually fits the version he didn’t know—the version of the heretic, not the Sadducee.
And as the Sages said about people like these—I’m continuing to read—“these come from the mixed multitude,” or “from the side of the mixed multitude.” Meaning, they came from the mixed multitude, and apparently in the end they too will leave us and depart from here. They didn’t come from us; they come from somewhere else.
And now he returns to the Sadducee’s question. Up to this point this was only an introduction. Now he returns to the Sadducee’s question and explains what is happening in the Gemara. “Therefore, regarding the Sadducee’s question, who asked: How can she sing because she has not given birth? If she hasn’t given birth, should she rejoice over that?” So now he gives this a metaphorical expression. This is no longer just a difficulty on the plain meaning of the verse; rather, the Sadducee is asking a principled question. “Are not different and newly emerging factions beneficial, introducing vitality and good new perspectives into the people as a whole?” In short: Why do you Pharisees reject us Sadducees? After all, multiplicity of opinions is a blessed thing. “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth”—what, are you happy that the barren woman didn’t give birth? Meaning, he already understood in advance what Beruriah would answer him. Beruriah answered him: with children like you, better that she remain barren and not give birth. He himself understands that this is the outlook, and he objects to it. He says, tell me, what do you want from me? Why? Multiplicity of opinions is a blessed thing. As people say today too. Why do you always persecute people with different opinions? Multiplicity of opinions is a blessed thing. “These and those are the words of the living God.”
And somehow the feeling is always—at least in the conventional religious outlook—that there is a certain radius beyond which it is no longer true that multiplicity of opinions is fruitful and beneficial. There are certain opinions that one really must fight. Others not. Multiplicity of opinions is good, somehow, within the study hall. “These and those are the words of the living God” means Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Yehuda, Abaye and Rava—but not Jesus and Moses our teacher. Meaning, there is some boundary beyond which we no longer apply this pluralistic rule of “these and those are the words of the living God.”
And that is essentially the Sadducee’s claim. Why should the barren woman rejoice that she didn’t give birth? He understands, after all, that later the verse says, “for more are the children of the desolate.” He also read the continuation. She told him, “look at the end of the verse”—yes, look at the end. He saw the end of the verse. He understood that this barren woman is considered barren. To this Beruriah replies: not at all. There are fructifying outlooks—those who are inside the, let’s call it, those born from the Shekhinah, those born from the general Jewish spirit, what Rabbi Kook here calls it. And there are those who are born physically from the Jewish womb, but ideologically this is not Judaism. Ideologically this is not a Jewish outlook; it is something else, and it will not fructify, not benefit, not perfect. Therefore, with regard to that, yes indeed, it is better for the barren woman to sing. Better that than to be “desolate with many children.”
“Desolate,” as distinct from barren, is a woman who did give birth to children but the children left her. By the way, there are commentators who say this about the Gemara. “Desolate” means desolation, yes? The children left her; not that she didn’t give birth. And that is the transition from barren to desolate. And the desolate one, really, would have been better off had she been barren. “Sing, barren woman who has not given birth; break forth into song and rejoice, you who have not travailed, for more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married woman.” You see what happens to someone who does give birth? More are the children of the desolate. There are lots of children who are the children of a desolate woman. She gave birth to them, and they do not belong to her. Better to be barren—rejoice, barren woman.
So be happy that you are barren, because the alternative—most likely—you’ll be desolate. And it won’t have been worth giving birth to those children, unlike the children of the married woman, who of course are good, they are beneficial, but they are few. “More are the children of the desolate than the children of the married woman.” Therefore there is consolation for the barren woman in the fact that she does not give birth at all and does not enter into this gamble—will she become a married woman or a desolate one? Will her children continue her, or will her children in fact leave her?
And Rabbi Kook writes all this without knowing at all that this is about Christians. In light of the introduction I gave at the start, the whole thing therefore takes on an amazing picture—a striking connection to this controversy with Christian theology about the children of the virgin. The children of the virgin now, in Beruriah’s mouth, become a metaphor. She isn’t a virgin; she’s a married woman. They were born from her—don’t confuse me with your theological claims—they were born from her through intercourse. But she is desolate. She is desolate because children like you would have been better not to give birth to. She isn’t barren, she is desolate. And that is exactly the point. The barren woman can be very happy that she did not become desolate like the virgin who gave birth to you. That is basically what Beruriah is saying—according to the interpretation that this really is a Christian. Rabbi Kook says almost everything except that he speaks about a Sadducee, and from his point of view this is all inter-sectarian discourse within the Jewish world. But I’m saying again: Christianity in that period too was pretty much a Jewish sect, and it seems to me this is a wonderful interpretation—especially because it was said by someone who wasn’t even aware that this was a dispute with a Christian. That’s really fascinating.
And then—continuing to read—“She answered him well: all this applies only to factions that broaden and build the house of Israel. But such as the Sadducees, who with their abhorrent opinions smash the house of Israel to pieces—for besides the legal destruction brought by the nullification…” yes, halakhic, meaning they don’t keep the laws, juridical—“by nullifying reliance on tradition and the Oral Torah…” The Sadducees, after all, disputed the Oral Torah. And once they dismantle the Oral Torah, there is no Jewish law, because from the Written Torah alone you can derive nothing. The Written Torah will be given over to each person according to his own style, until over time no uniformity will remain between the practice of one city and another, or one place and another, or city and city, and so on. Basically, the Torah will become many Torahs. Every city or every individual or every group will make a different Torah, because without the Oral Torah, the Written Torah can really be interpreted in a million ways and everyone can do whatever he wants with it. Anyone who hears in this my own approach to Bible study is not mistaken.
“And from this come consequences of nullifying the Torah and its laws altogether. For is there any limit to the strange interpretations that arise in the mind of every person who thinks himself wise, to say: thus far may you come?” Meaning, if there is no limitation of the rules of the Oral Torah giving some framework for discussion—with all the many opinions that exist within it, but still there is some framework of Oral Torah that structures the discussion—then everyone who is within that discussion, with all the clashes and fights and disputes, is still a child of the married woman. There is still a blessing in the fact that he exists here, even though I disagree with him. Okay?
But someone who denies the existence of the Oral Torah is really dismantling the framework that allows the children to be children of the married woman. They now become—because now there is no limit on how you interpret the Written Torah, you can do whatever you want with it. And once you do whatever you want with it, there is no Jewish people, no minimal cohesion, no shared discourse. Between Jews and Christians it is very hard to conduct a discourse. There isn’t some agreed-upon framework that we all accept. The agreed-upon framework is the Hebrew Bible, and we all know all the ridiculous arguments that were conducted between Jews and Christians to prove from the Bible who is right, because you can prove whatever you want from the Bible.
And once you talk about the Oral Torah, there too there are many opinions and many interpretive possibilities, we all know that—but still, the discussion proceeds. People bring proofs and others bring counterproofs and discussions take place. In the end, true, they don’t always agree, and many times they remain in disagreement, but there is some discourse, yes, some shared framework of discussion. By contrast, with the Written Torah without the Oral Torah it is very hard to do such a thing. And here is our sign: Christians accept the Written Torah, at least in principle, as the Old Covenant, and they are ostensibly faithful to it, only they claim that it changed or that things were added to it and all is fine. But they cannot participate in some common discourse with us. You can’t really argue—it’s not… there are no shared assumptions here. They no longer belong to that same general spirit of the Jewish people within which there is room for all the factions and opinions with which we began.
You see, I moved quickly from Sadducees to Christians, but it really starts with the Sadducees. It starts with the Sadducees, who dismantled the framework of the Oral Torah. The Christians, of course, went several steps further, but this dismantling of the framework ultimately takes us from the Sadducees to the Christians, and after that to whatever you want.
Then he says: therefore, in a place where there is no framework of Oral Torah, you cannot draw a boundary line as to which interpretation is legitimate and which is not—that is, what we can establish as legitimate and what not. You can do whatever you want. Whatever you want, you can hang on this or that verse—anything. And therefore—so now I read the concluding sentence—“Therefore, regarding such false children, it is a joy for the Jewish people that it is not in their nature to give birth to children for Gehenna like you; and you were not born from the Jewish people, but from a spirit of malice or foolishness drawn from foreign broken cisterns, and therefore it is impossible for them to endure within Israel.” Meaning again, the Sadducees could not endure within Israel—they disappeared. The Christians did not disappear, but left the framework of the Jewish people. But I think the move is the same move.
Really, I find this interpretation very beautiful, especially its implication for Christianity. But now I want to leave aside for a moment the framework of Christianity and Sadducees and so on. What is actually being said here? I’m going back for a moment to the beginning. I said that he makes a division between the faction of sages, pious people, artisans and farmers, yes? And then “even”—the second half of the list—divided opinions in ethics and leadership, learning and the service of God. What is this “even”? I explained: because the second half of the list is really sects that disagree with one another, where there is actual dispute among them, not merely distinct from one another like the first half, but in dispute. The question is how one can say about such a thing that it is actually blessed.
Now maybe it’s easier to say that it is blessed from the point of view of the Holy One, blessed be He, who sees somehow from above—yes, the UN secretary-general—who sees the big picture from above. But can I too, as someone belonging to one of the sects, see the situation in that way? That there is blessing in the existence of the other sects from my point of view. One. Two: does this require me to agree with them, or can I continue to disagree with them while understanding that there is value in their existence and that it’s important that they be there, that this perfects and improves me too, or the public as a whole?
Now that brings us into the topic of “these and those are the words of the living God,” which appears in two passages. I’m leaving Rabbi Kook aside for the moment. It appears in two passages. One passage is in tractate Eruvin, because it’s interesting to see the context.
[Speaker B] Look at the section before it.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Rabbi Abbahu said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: Rabbi Meir had a student, and his name was Sumchus, who would offer, on every matter of impurity, forty-eight reasons for impurity, and on every matter of purity, forty-eight reasons for purity. It was taught: There was a veteran student in Yavneh who could declare a creeping creature pure on the basis of one hundred and fifty reasons. By the way, Rabbi Meir—this is the husband of Beruriah, I remind you. He could declare a creeping creature pure on the basis of one hundred and fifty reasons, and then one example reason is brought here, and about this, as is well known, Rabbeinu Tam asks: what do we need these empty dialectics for? What is the point of declaring a creeping creature pure on the basis of one hundred and fifty reasons? The Torah writes that it is impure. And the Maharal says about this: no, there is value here. Why? Because even if the Torah says that a creeping creature is impure, that does not mean there are no reasons to declare it pure. There are one hundred and fifty reasons to declare it impure and one hundred and fifty to declare it pure. And it is very important that a judge sitting in judgment, or a halakhic decisor issuing a halakhic ruling, be aware both of these one hundred and fifty reasons and of those one hundred and fifty reasons. When he ultimately issues a halakhic ruling, he has to take all the reasons into account; this is not empty hair-splitting. The world is complicated. There is no topic that does not have sides this way and that way. Therefore even a topic that is, seemingly, a clear case, where the law is obvious—that does not mean there are no arguments for the other side. It only means that the Torah decided; it said that the creeping creature is impure. But that does not mean those reasons are not valid.
And immediately after that comes the next statement—a new paragraph in the Talmud, but I think it is hard to ignore the connection. Rabbi Abba said in the name of Shmuel: For three years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed. These said: the Jewish law is in accordance with us, and those said: the Jewish law is in accordance with us. A heavenly voice came forth and said: These and those are both the words of the living God, but the Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel. There was a dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Each said the Jewish law was with them. In the end they could not decide; in the end a heavenly voice came forth and said: These and those are both the words of the living God. Why—why didn’t they follow the majority? Why did that dispute arise there? So I can’t speak about it at length, and I’m not going to do that here. And in the end a heavenly voice came forth. And why do we follow a heavenly voice here? After all, “It is not in heaven.” We do not follow a heavenly voice. Here we do follow a heavenly voice. The Talmud explains: Since these and those are both the words of the living God—let’s keep reading the first part. Since these and those are both the words of the living God, why did Beit Hillel merit that the Jewish law be fixed in accordance with them? Because they were agreeable and humble, and they taught both their own words and the words of Beit Shammai. And not only that, but they mentioned the words of Beit Shammai before their own words. Meaning, Beit Hillel merited that the Jewish law be fixed according to them because they were humble and would put Beit Shammai’s words first—polite—and in the end they formulated their own position, but in a courteous way.
This is one source for “These and those are both the words of the living God.” The second source is in the Talmud in Gittin: And furthermore, Rabbi Evyatar was one with whom his Master agreed—meaning, the Holy One, blessed be He, agreed with him—as it is written, as Scripture says—
[Speaker B] “And his concubine played the harlot against him”—this is the story of the concubine in Gibeah. “And his concubine played the harlot against him.” Rabbi Evyatar said: he found a fly on her. Rabbi Yonatan said: he found a hair on her—a strand of hair. And Rabbi Evyatar found Elijah. He said to him, Rabbi—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Evyatar found Elijah and asked him what the Holy One, blessed be He, is doing now. Elijah came from heaven, and he asks him what is going on with the Holy One, blessed be He, now? He said to him: He is engaged in the matter of the concubine in Gibeah. He is occupied with the topic of the concubine in Gibeah. Unbelievable as it sounds—exactly that same topic. And what is He saying? Rabbi Evyatar asks. Elijah answers him: The Holy One, blessed be He, says this: My son Evyatar says thus, My son Yonatan says thus. In other words, He is basically reciting the dispute between you and Rabbi Yonatan. He said to him—he asks Elijah—Heaven forbid, is there uncertainty before Heaven? Is the Holy One, blessed be He, in doubt? Does He not know whether it was a hair or a fly? This is a factual question. He said to him: These and those are both the words of the living God. He found a fly and was not particular about it; he found a hair and was particular about it.
Almost the same thing as in the previous sugya in Eruvin, with one difference. There it says: These and those are both the words of the living God, and the Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel. Meaning, both are the words of the living God, but there is still a halakhic ruling. Here it stops at “These and those are both the words of the living God,” and not only does it stop there, it also offers an explanation of what that means—and that does not appear in the sugya there in Eruvin. So what is the explanation of this phrase, “These and those are both the words of the living God”? How can both be right? Like the judge’s wife, right? How can both sides be right? So here there is an explanation: He found a fly and was not particular about it; he found a hair and was particular about it.
So let’s return for a moment to the Talmud in Eruvin. In the Talmud in Eruvin there are two basic ways to read it. One way is a monistic reading. Monism is the view that says there is one truth. If so, then “These and those are both the words of the living God” requires explanation, because on the face of it that sounds pluralistic—there is no one truth, rather both are right—but the continuation, “and the Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel,” is understandable. The Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel because that is the truth; there is one truth.
The pluralistic reading says the opposite: “These and those are both the words of the living God”—that is understandable, there is a plurality of truths—but then it has to explain to us what “the Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel” means. If both are right, then why was the Jewish law ruled in accordance with Beit Hillel? For that, we need to read the explanation in the Talmud—the part blacked out here on the page—the explanation the Talmud itself gives as to why the Jewish law was ruled according to Beit Hillel: because they put the words of Beit Shammai before their own. What does that mean? They were agreeable and humble, had good character traits, and so on. According to the pluralistic approach, the explanation is clear. “These and those are both the words of the living God”—both are true, both are right. Fine. But Jewish law has to be decided somehow, so that the Torah not become like two Torahs, and therefore we have to issue a halakhic ruling. So we choose some educational criterion. Both are right; there is no choosing truth here. We choose an educational criterion: Beit Hillel behaved well, so let’s rule the Jewish law in accordance with them so that the public will learn to behave like them. That is the pluralistic reading.
On the monistic reading, the problem is harder. Because on the monistic reading, it is obvious why the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel—because the truth is with them. But then we need an explanation: so why are these and those both the words of the living God? There is a whole book by Avi Sagi that essentially deals with this question, called These and Those. So what does “These and those are both the words of the living God” mean? That is one question. And second: how are we to read the reason given for why the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel? Seemingly, because they are right, because the truth is with them. So what do we do with the blacked-out passage here on the page? How do we read it in a monistic way?
So Rabbi Yosef Karo writes in Klalei HaGemara—he has a book of principles called Klalei HaGemara, the author of the Shulchan Arukh—and he explains that this is not a prize for good behavior, as the pluralists read it. He was probably a monist, and he read it in a monistic way. He basically said that Beit Hillel merited to have the Jewish law established in accordance with them because their method of formulating a position was more correct, more successful. They simply hit the truth more accurately. Why? Because if they put the words of Beit Shammai before their own, took Beit Shammai’s arguments seriously, and only then formed a position of their own, then they are more likely to be right. So the truth is with them; therefore the Jewish law follows them. That is how Rabbi Yosef Karo explains it.
And if that is so, then we understand why the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel, and we also understand the continuation of the Talmud—the part blacked out before you—that the truth is with them because their methodology was more correct, more open, more attentive; they took more considerations into account, and if they formed a position in the end, it was probably a more grounded position. One only has to remember, parenthetically, that the Talmud says in several places that Beit Shammai were sharper than Beit Hillel. And what we see from here is that sometimes sharpness—“according to the sharpness, so is the mistake,” right? Sometimes sharpness is distortion. You become arrogant, you stop listening, you do not weigh the positions of the person standing opposite you, and because of your very sharpness you arrive at the wrong conclusion. And sometimes someone who is not quite as sharp, but is willing to hear the positions of others—certainly of someone sharper than himself—and in the end weighs everything and forms his own position, comes closer to the truth.
So what does “These and those are both the words of the living God” mean? Here it can be explained in various ways, but for the moment I will choose one way. I don’t know if various ways, but at least one more. Look here: I am reading from the Ritva on tractate Eruvin: “These and those are both the words of the living God.” The rabbis of France of blessed memory asked: How is it possible that both are the words of the living God, when one forbids and the other permits? The assumption behind the question is of course a monistic one, right? There is one truth. So if one forbids and the other permits, how can both be right? And they answered: When Moses ascended on high to receive the Torah, he was shown, regarding every matter, forty-nine aspects for prohibition and forty-nine aspects for permission. Interesting: in the previous passage we read, in that very same Talmud just one line earlier, it was forty-eight—and there would be a determination like one of them. And this is correct in the homiletic sense. And in the way of truth there is a reason and a secret in the matter, and that is in the mystical way. But in the homiletic way—basically, in the revealed plane, let’s say, not the mystical one—this is probably the interpretation. And what is the plain meaning, if this is the homiletic one? I don’t know; apparently it has no plain meaning. But this is the homiletic reading, and “secret” is something else.
What is he actually saying? There are forty-nine aspects for prohibition and forty-nine aspects for permission. And then the Holy One, blessed be He, said that this would be entrusted to the sages of Israel in every generation. As we saw above, it goes much further than that, because above we saw that even in a place where the Holy One, blessed be He, did not leave it to the sages of Israel but wrote explicitly in the Torah that a creeping creature is impure—even there there are forty-eight ways to declare it pure and forty-eight ways to declare it impure. Meaning, it is not that there is no truth. Even in places where there is truth—the answer is that the creeping creature is impure—there is still room for positions or arguments explaining why the creeping creature is pure. Not only is there room; it is very important that someone who is a candidate for the Sanhedrin would be tested on this, that he be able to declare the creeping creature pure on the basis of one hundred and fifty reasons. He would be tested on this, because in order to be a halakhic decisor or a judge, you have to be ready to consider arguments you do not agree with a priori—even arguments that perhaps seem wrong to you. Listen: maybe that will change something; maybe it will cast what you think in a somewhat different light. In the end you may remain with what you think—if it is written in the Torah then certainly that is where we will remain in the end—and still it is very important to hear the other views as well.
I want to return for a moment to the Talmud in Gittin. Let me remind you once again, with the concubine in Gibeah: one says he found a fly and the other says he found a hair. And then Elijah tells Rabbi Evyatar what the Holy One, blessed be He, says: “These and those are both the words of the living God: he found a fly and was not particular about it; he found a hair and was particular about it.” And there Tosafot HaRosh asks, on the spot in Gittin: And if you say so—what appears here in… well, I won’t black it out now; look at what appears in the bottom frame without the blacking out. “And if you say so, then He agreed with Rabbi Yonatan.” So what does “These and those are both the words of the living God” mean? In the end, he was upset about the hair—the husband of that concubine—not about the fly. So was Rabbi Evyatar wrong? Then what does it mean that this whole Talmudic passage is brought to show how great Rabbi Evyatar was, that the Holy One, blessed be He, agreed with him? But in the explanation you tell me no: He really agreed with Rabbi Yonatan, not with Rabbi Evyatar.
Tosafot HaRosh says: It may be answered that since he was upset about it, it was known and publicized to the world. After all, that is what set off the anger of the husband of the concubine in Gibeah, with that whole terrible event that happened afterward. So everyone knew that he had found a hair on her, because that was the well-known thing. That was what triggered the fury; that was what he was upset about; that was what became public. So knowing that he found a hair on her was no great feat; everybody knew that. But the fly, over which he was not upset enough to send her away—that is, the fly did not anger him enough for him to send her away, it did not trigger all that uproar—it was not publicized. So how did Rabbi Evyatar know that he had found a fly on her at all? That never even got outside their house. What got out was the hair, not the fly. Yes, of course, you could say that once it all came out, the journalists also reported that there had been a fly and not only a hair. But he says: the matter had not been publicized. If so, he said it through divine inspiration. And that is the greatness of Rabbi Evyatar—that the Holy One, blessed be He, agreed with him: we see that he had divine inspiration, since he knew that there had indeed also been a fly there. There, the Holy One, blessed be He, agreed with him that there was also a fly, even though in the event itself that was never publicized. So how did he know? From here we see that he was a great man.
But Tosafot HaRosh adds something else. He is not satisfied with that, and this is seemingly a different explanation—I’m not sure. He says: “And in any case, these and those are both the words of the living God, for when he found the hair, he was upset over both of them.” This is an addition that is not so connected to what he said before. What he said before was an explanation of why Rabbi Evyatar is considered a great man: because through divine inspiration he saw that there had also been a fly there and not only a hair. But the fly took no part in the story at all; the fly was there, but the husband of the concubine was not angry about the fly at all, only about the hair. Now he says: no, no, no, the fly did take part in the story, because otherwise what does “These and those are both the words of the living God” mean? “These and those are both the words of the living God” means that both were right, not only in the sense that there was a fly and there was a hair in that technical sense. After that there was the hair, and then he blew a fuse, and everything that happened there happened. So in fact Rabbi Evyatar and Rabbi Yonatan were not only both factually correct—that there was a fly and a hair there—but both were also right in interpreting the sugya. The terrible anger that arose there was the result of the fly and then the hair. Both took part. In the end the hair was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but without the fly that too would not have happened. The anger resulted from an accumulation of incidents.
Why is this important? What difference does it make to me whether it was a fly or a hair? On that, the homilists will answer you. But for me, what is important here in the Talmud is to notice what this says about the phrase “These and those are both the words of the living God.” “These and those are both the words of the living God” means that both are right—but not pluralism, and this is a subtle point, notice. This is not a pluralistic conception. It is a conception that Avi Sagi in that book calls harmonism. Harmonism is basically a kind of monism. There is one truth; it is just that this truth is composed of several aspects.
What is the truth of what happened in that event? Facts. What happened there? There is one truth: what happened was that there was a fly and after that a hair. That’s it. That is the fact. Anyone who does not say that is mistaken. Therefore there is no place here for pluralism, because we are not dealing with values here; we are dealing with facts. Facts—what happened, happened. So then what does “These and those are both the words of the living God” mean? It means that each person grasped one aspect of the truth. The aspect you are saying is correct, but it is not complete. Harmonism means that I take all the aspects together and build from them the full structure of the truth. This is what is meant by “Love truth and peace”: peace means making peace between opposing rivals, between disputants. But how do you make peace? Not by compromise, not by some technical agreement, but by understanding that what he says and what you say each represents one aspect of the truth, and in the end the truth is the combination of all those aspects together. When you make peace among all those aspects, that is the greater truth. Therefore “Love truth and peace” means that once there is peace, the truth is higher. It is not a clash between peace and truth; rather, peace gives you a higher truth.
But if I return to Rabbi Kook’s words, which are the goal and with which we began, then this is peace among children who are inside the framework, who can somehow join into one larger whole—excuse me—who can join into one larger whole and enrich one another, or constitute different aspects of one whole. But someone who is not presenting another aspect of the same truth, but is instead proposing an alternative truth, is mistaken. Because in the end we are speaking about monism and not pluralism. Harmonism advocates one truth, only a truth that is a combination of many aspects.
And one who knows that the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, is peace; His seal is truth, but His name is peace, because only the Holy One, blessed be He, can truly grasp all the aspects of truth. We as human beings—as groups, as individuals—can grasp certain aspects, but apparently we will not cover all the aspects. This is not pluralism—notice this well. It is not a multiplicity of truths. It is one truth and none besides it. The catch is that no single human being holds it; rather, the Holy One, blessed be He, holds the whole picture.
And therefore, returning to Rabbi Kook: Rabbi Kook is basically saying that there is value in parties even if they disagree in their opinions, not only if they engage in different professions. Even if they disagree in their opinions, I too, as someone who holds one of those opinions, can recognize the importance of the other party. But recognizing the importance and contribution of the other party can itself be understood in several ways. One way is to say: it’s legitimate; you interpret it that way, I won’t fight with you, but obviously you’re talking nonsense. A second possibility is to say: no, I am tolerant, I am willing—well, never mind, we won’t get into those nuances now; let’s leave aside for the moment the difference between tolerance and pluralism. The point I want to discuss here is harmonism. Harmonism means that I hold my own view, but I understand that I am a human being, and as a human being I grasp only one aspect of the truth, or several aspects of the truth, but I understand very well that there are other aspects to the truth as well.
And therefore people always talk about that parable—I don’t remember exactly—the one with an elephant with wings. I don’t remember. From one side they see an elephant, from the other side they see an angel, and the truth is that it is an elephant with wings. Meaning, each one sees something that is true, but the fuller truth is some combination of all those aspects together.
Now what does that actually mean? And so that I should not be too fashionable—don’t suspect me of suddenly becoming some sort of peace-lover—I want to clarify what I think is an important point, at least in my view. I don’t know about Rabbi Kook; I think Rabbi Kook would agree with this too. This does not mean that I will not fight for my opinion. It does not mean that I will not fight against you and try to ensure that my opinion prevails or is accepted. I will bring arguments, I will try to push my view, I will try to advance it. This pluralistic—not pluralistic, but harmonistic—conception can lead to dryness, to vegetarianism—vegetarianism in the bad sense of the word. Some kind of “okay, so everyone is really grasping one aspect of the truth and everything is wonderful; there is no point in arguing, no point in giving reasons, no point in persuading.” That is not correct.
First of all, because it may turn out that your aspect is not correct. If I have evidence against you, then maybe you are wrong. First of all we have to examine that. But beyond that, as we said with the fly and the ant—well, the example I keep coming back to again and again, even in the book Pets, I’m already sick of hearing about it—the example of chocolate. Someone says it is worth eating because it tastes good. Someone else says it is not worth eating because it is unhealthy, because it is fattening. Who is right? Both are right. It is tasty and it is fattening. Does that mean that one both should eat it and should not? No. It means that there is one aspect according to which it is worth eating, and another aspect according to which it is not worth eating. But in the final analysis, a decision may have to be made. The question is which consideration prevails. Does the consideration of taste prevail over the consideration of health, or does the consideration of health prevail over the consideration of taste? And here we have the weighing of the different aspects.
As far as truth is concerned, it has multiple aspects. There are one hundred and fifty reasons in this direction and one hundred and fifty reasons in that direction, but in the end the creeping creature is impure. And anyone who says the creeping creature is pure is mistaken, even though the reasons he gives are correct reasons. Why? Because ultimately the bottom line is determined by the relative weight of the reasons. So the reasons have to be weighed to see which carries more weight. Usually Torah scholars do not bring reasons that are nonsense. When I argue with you, the argument is not that you are talking nonsense, that what you say is simply wrong. Rather, what I am saying has greater weight than what you are saying, and therefore, for Jewish law, this reason—or these one hundred and fifty reasons—override your one hundred and fifty reasons, which are also correct.
And in that sense I say that harmonism gives you a fuller picture of the issue, but in the end, in the end, the creeping creature is either impure or pure. Therefore decisions have to be made. And if you want to say that the creeping creature is pure, I will fight against you, because I think the creeping creature is impure. I think my reasons are stronger than your reasons. Harmonism does not mean peace and love on the commune; it does not mean there are no quarrels and no disputes and everybody is living hand in hand doing meditation in front of the rising sun. It means that in the subtext, or behind consciousness, I understand that what you are saying also has value—and perhaps even in consciousness itself. I understand that what you are saying has value and that there is some truth in what you are saying. But in the end there is still right and wrong in the bottom line. And if, in my view, my reasons weigh more than your reasons, then I will fight against you. I will fight within certain limits, never mind—bring arguments, try to ensure that the Jewish law is ruled like me, try to persuade people to go in my direction, and so on and so forth.
Therefore, unlike pluralism, which really does lead to some kind of peace-and-love, harmonism leads to a split consciousness. On the one hand, I understand that what you are saying is another aspect of the truth that perhaps was not sufficiently emphasized by me, and therefore it is very worthwhile to hear what you have to say before I formulate a position. But on the other hand, after I have heard—and even after I have understood that there is really substance in what you say—still, in the end, I have to make a decision. Beit Hillel put the words of Beit Shammai before their own words, but in the end they made a decision to disagree with Beit Shammai. They heard Beit Shammai, understood that there was logic in it, but in their view their own reasons prevailed. And they made a decision against Beit Shammai. And the Jewish law was ruled in accordance with them because that is the truth, according to Rabbi Yosef Karo—not because we drew lots. There is halakhic truth.
Truth is founded on reasons from various aspects, each of which pulls us in another direction, but in the end, in the end, one has to decide. One has to weigh them and arrive at a certain halakhic answer: either it is impure or it is pure, either it is forbidden or it is permitted. Therefore both “These and those are both the words of the living God” and “the Jewish law is in accordance with Beit Hillel” are true, and all of this is within monism. Because there is halakhic truth. The Jewish law follows Beit Hillel because they are right. And “These and those are both the words of the living God” is on the plane of the reasons. The reasons of Beit Shammai and the reasons of Beit Hillel are all correct—all three hundred. Both their one hundred and fifty and the other side’s one hundred and fifty. But in the final analysis, the Jewish law follows Beit Hillel.
And what is the path to that? If I weigh the words of Beit Shammai before I formulate a position of my own, and then I come to the conclusion that I do not agree with them—then I am a good judge, because I know both their one hundred and fifty reasons and my one hundred and fifty reasons. I weighed everything, applied it to this case, and came to the conclusion that my reasons prevail. That is a correct halakhic ruling: to know all three hundred reasons, the one hundred and fifty in each direction, but in the end also to reach a decision, not to remain in a pluralistic world.
And I think that this is what underlies Rabbi Kook’s words, where he divides it into two parts of the list. The second list speaks about dispute. And if I think the Hasidim are mistaken and misleading and whatever else you want—now I am speaking about Hasidim in the modern sense—then I will fight against that, and I will bring arguments against it, and I will say they are talking nonsense and that it is not right to behave that way, and so on. But at the same time I also know that there is some added value there, or some additional aspects that they bring that I cannot bring. One has to live with this double consciousness, or this split consciousness, together. On the one hand to stand one’s ground and fight for one’s own view and bring arguments, and on the other hand not to cross the boundaries of good taste. Why? Because I know that in the background there is also real substance in what they are saying. And that is not even tolerance. It is more than tolerance. Because tolerance means: I am willing to accept your behavior even though you are wrong. Here I am saying more than that: you are indeed wrong in the bottom line, but you are right on the plane of the reasons. I even accept the truth in what you say, not merely your legitimacy to behave as you think. And still, that does not contradict the fact that in the end I will make decisions and think that you are wrong in the bottom line. Your reasons may present a true aspect, but it is only one aspect, and when I weigh all the aspects together, in the end I still have to decide who is right.
Those who enter into such a framework of discussion are the children of the married woman. “Children of the married woman” means that we have big disagreements, but we are all within the same framework. In the end, decisions are made, but I recognize the value of each person and each group. “Children of the desolate woman” are those who have other views, but there is nothing for me to argue with them about. We are not speaking on the same plane. Their reasons are not correct at all, not only the weighing. That is, they are not even speaking the language of ordinary Torah and halakhic reasoning. They have left the whole story entirely. So they are the children of the desolate woman. Meaning, they do not belong at all to the Jewish people, to that same mother who gave birth to all the groups within the Jewish people—the spiritual, Torah mother, yes? The Torah, or the Shekhinah. Therefore they are the children of the desolate woman. And with such children, it would already be preferable for her to be childless—not to have such children at all, that their mother should have been barren and not given birth, and that such children should not come forth.
So that is the difference between views whose existence, importance, and contribution to the weighing of the overall structure I recognize—but I still fight with them, argue with them, disagree with them, and do not agree with them, sometimes in the strongest possible terms—and those with whom there is nothing even to argue about. You simply throw them to the winds; they are not part of the discourse, they have nothing to do with the matter. That is the children of the desolate woman as opposed to the children of the married woman. Regarding the children of the desolate woman, it would have been better if she had been barren. Okay, I’ll stop here. I’ll open the microphones for anyone who wants to ask or comment. Opened.
[Speaker C] I want to comment on something. It’s very interesting that you basically led everything into the world of Jewish law. I mean, what else is new, right? But I’m thinking about Rabbi Kook and this sentence—I opened the text on my side too for a second—he says: “Each party develops a particular vocation that benefits the service of the collective and its perfection.”
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] He is certainly not speaking only about Jewish law.
[Speaker C] He is really not speaking about Jewish law. So in my association, it led me to maybe Rabbi Kook’s most famous example in Orot HaTehiyah, about the three forces now struggling in our camp. And there he describes very beautifully that they are necessary. “Their roots are fixed within consciousness; miserable shall we be if we leave these three forces, which must unite within us, each helping the other, scattered and separated.” He is talking about reality—about a quality of reality—which, sorry, without insulting you, seems to me stronger, higher, than Jewish law. He says that if our reality is one-dimensional, then what difference does it make how we act, what we rule in Jewish law about I don’t know what. Our reality will be lacking. One develops the universal aspect, one develops the national aspect, and the third develops the religious aspect, and our reality will be elevated more, it will be more complete. This goes beyond—it exceeds—the story of Jewish law. Do you agree?
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Completely. For Rabbi Kook that is obvious.
[Speaker C] Fine, obviously for Rabbi Kook it is obvious.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] You’re asking whether I agree. I agree with it, just not in the specifically Torah sense. There are differences of opinion between people, and they have an important role in human society in general. The question is to what extent that is Judaism, or to what extent it can be decided with Torah tools. There, as you know, you know my opinion—I think not. But I accept this basic structure: that there is importance to different views also in philosophical, ideological, and other areas. I just don’t think that is specifically tied to Judaism. The question is to what extent it is Torah. That is my discussion. No—I accept that basic structure.
[Speaker C] I understand. No, now I understand what you mean. Torah is Jewish law, and everything else is—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Important, but something else, yes. Anyone else?
[Speaker D] Good evening. I wanted to understand—at least it seems to me, unless I missed it—whether you emphasized this point: that the harmonistic approach is an approach that can fully apply only when the dispute is factual, as in the case of the fly and the hair. There you can create harmony and say there was both a fly and a hair. But when I come to discuss whether the creeping creature is impure or pure, there is no room for a harmonistic approach, because in the end the fact that you have to issue a ruling actually negates the harmony.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, absolutely not. I’ll give you an example—I already gave the example of chocolate. The example of chocolate is not factual. Well, you can call “tasty” factual, but “tasty” is a kind of judgment. Certain reasons lead to the conclusion that the creeping creature ought to be impure. Other reasons lead to the conclusion that the creeping creature ought to be pure, and all the reasons are correct. It’s just that the reasons in favor of its being impure are stronger than the reasons leading to its being pure, and therefore in the bottom line it is impure. What problem is there in saying that on the normative plane?
[Speaker D] Right, but the fact that both of those statements about the chocolate are true—that the chocolate is both tasty and fattening—doesn’t create harmony. That isn’t harmony.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? It is harmony. The harmony is between the reasons—that is my claim. Harmony is between the reasons, not between the bottom lines. It’s just that you take your reasons and also issue a halakhic ruling on their basis. There I really do disagree with you, but I disagree with you not the way I disagree with Christians. I disagree with you because I understand that your reasons are correct; it’s just that you weigh the correct reasons differently than I do. With Christians, the reasons are simply not correct at all. So I have nothing to discuss with them.
[Speaker D] Fine, but the question is whether that is called harmony, because harmony—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Harmonism—I think it is quite clear that yes, and I can bring many— I think that—
[Speaker D] In harmony there also needs to be practical expression, or—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So I can bring you many examples. The final result—it will also find expression in the final result. In most cases it will also find expression in the final result. I can bring you very many examples of this. For example: there is an inquiry among the later authorities in the laws of damages to property. Why must a person pay when his property causes damage? Yes, the opening lecture—well, not the opening lecture, the opening lecture is why there is a prohibition against causing damage in tractate Bava Kamma—but the lecture after that—
[Speaker D] Either because of negligence or because—
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, but the lecture after that is the question whether you must pay because you did not guard it—negligence in guarding—or because of the very fact that your property caused damage, like the principal category of damage. Now when you look at the Talmud, there is no doubt that both are true. No one can dispute that. Therefore it is clear that the complete model is a harmonious model. You must pay because it is your property and you are responsible for it, and also because you did not guard it. Both of those things together. And this has very major practical ramifications. The dispute is a dispute at the margins, over the question of which of them is the basis of liability and which is a secondary condition. And I can show from the Penei Yehoshua that even that is not right—that both are primary conditions, and so on. In other words, what is harmony? Wonderful harmony, because what is presented as a seemingly very sharp dispute, with many practical ramifications—not that I say one prevails and therefore the other turns into… no, both together determine the practical Jewish law.
[Speaker D] But not with chocolate.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] With chocolate too. Because with chocolate, for example, if I’m in some kind of craving and it is very important to me to eat something tasty, and I know it is harmful—but okay—then I say: since I also agree that it is tasty, there will be situations in which I will allow myself to eat it, even though basically I lean toward health. Because I take into account that there are reasons in both directions. The Mishnah in Eduyot—yes—why were the words of the one who permits taught among those who forbid? It is exactly this. I can bring you many more examples like this, where in the end both sides do not only get polarized over the question of who is stronger than whom. In the final analysis, both together play on the field of the bottom line, the halakhic field. And someone who does not understand that there are two sides here simply will not issue correct halakhic rulings.
[Speaker D] Thank you very much. More power to you.
[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Anyone else? Okay, then we’ll stop here. Goodbye.
[Speaker B] Goodbye, thank you very much.