Paradoxes and Contradictions in Halakha, Lecture 2

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, that’s what I call a pluralist, sort of. Being open is part of tolerance, not pluralism, though we talked about that too once. So in short, these imagined correlations, that things somehow always go together, can sometimes be the shared assumptions of both sides, the assumptions underlying the dichotomy. And if you attack those assumptions, suddenly more options are born beyond the two being presented to you. The examples—I mentioned those too—I’ve already talked about these things from various angles. The example that always comes to mind for me in this context is Rabin and the mandate to return the Golan. Once I was riding on a bus and I saw some car on the way with a sticker that said, “Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan.” This was quite a long time ago, around one of those eternal arguments with Syria and the Golan and things like that. Apparently today that debate is not so relevant anymore, but back then it would pop up every few years. So it came up then too, and once again there was a discussion: yes or no, return the Golan, don’t return the Golan, make an agreement with the Syrians, don’t make an agreement with the Syrians. So there it was: “Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan.”

And then I asked myself whether the owner of the car supported a peace agreement with the Syrians or not. And I answered myself: I have no idea. There’s no way to know. Based on what’s written there, I can’t know. Why can’t I know? Because the discussion around that question focused mainly on two aspects. One aspect was whether it was right to make an agreement with the Syrians or not—right in terms of security, right religiously, ideologically, diplomatically, whatever you want; everyone according to his own considerations. And the second aspect was one of political morality: whether Rabin, who had promised before the election that he wouldn’t touch the Golan, wouldn’t return the Golan—Netzarim is like Tel Aviv, right?—and afterward, can he say, “What you see from there, you don’t see from here”? Meaning, one statement… and this happens all the time. The question is whether he can retract the presentation he made to the public before the election. That’s a question that has nothing whatsoever to do with whether such an agreement is the right thing or not. It’s a question in political morality: when you run on a certain ticket, can you then carry out a policy that doesn’t fit it, a different policy?

[Speaker D] You’d still bet that most likely he wanted nothing to do with the agreement?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, me too. Exactly.

[Speaker D] Sure, you can’t know one hundred percent, but still…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, no, of course not—that’s exactly why I’m bringing it up. I’m saying, once again, at the statistical level—let’s put it this way—when I say there are two questions, I mean that only statistically, in my opinion. When there are two independent questions, as I said earlier, there ought to be four groups, right? Those who think it’s politically moral—by the way, I think there are arguments both ways on both questions. My personal view is that you can’t dismiss the arguments on either side of either question. Nobody is an idiot on either of these two questions. If that’s the case, then it means the population should contain four groups.

[Speaker E] But in practice there are two.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. Those who think it’s moral but oppose the agreement, those who think it’s moral and support the agreement, those who think it’s immoral and oppose it, and immoral and support it. Right? Four groups, because these are two independent questions. Now in the population there were only two groups, and therefore I join Yehudit’s bet. It’s clear to me what the car owner’s view was.

[Speaker F] Because those were basically the only options. No, I think people—it was either for or against, because there wasn’t…

[Speaker B] It wasn’t a referendum, it was a discussion. In the end you asked who he votes for, for or against.

[Speaker E] But you can support giving it back and still say Rabin can’t do it, or the other way around.

[Speaker B] You can say, I have no problem with that, so the question is what political morality says and the question is what you think is the right thing

[Speaker E] to do.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The people of Israel are two groups, either right or left, and they answer

[Speaker B] the same way on every question. Exactly, exactly. And that’s why I say all these things—and when you talk to people, they move completely naturally from one argument to the other; they don’t even feel there’s any transition at all. Now, anyone who comes and presents me with a position that supports the agreement and also thinks it’s moral, or opposes the agreement and also thinks it’s immoral—I have nothing to say to him. Of course you can hold either of those combinations. My only point is that it’s not necessary to hold precisely one of those two pairings. That’s my claim. Now, if I look at the Israeli public, say, and see that it’s divided into two groups instead of four, then to me that’s evidence that something here is not being conducted straightforwardly. But regarding any individual among those people I turn to, I won’t be able to say he’s not straightforward, because he can always say: I just happen to think it’s both moral and right to make the agreement; I just happen to think it’s immoral and wrong to make the agreement. What?

[Speaker E] There’s a logical connection here—you can’t separate them.

[Speaker B] Why? What connection? Ah, okay.

[Speaker E] Okay, let’s see why it works out like that.

[Speaker B] No, why it works out that way is obvious: because we aren’t straightforward. We have an interest in explaining that Rabin should do it—or intellectual dishonesty, that’s all. Because we have an interest in showing that it should be returned or should not be returned.

[Speaker E] You can see that in lots of issues today.

[Speaker B] Why does morality, or the obligation to act morally toward Palestinians, always go together with the left? What does that have to do with anything? Left and right is the question of what political situation you think there should be here—let’s define left and right that way for the sake of discussion: whether we should compromise or not compromise. Okay? Just in a simplistic sense. Fine? It always goes together. But I’m saying there’s a very strong correlation. And the question is why. Why is it like that at all? If someone now founded—I think Oznadel founded—the right-wing human rights organization, I don’t remember what it’s called. There was some organization like that, and it was kind of an odd bird, and the message it conveyed, to my mind, was a fantastic logical message—not only morally or politically, but logically. It says… what’s the connection? Meaning, why can’t a person who holds a right-wing position in the political sense also be morally alert or sensitive to the suffering of innocent Palestinians? And vice versa, of course. Why can’t there also be wicked people on the side that advocates the political left, and so on? Of course there can. But I’m saying, there’s some assumption here that the mandate to care about morality belongs to the left, and we’re supposed to be “kill them, kill them”—meaning, we on the right are somehow “kill them, kill them.” And it doesn’t have to be like that. These are imagined correlations.

Now, when you put this on the table, it sounds banal. It’s obvious, it sounds trivial. But in real life it’s so strong that a person constantly feels he has to locate himself in one of the groups, because otherwise he’s a traitor. If he’s a right-wing person and says we need to care about Palestinian rights, then he’s a traitor, because he’s betraying his right-wing identity. But what does it mean to betray your right-wing identity? I’m right-wing just like you; in the moral realm, we disagree.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So, an example would be Meimad. Huh? Meimad?

[Speaker B] Yes, right, exactly. All those groups that are, by definition, short-lived little mushrooms.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Their political outlook isn’t the same thing.

[Speaker B] No, but religiosity and the left—that’s another correlation. Religiosity and the right, yes, obviously. All these are all sorts of correlations that, when you put them on the table, it’s so easy to see that there’s no connection between them, and the options are—or almost are—there’s at least no necessary connection; sometimes there’s no connection at all.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And when there’s a group that isn’t on the diagonal, right, off to the sides, there’s nothing problematic about it. Why is that a contradiction? What’s the problem with that? Once I wrote an article in Makor Rishon. There was a discussion about conversion. There too it was like this; there I actually wrote it explicitly in the article itself. It was around the issue of Rabbi Sherman, who disqualified all the conversions of Rabbi Druckman and the whole conversion system and so on, because everyone is wicked and all kinds of things like that. So everyone was terribly outraged and defended Rabbi Druckman with total ferocity, and it became Zionism versus Haredi-ism, and an ideological battle started there. And to me it was so ridiculous, because I strongly oppose Rabbi Druckman’s conversions—they’re an outrage without equal. And I think I’m a Zionist, and I am a Zionist, maybe religious, Religious Zionist, but that hyphen there—we talked about that too. But yes, I’m completely Zionist, and I’m also in favor of religious liberalism; in that sense too I’m religiously modern, let’s say. According to all those labels, I was supposed to support Rabbi Druckman’s conversions, and I don’t—I strongly oppose them. I think what he is doing is outrageous.

Now what happens is that once it was portrayed as a struggle of right versus left—and here it’s totally clear why they create this correlation—they create the correlation in order to enlist everyone into the battle. How do you enlist everyone into the battle? The moment you explain that this is Zionism fighting for its life against the wicked Haredim, then of course everybody mobilizes, and they offended Rabbi Druckman’s honor and so on. And here too I think—there’s no need to offend his honor, that’s another matter. But what does that have to do with the question of whether you agree with the way he converts people?

[Speaker E] No, but there the question wasn’t only whether you agree with the way he converts people. I mean, that was just part of the discussion.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, obviously, obviously, I know that. But I’m saying: you can make the supposedly complex argument—though absurdly enough it only appears complex, right?—the following complex argument: I’m against this kind of treatment of Rabbi Druckman and his people, and he is not wicked, and his religious court is not fundamentally invalid. I’m also against disqualifying—what?

[Speaker E] You can even say you’re against disqualifying them.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s what I wrote there—that I’m also against disqualifying the conversion de facto, because… but that’s just a halakhic dispute. But I’m saying, leave the nuances aside for now. I’m against this attitude toward Rabbi Druckman and what he represents and his people and so on. And on the other hand, I oppose the way he converts. Now most of the rabbis of Religious Zionism, from the little bit of inquiry I

[Speaker B] did, at least as far as I understood, were in that position. But it wasn’t heard. People didn’t hear it, it wasn’t there, it didn’t appear. That was the issue—what do you mean it wasn’t the issue? It wasn’t the issue because those who were trying to push politically this side or that side presented us with a dichotomous picture. You have to be either with us or against us. And then you were supposed to identify. You can’t be a traitor and say: actually, I also agree with Rabbi Sherman’s criticism even though I’m a Zionist rabbi. How can that be? That’s betrayal—you’re breaking the correlations. But there’s no connection between these two things. And many times there’s a political tendency here, and I think many times it’s innocent—I don’t mean malicious. People are sincere; they really think these things have to go together. If you’re a Zionist, you must support Rabbi Druckman’s conversions. Why exactly? In what sense are you a Zionist if you don’t support Rabbi Druckman’s conversions? I simply don’t understand the connection at all.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And I wrote there in the response I brought in Makor Rishon that, in order to decide what your position is on that question, I think dozens of questions are involved. I think I wrote there thirteen or fifteen—just off the top of my head, whatever came to me right away—and there is no connection whatsoever between one and another. None at all. They are independent. Okay? The problem is that if there are thirteen or fifteen questions, then there ought to be two to the power of thirteen or fifteen groups in the population. On question A I say yes, on question B yes, on question C no, question D yes, question E yes. Two to the fifteenth—forty thousand. In Israel that’s about ten for every Jew, a little more. A little more, but never mind. You understand that this number of groups did not appear on the map.

[Speaker B] What appeared on the map was two groups: Haredim and Religious Zionists. That’s what appeared on the map. And if you’re Haredi, then on all fifteen questions you have to say no, and if you’re Religious Zionist then on all fifteen questions you have to say yes. And there was no trace of the thirty-two thousand groups minus two that could have given mixed answers, vectors that are

[Speaker E] not all ones or all zeros, but some mixed vector. They just weren’t there. Now, for heaven’s sake, these really are questions—I mean, if I present the questions, you’ll see: on some of them you’d answer yes and on some no. Now again, in the bottom line, once a decision has to be made—do you support this matter or not—there is a bottom line. You have to decide which questions are more important to you and which are less important, okay? At that level there will be two groups. But when you get to that weighing process, do it in a complete way, and at the end say what your bottom line is. The moment you don’t do it in a complete way, the political tendency is obvious: you don’t allow people to understand that there’s another side too, and maybe, God forbid, they might find themselves identifying with the enemy. Okay, how does the story end? What do you mean, how does it end?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Rabbi Amar canceled the cancellation. Rabbi Amar canceled the cancellation—there’s a responsum of the Rosh about this, whether it’s possible to cancel cancellations. It’s very interesting. The Rosh says that if, say, I sent an agent and then revoked him. Okay? Now I want to cancel the revocation, to turn him back into my agent. Is that possible, or do I need to appoint him anew—no, appoint him again—to be an agent? After the revocation he’s no longer my agent, so I need to appoint him again for him to be my agent. So if the conversion, from the outset, initially, the cancellation wasn’t valid—fine, clear, that’s an anecdote, the claim—that, by the way, goes all the way, but yes, it could also be like that. Not all the way, because on the legal level it’s a question of authority, not a question of what is correct. So on the legal level he did what was correct, and afterward Rabbi Amar also did what was within his authority and canceled it, so it’s not that the matter became clear retroactively. If they were discussing what the truth is, then you’d be right. But if they’re discussing who is the authorized person to make the decision, then as long as Rabbi Amar said nothing, the High Rabbinical Court made the decision, and afterward Rabbi Amar came and, within his authority, canceled the decision. So this is a cancellation that gets canceled. Fine, but that’s only an anecdote.

So I’m saying that there too, like in almost every argument that exists, we don’t conduct it intelligently. And sometimes there’s a reason for that; sometimes it’s a cynical reason, where people are aware of it and still don’t lay their cards on the table because they want to present a picture that seems more persuasive, more unequivocal. And sometimes it’s done innocently. People don’t realize that a great many different arguments are mixed into the same debate. Some can lead in one direction, some in another. And by the way, in the end you have to reach some kind of decision, so you’ll reach a decision in one of the two directions, but that decision is one that has to weigh considerations in both directions. And if you don’t do it that way, you’ll make mistakes a lot of the time.

There are considerations here that are half-hidden for people. Meaning, suppose I answered all the questions and I wanted the result to be for or against—just within the example—so if overall I want it to be in favor because among the fifteen questions there’s one whose weight is the heaviest, and I want it to be in favor of Rabbi Druckman for the sake of the example, even though I think, as the rabbi says, that I’m on the other side. But why? Because I think that if, say, I’m one of Rabbi Druckman’s people and I want Religious Zionism to have more power, then overall in the weighing, exactly, I want to take it in that direction, and I don’t care that I’ll have to pay the price of a conversion that isn’t fair. So that’s the cynical consideration I talked about earlier. It’s half-cynical, because I think this is more important to me than the three hundred shekels. No—what do you mean, more important to you? Then say that your bottom line is to support him, but because of that you don’t need to cover up the considerations that go against it. Say that still, in the final analysis, that’s a real consideration for you. In the end you make a weighing and you come to the conclusion that this consideration is the most important, and number three out of the fifteen is the most important. That’s completely legitimate. So say it. But you don’t need to do other things for that.

Why? Why? What difference does it make? Because it makes a huge difference. What huge difference? In this context, for example, it makes a very big difference. Since a great many rabbis—I asked around a little, people who know the field, and I did a kind of survey, just of course not representative, but just to understand whether I’m right or wrong, because I got the impression that most of them oppose what Rabbi Druckman is doing. Most rabbis oppose what Rabbi Druckman is doing. But you didn’t hear that at all. You didn’t hear it. What you heard was only a move to defend his honor, which is perfectly fine—you can do that too. And independently of that to say, okay, but I don’t agree with what he’s doing. And certainly there is such a group—that’s what I’m saying. Most of the rabbis were there. I’m only saying that such a group wasn’t on the map. That’s the problem. That’s what I’m talking about.

But then you’d still have to make a decision again. Of course you make a decision—why not? You can say: I oppose these conversions, and I also oppose the way they’re treating Rabbi Druckman. What’s the connection? You don’t treat someone you disagree with like that. What’s the problem?

By the way, I really think there was even room here for a harsh attitude toward Rabbi Druckman. My article was called “Violence and Good Intentions.” And of Rabbi Druckman I’m sure he is full of good intentions, but what he did was violent. It was violent. He simply took over the gate to the Jewish people and imposed his norms, which overall most halakhic decisors do not agree with. Now, when you do something in your own home, do whatever you want—that’s your decision. But when you sit at the state gate deciding who is a Jew and who is not a Jew, you can’t decide on your own, certainly when you’re not, let’s say, exactly the mainstream. Maybe his norms are more liberal? Yes, fine. So that’s not called violence? That’s exactly the violence. To impose liberalism violently. No, he imposed it. He imposed it violently on me. I now, let’s say, want to marry a woman he converted. Now if he converted her, then she’s a valid Jewish woman. I—my son, my grandson, it doesn’t matter who—will marry her. From my perspective she’s a gentile. But there’s someone here doing this for public purposes and all sorts of other considerations that exist. So he sees. So what? I disagree with him. So what if he sees? You go according to Jewish law and I don’t know what problems—maybe I don’t know and he does know. But that’s my position. And this is violence in every sense, complete violence. That’s really violence. Really violence.

To take an opinion that is a minority opinion—there are other things, you’re looking only at Jewish law, but there are other things. Of course we look only at Jewish law. That also affect Jewish law. I’m saying, right, considerations that affect Jewish law, but a person who doesn’t belong to the question—no, no, that statement itself is a violent statement. Because you decided that you see all the considerations and I don’t. I, on the other hand, think that I see all the considerations and you don’t. I have an argument with you. So you decide that you’re the one who… you’re like Rabbi Druckman. No, no, that means Rabbi Druckman, not you. Rabbi Druckman in his role saw things that you didn’t. What did he see? Well, I disagree. Exactly—so let him reveal his secrets to us. He revealed exactly his secrets, and nevertheless it did not create consensus; no consensus emerged. So now the question is whether you can be lenient in a way that isn’t simple.

But good Lord, all these things are irrelevant. When someone comes and says, I’m lenient, and it’s very hard to be lenient—fine, okay, there are a thousand who are stringent. Right, I’m among the thousand. But now I’m asking: how can it be that the one who is lenient, the bold one, yes, who dares to be lenient among all the weak and cowardly people who don’t dare to be lenient—that this one person takes over the gate against all the other thousand, violently. I’m asking, how can that be? His role allows him to. He thinks he’s doing the right thing. Let him do it in his own home. He shouldn’t dictate things to me. And here at the gate, when he sits there at the gate, he dictates things to me. He’s not doing it for himself. He dictates it to whoever is open. He’s extreme and not open. But decisions have to be made. Right, what does that have to do with anything? Right. So what’s the question? The question is whether he acts according to Jewish law. He’s extreme and not open. If you’re speaking within this mapping, then he is extreme and not open. In this mapping Rabbi Druckman is extreme and not open, not extreme and open. But that’s a different discussion; I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the question of how you make halakhic decisions in the public forum. That’s the question. And in that sense I think the decision was made violently. It’s not only that I disagree with his position—that’s legitimate. He has a different opinion than mine; I can’t say anything bad, he has his opinion and I have another. But here I even have a moral claim against him, not only a claim that I disagree with him halakhically.

A lot of times you have halakhic thoughts that contradict what… but I’m not going to take for myself a state role and under the protection of the authorities… no, now you’re accusing me already. So I’m informing you that from my perspective this is indeed an accusation. A person should live according to his faith, and a person should not dictate his faith to others. No, I don’t agree with that. Even though I think this way, I’ll fight for my position, I’ll try to persuade people, but I won’t use governmental agencies to carry out actions that are against Jewish law in the opinion of most other people.

But the problem is this whole sitting in a rabbinical court over whether you gave the bill of divorce—yes, so there, you too are sitting at the gate of divorce for the Jewish people and you made a decision. What gate of divorce? Whoever sits there… Was I in the minority? Who said I was in the minority? Every rabbinical court that sits takes authority for itself. So I too take authority for myself. What’s the problem? But you’re not setting policy for all the Jewish people. Right, and the moment a rabbinical court rules this way—suppose I ruled that way—what prevents all the women denied a bill of divorce from running to the rabbinical court? Because I also don’t permit all women denied a bill of divorce; I permit only those that I think really can be permitted. But every rabbinical court does this. How am I different from any other rabbinical court? If it came before me.

No, and here exactly is the point: he sits in the state system. He is the one responsible for giving the stamp of approval to a conversion. Another rabbinical court that performs a conversion has to go through him to get approval. It’s just another rabbinical court, he wasn’t… No, no, he has to give approval. And if he wasn’t… if it were dispersed, if everyone did something else. Not everyone—there is a panel, there are panels… Again, if there’s a panel, there’s a possibility. Exactly, but he has the authority to convert, and in the end the state recognizes it. If the state didn’t recognize it, that would be the same thing, no? What do you mean? No, in my case too they didn’t recognize what I say. In my case too they didn’t recognize what I did. If they agreed… no, also not, no, also not—that’s what I’m saying. If you were a judge on a regular state rabbinical court panel? If I were appointed by the state, that’s something else, because then I’d be dictating things and I’d have authority from the state to dictate things. But here, when I sit as a rabbinical court, like any other rabbinical court sits, I say something that does not get state backing, but I say: listen, in my halakhic opinion you are permitted. Now, what others will do, they’ll do, I don’t know. I’m saying that in my opinion you are permitted. The state doesn’t recognize it—fine, that’s its right, what can I do?

And if you were a judge on a regular state rabbinical court panel in Be’er Sheva? I’d do the same thing. You’d do the same thing? Certainly. And then he tells you, all these situations that are… No, but that’s not, that’s not the same thing, exactly. If this were really not accepted by many others, then my status would be like any other rabbinate court. A regular rabbinate court, like the court in Safed now that did all the… yes? So they too are a rabbinate court and did something not accepted by most other halakhic decisors. By the way, in this case I also don’t accept it—I don’t think they were right. But they did what a rabbinical court does; that’s how a rabbinical court operates. But Rabbi Druckman takes the conversion system and dictates norms to it when this is the monopolistic system.

But it was some kind of panel, it wasn’t… No, it wasn’t just some kind of panel. He determines the norms according to which… But he was head of the panel. He determines the norms according to which the conversion system operates, which is the system responsible, according to the state, for who has converted and who has not converted. This is setting the state’s norm; it is legislating. You’re saying that this is setting a norm and that is local. This is legislating. He is basically legislating; he is not a judge, he is a legislator. Because the state decides who is a Jew from its perspective: whoever Rabbi Druckman said. And now he legislates who the Jew is. And in the past too it was who is divorced, whoever that rabbi said… No, I did not set the norms; the norms are the Shulchan Arukh. If they had set norms in the Chief Rabbinate and said that in such cases it is impossible to annul the conversion, to annul the marriage, I would not do it in a rabbinate court. In another court—that’s an interesting question, I don’t know exactly what—I might do it and I might not, because I can’t stand the rabbinate; I think they too take over violently. So sometimes one must act with counter-violence. But you admit… I admit. Simply. I admit that when there is someone violent, you also need to act against him with violence.

But look, I hear you here in lectures, you always say, this is what I believe, this is how I act. Of course, but I’m speaking on my own personal plane. I’m not dictating it to the public. What difference does that make? Of course I do what I think, but he legislates for me. He legislates for me. Who is he to legislate for me? But Rabbi, the problem is the separation of religion and state. Of course, of course. Any rabbi who legislates… No, but here it’s worst of all, here it’s most severe. Not true, but he himself opposes the separation of religion and state. Why? Because he wants to use the state mechanism to dictate his norms. So you weren’t aiming arrows at Rabbi Druckman but at the system. Believe me, I aimed arrows at this system too; I also wrote about that. And it doesn’t matter who gets the keys, whoever becomes Chief Rabbi… I’m saying that whoever gets the keys and through them imposes a minority religion, I’ll have claims against him. If someone imposes an opinion I don’t accept, then I won’t have a claim against him; I’ll have a claim against the state that gives him this authority. Yes, that is okay. That is okay. Why not? Because a minority will be harmed by it. So what? But if the majority decides, what can you do? In policy decisions, public decisions, the majority decides. What can you do?

But before ’48, how did Judaism function until 1948? There was no one who forced the majority opinion. There were no rabbinical courts? There were no judges? There were bodies. There was no one who forced? No, there was no one who forced, but it’s not true that every rabbinical court did whatever it wanted. A norm developed. The Talmud talks about one who errs in judgment, for example. One who errs in judgment—the Talmud brings what the standard is: when the accepted practice in the wider world goes otherwise, when it is accepted in the world to say otherwise. When there is some rabbinic consensus, even a rabbinical court without state authority from a Chief Rabbinate generally would not act—again, there were always exceptions—would not generally act against consensus on matters that, as I say, pertain to the collective, on matters like conversion, for example. On matters that concern my community, my own plate, I do what I want; I don’t care about the consensus. But I’m saying, it’s like in democracy generally: there is a difference between the tyranny of the majority and following the majority. When you deal with questions on which the majority does not need to make one single decision—everyone does what he wants in his own home—then if the majority dictates its decision, that is tyranny of the majority; that really is not okay. But in a place where one stamp has to be given, to make an agreement or not make an agreement with Syrians, Palestinians, or whoever you want—what, shall we say everyone should do what he wants? One decision has to be made, so what can you do? The majority will decide. Fine.

I’m now saying regarding… fine. I’m saying now regarding conversion, I think the majority decides. Whoever is in power decides. What do you mean the majority decides? Of course the majority decides. That’s our method for determining what the majority says. Of course the government decides. With all the criticism, the government decides. The majority decides—whoever is in power. What, you make promises in elections and afterward behave differently? Fine. So that takes me back to before. The majority decides. Why are you mixing things up? You’re confusing things. The democratic system says we do not gather in the town square and vote every time on every question. That’s not the system. The system says that what the majority wants is represented by what the coalition, the government, does. That’s our system. For those four years. Now, of course that system doesn’t always work. A lot of times things seen from there are not seen from here, you change what you promised, and that’s not okay, that should be criticized, all true. But still, basically the system tries to express what the majority wants, and that is what is supposed to be carried out. You’re only saying the system is imperfect. Fine, I understand; okay, we should think about that. But no—here it’s not just that the system is imperfect. He’s using the system to coerce something. So I also have criticism of them. What does that have to do with anything? I also have criticism of them. So what? Because of that he’s acceptable? What does that have to do with anything? I have criticism of them too. There is a system; they have to decide. No, they have to decide—let them decide according to what they promised. What’s the problem with their deciding? Yes, or let them go to elections again. We’ve gone around this circle too many times. We’ve already done this circle. Yes. Okay.

So I’m saying that all these debates are really too vague, full of fog, because they create a correlation between questions that are independent. And that is connected to the same schema I described earlier, that often the dichotomy is a dichotomy between two things that are not really totally opposed. If you separate parameters, then you’ll see there are a great many possibilities. When each of your two camps is built on several parameters, then of course there immediately arise more options than just the two extreme ones.

At one time the Israel Democracy Institute—I don’t know if always, but before elections, maybe always—they have some kind of compass, that’s what they call it. And then they tell you to fill in various fields: what do you think about this, what do you think about that, what do you think about this. And then usually what happens is that people are surprised to find themselves—a Haredi person in Meretz. Okay. Yes, but it’s obvious to me that this can happen. That’s exactly the point. Now by the way that’s also okay, because overall you can be Haredi, think like Meretz on a certain matter, and still in the final calculation think you should vote for Gimel. Fine, that’s completely legitimate. But in the end you have to make a decision; you do a weighing. But I would still expect people to really make the calculation that way, and to say: in this I’m like Meretz, in this I’m like Rakah, in this I’m like Gimel, in this I’m like the Jewish Home, and now a decision has to be made about which party I put in the ballot box. Only one can go in there. If I could, I’d create a different electoral system—do a weighted calculation, yes, give points to each party. Give one point to this party, two points to that one, five points to that one, and so on.

There are people who do that—after all, people donate to candidates; some donate to several. Okay, yes, I read about someone who holds several slips and assigns a number of slips to each party according to his preferences and then chooses among them at random. Random doesn’t solve the problem. No, on average it’s actually not a bad technique; if everyone did that, it wouldn’t be a bad technique. There are some countries in which primaries for parties are customary. Even in the Jewish Home there were primaries where you had to rank candidates and they got points according to place. That, for example, is a kind of thing like this—of course among candidates from the same party, but still there are differences. So there, for example, it’s a bit similar. It makes sense that at this point you give that point to that party. Yes, that makes sense. Between types of questions, this party has this—how much weight each party has—but that really is impossible… we go back to the town square, meaning then just vote in the town square and that’s it.

Okay, one more point, maybe part of the same issue: giving up the hyphens, yes? Religious Zionism—we once talked about this issue of the hyphen. Burg with the hyphen, when he says that the main thing in Religious Zionism is neither the Zionism nor the religiosity; it’s the hyphen. That’s really the essence of Religious Zionism, and by the way he’s right. Meaning, that’s correct, it’s an accurate diagnosis, not a joke. Only one has to notice that what this basically means is that you can be Zionist and you can be religious. If you don’t have a hyphen in the middle, then you’re not of the type Burg was talking about. But that too is an option. When your Zionism is not religious, or your religiosity is not Zionist—it doesn’t matter. You can be Zionist, you can be religious, but you have no hyphen, you don’t accept the hyphen. I am Zionist and I… I personally, for example—that’s how I identify myself—I have no hyphen. I’m Zionist the way Ben-Gurion was Zionist, and I’m religious the way anyone else is religious, but I just don’t see any connection between the two things. Maybe the rabbi is only the hyphen? No, no, then look for someone who is only the hyphen but doesn’t have the two sides. Yes, but no, I really think—I’m really there.

And this is exactly—what is the hyphen? The hyphen is that connection between two parameters, right? And when I say those two parameters don’t have to be connected, then I’m basically saying I give up the hyphen. But it’s not exactly in the same sense as before. Because here I remain both with A and with B. It’s not that I’m saying there can be an option to be A without B. Say, to be Haredi—if Haredi means both anti-Zionist and anti-modern, then I’m anti-modern but I’m Zionist. That’s one kind. Now I’m saying something else, subtler, a more subtle nuance. There can be a religious Zionist who is both Zionist and religious—no, where both parameters remain as they are—but I just don’t see a connection between them. The relation between the two parameters is itself also a parameter. And in that parameter I am not a religious Zionist. Meaning in the third parameter, which is the hyphen. Meaning I basically see it as three parameters; you can formalize it that way. Okay? And then from the standpoint of logic it is the same logic. I’m basically finding another assumption that you make, and I give it up. And then I can in fact remain with additional options.

Your Zionism doesn’t derive from the fact that you’re Jewish—what? From the fact that I’m Jewish, not from the fact that I’m religious. Yes, from the fact that I’m a national Jew; I want to live with my people. All good. I don’t see this as a commandment, I don’t see holiness in institutions, I don’t see any of all the things that somehow accompany this hyphenatedness—what is generally attributed to this hyphen anyway—I don’t share them. No, no, listen, I see—here, we’ve talked about this I think several times. I don’t know, when I see people dancing with an Israeli flag in the synagogue, I get feverish. I get feverish. I’m not against the Israeli flag, and I’m also not against a synagogue. I’m only against it being there. What? Why do you get feverish because of that? No, I get feverish because to me it comes across as a kind of nationalism, a national religion.

I want to understand something. When you began this series of lectures, you said there’s a dichotomy and often we can solve a problem if we attack, or look at, or examine the assumption underlying the dichotomy. And there are assumptions underlying the dichotomy. So you started with problem-solving, and now all the time you’re only presenting problems, not solutions. Why? These are all solutions. No, this is not a solution at all. Most of the phenomena you’re talking about are statistical samples—that’s how it is in the population. And you say logically, rationally, it can also be that in this he’s like this and in that he’s like that. Exactly. That’s the solution I’m talking about. That’s not a solution, that’s just a problem. No, why is it a problem? Because you’re making life more complicated. No, my goal is not—what you call a solution is not what I call a solution. You call a solution: “I’m in distress, find me a solution.” I’m not coming to solve your distress; on the contrary, I’ll create more distress for you. For me that’s the solution. The solution is an intellectual solution. When I don’t agree with the two possibilities, then how can that be? It’s either this or its opposite—there’s logic. How can it be that I don’t agree with either one? That’s the solution I’m looking for—not a solution to practical distress, not to find halakhic leniencies, but an intellectual distress, or a situation where they present me with a dichotomy and I don’t find myself in it. Meaning, how can it be that I’m neither here nor there, when supposedly that’s impossible, there is no third way? So I’m saying the solutions I’m talking about are how to create, logically, third and fourth ways and so on. How to get out of dichotomous thinking. That’s what I mean.

That can come out stringently and it can come out leniently. By the way, that’s exactly the point. Very often the conclusions—the suspicions many times toward situations of this sort—are that they always lead leniently. First of all, so what? If it’s possible also to go leniently, then that’s allowed. If it’s true and it holds water, then fine. But beyond that, it’s also not true. Sometimes it leads to stringency. We once talked about tolerance, and I said there are situations where pluralism is stringent, not lenient. And specifically monism is lenient. For example, if the question is whether I am causing you to stumble in a transgression which according to your view is a transgression and according to mine is not. Okay? So if I’m a pluralist, someone who believes in a multiplicity of truths, each person and his own truth, then I’m forbidden to cause you to stumble, because according to your view it’s forbidden. But if I’m a monist, then I think it’s permitted—why should I care that you’re an idiot and think it’s forbidden? I can cause you to stumble, right? Exactly. So here pluralism is stringent, and fanaticism, monism, the view that there is only one truth—that is lenient. This labeling of things as lenient and stringent is a terribly misleading labeling. Meaning, it’s not right. I’m speaking philosophically; I don’t care whether it comes out leniently or stringently. The question is what philosophical position I accept. So in order to decide what philosophical position I accept, I need to distinguish among all the positions that exist and then choose one of them. And what happens is that very often they don’t present all the options to me.

Now, in a certain sense I am willing to go with you and say that what I’m saying is nevertheless lenient. And I think we talked about that once too. What is leniency? In the weekly Torah portion—so I’ll add this too—there’s a story about the Beit HaLevi, one of those stories of the enlightenment writers told about the Beit HaLevi, at the end of the Brisk Haggadah. There are maybe ten stories there, something like that. So it says there that some wealthy enlightened fellow, of course, came to the Beit HaLevi and said to him: why are you rabbis always so stringent? He says to him: I’m stringent? I’m one of the greatest lenient decisors. I have famous leniencies. The Beit HaLevi was hysterically stringent, but I have famous leniencies. So what are the famous leniencies? He says, let me list just a few so you can get the impression. For example, there are those who are stringent that one may not fast for two days on Yom Kippur out of doubt. You don’t know when Yom Kippur is, like in Japan, right? So there are those who are stringent that it’s forbidden to fast two days. No—that it’s forbidden. Forbidden. There are those who say it’s forbidden—they are stringent—and I am lenient: I say you can fast two days. If you’re in doubt, fast two days. Or if midnight has passed and you didn’t recite the Shema, there are those who are stringent—you can no longer recite it. I’m lenient; I say recite it even after midnight. And so on and so forth—he listed various famous leniencies of his like that.

Now, because by definition this is stringency. No, now I’ll explain. No—recite the Shema… in all the halakhic terms they tell you to recite again. No, here I’ll explain. I started thinking a bit about this story, because like every charming joke it contains a real point. The real point is that he really is lenient. These are leniencies, not stringencies. What? No, I don’t know. I’ll define it now. The concept of leniency is often understood by people in an imprecise way. Does leniency mean something that makes my life easier? No. That’s not exactly the definition of leniency, although it’s related. The definition of leniency is: what opens up more options. That is leniency. Suppose there is an easy option—meaning an option that is convenient for me—and someone else adds another option that is harder for me, as a possible option, not as a necessary option of course, because then it would be stringency, since then he would disqualify the first option. It’s still one option. I’m saying he adds another option, like fasting two days. One person says there is no option to fast two days, only one day. So he is stringent; he presents me with only one option. Someone else says you can also fast two days. You can—not you must, yes?—you can also fast two days. Then he is lenient; he opened two options. No, no, wait. Now, to say “you can also fast two days” is a leniency. Now, true, there is some connection, because once I open up more options, then whoever is looking for an easy life will choose the easiest among them. But when, for example, I add an option that by definition is harder, that won’t help—it doesn’t make things easier in that sense—because at most you’ll choose the one option that existed before, which was anyway easier. Right? So here, for example, people laugh—this obviously isn’t a leniency. Or for example, I brought the case of “in cases of doubt concerning blessings, we rule leniently.” In cases of doubt concerning blessings, the leniency is not to recite the blessing, right? Why is not reciting the blessing lenient? If allowing me to recite is lenient, then why is not reciting called lenient? It is perceived as a leniency. No, I don’t think so. It eases things for me in the classic sense of leniency, that I don’t have to fulfill the commandment. When I come and say leniently and you…

I claim that it’s a leniency for a different reason. “In cases of doubt concerning blessings, we rule leniently” means that you can recite the blessing and you can refrain from reciting it. That opens two options; therefore it is lenient. Only what? On the halakhic level… Wait, wait, wait—you can recite the blessing? Let me give one more sentence. Once there are two options, that you can recite and you can refrain from reciting, now there is a rule that says one must not utter God’s name in vain, so that indeed becomes a stringency to take only the one option that says not to recite. But the rule of “in cases of doubt concerning blessings, we rule leniently” is not the prohibition of taking God’s name in vain. The rule of “in cases of doubt concerning blessings, we rule leniently” says that there is also an option not to recite. That is the rule. Only now, since there are two options, the prohibition of taking God’s name in vain tells me that I must choose the negative option. Exactly. But that in itself is not “in cases of doubt concerning blessings, we rule leniently.” No! The doubt itself says that from the perspective of the laws of blessings, there are two options before you: you can recite and you can refrain from reciting. Now from the perspective of the laws prohibiting uttering the Divine Name improperly, there you say, fine, but once there are two possible options, then don’t recite, because the blessing would be unnecessary. So that indeed is stringency. And the determination not to recite is a determination made up of two stages. The first stage is indeed a stage of leniency. In the laws of doubtful cases involving blessings we go leniently. Only after there is… It’s like fasting on Yom Kippur. Fasting on Yom Kippur means there is also an option of fasting two days—that truly is leniency. Only after they tell you, here, there is also an option to fast two days, then fast two days because otherwise you’ll enter into… and then that’s already another question.

But also here, in cases of rabbinic doubt we rule leniently—you say that too? Of course. “In cases of rabbinic doubt we rule leniently” means you can eat it and you can refrain from eating it—in reverse, there it works out completely. You have a doubt about poultry with milk. “In cases of doubt about poultry with milk we rule leniently” means you can eat it and you can refrain from eating it. Nobody disqualifies the option of not eating; they add the option of eating. You can also eat. That’s exactly leniency. They give you two options instead of what you thought was only one. That is called leniency. And there indeed you can do both: you can eat and you can refrain from eating. If I am stringent, then don’t eat. Exactly, and that is exactly the point. It opens two options for you, therefore it’s called leniency.

Leniency means that I allow the stringent person to be stringent. That too is leniency. Because there are people who would say that the stringent person is forbidden to be stringent—yes, right, because there are those who say that the stringent person is forbidden to be stringent; they are stringent. Understand? And I am lenient; I say the stringent person is permitted to be stringent. That really is leniency, because the definition of leniency is not a comfortable life. The true definition of leniency is how many options there are. If you open additional options, you are being lenient in the game. Of course afterward someone looking for an easy life will come along, and if there are several options he may choose the easiest among them, but not always. There are those who are not looking for an easy life. Each person… So I, for example, want to be lenient, to allow someone to be stringent—that too is called being lenient. Because someone else will say to him: leave it, that’s a foolish stringency; it’s forbidden to be stringent here. So he is stringent, that one who tells him it’s forbidden to be stringent here, because he is locking one of the possible paths in front of him. You understand? It is always the same: locking paths, closing some of the paths, that is stringency. Opening more paths, that is leniency.

Not always, not always the number of options; it depends on what the options mean. No, that’s what I’m saying. It does not depend on what the options mean; that’s exactly what I’m claiming. Now if I wait three hours between meat and dairy, and someone comes and tells me, listen my friend, you’re mistaken. He is stringent. Wait, wait—you can also wait six hours, or you have to wait six hours. Or he tells you: you can wait either four hours or six hours. Yes. How many options did he give? Two. Two, right. And how many did you have? He had three. No, you had three. Three. Three. You could wait three, you could wait four, six. He disqualified. Right, he disqualified yours, because you say there are three options and he says no, there are only two. You say you can wait three hours, you can wait four, you can wait six. And he says you can only wait four or six. No, he says you need three hours. What do you mean three? If I wait six, am I a criminal? Heaven forbid. Of course not. That’s it, that’s it. No, what situation? That’s it. But he says three and that’s it. Not true. He says either four or six. Not true. You say there are three options: either wait three hours or four or six. Yes, right, that’s what you’re saying. Don’t tell me that someone who waits six hours is a criminal. I’m saying three is possible. And if someone waits four, is he a criminal? Don’t—if someone waits four, is he a criminal in your view? Not a criminal. That’s all. Which means that according to your view, waiting four is possible. It’s an option. How is it not an option? But you say every minute you can say it. Right, exactly, exactly, exactly. Right, exactly. And he closes the first hour to you—meaning he reduced options, exactly—and therefore he is stringent, and therefore he is stringent, that’s the stringency.

Let me complete the answer a little. Therefore what you said before did indeed contain a correct intuition: that I go toward leniency. I go toward leniency not necessarily in the sense of an easy life, but in the sense that I want to open more options. People present only two options, and I say wait, there are more options, I want to open more. In that sense I agree that this approach tends toward leniency. But leniency not in the sense of a comfortable life, but leniency in the sense that there are more options. Now one can choose, and what I choose—it could be that I’ll be stringent and say only this option is correct—but at the stage where I open more options, that is indeed a lenient stage.

Okay, next week there is a class. Next week, yes, there is. What, after candle lighting? Yes, as usual, quarter to nine. That concludes a lecture by Rabbi Michael Abraham, Thursday, the 21st of Kislev 5776, December 3, 2015.

The Talmud in tractate Bava Batra 13b deals with the matter of the Ark. The Talmud says: “The Ark that Moses made was two and a half cubits long, a cubit and a half wide, and a cubit and a half high, in cubits of six handbreadths. The tablets were six handbreadths long, six handbreadths wide, and three handbreadths thick, and they were placed lengthwise in the Ark. How much does that amount to? Twelve handbreadths. There remained half a handbreadth on this side and half a handbreadth on that side; that was the place where the broken tablets were placed.” The Talmud brings the view of Rabbi Meir and the view of Rabbi Yehuda. Rabbi Meir holds that the whole Ark was full and the Torah scroll was placed inside; Rabbi Yehuda says there was a shelf outside. What is important for us is the concept that both the tablets and the broken tablets were placed in the Ark.

The Talmud learns from this that with regard to a Torah scholar who forgot his learning due to circumstances beyond his control, one does not treat him with contempt. Why? Because even the broken tablets were inside the Holy of Holies. A person is an ark. Sometimes a person feels broken, feels incomplete. He needs to know that even his broken pieces, if they are inside the ark, if they are part of his desire to draw close to the Holy One, blessed be He, they have a place inside the Holy of Holies. A person who studies Torah builds an ark within himself. He places inside it the whole tablets, the knowledge, the commandments, the good deeds. But sometimes there are broken pieces, disappointments, things that did not go as they should have. The Torah teaches us that we do not throw away the broken pieces. The broken tablets are placed in the Ark. They are part of a person’s character, part of his construction. The Holy One, blessed be He, does not seek only perfection; He seeks “the broken and crushed heart—God will not despise.” Those broken pieces, when they are placed beside the whole tablets, create the complete dwelling place of the Divine Presence within a person.