Observance of the Commandments, Lesson 2

A blind person is exempt regarding a rabbinic commandment; is there any basis for obligating him in a Torah-level commandment? But what’s really the problem here? The problem is precisely the problem of grounding normative obligation. Meaning: how can you ground a normative obligation? Either it’s part of the normative system itself—but then it can’t ground that system, because it’s just a principle that itself belongs to it—or it’s something external to the system, and then that’s where the problem starts. Meaning, who says I’m obligated to it? And if I am, then I’ve just returned to the same question regarding that. Meaning: maybe explain to me why I need to obey this external principle. This only sharpens, even within the halakhic world itself, this whole problem of normative grounding.

So from here there’s a first question. You could say this is a barely workable leniency. Meaning, if we say it’s fully permitted, then anyone outside the commandments could ask this question. But if we say it’s more like something overridden—meaning, they’re still fundamentally obligated in the commandments because they’re part of the Jewish people, but there’s a dispensation, some permission for some reason not to be obligated—then the Sages can say to him: “No, we say you don’t even have that dispensation.” But only the Holy One, blessed be He, can say that—not the Sages. No—if in principle they really are obligated in the commandments, and the Holy One exempted them in that particular case, then they can say it. No—if according to your approach they are Torah-level obligated. If they were Torah-level obligated, you’d be right, because then it would mean that what the Holy One exempted them from is only outside the prohibitions, and in the prohibitions they’re still obligated. But then it turns out they’re Torah-level obligated in commandments. Yes, yes, but in principle, in principle the rule is that they’re Torah-level exempt, but there’s a dispensation, what some call “overridden.” A dispensation—but is that dispensation Torah-level or rabbinic? Does the Torah permit it? In principle yes. Okay, so there’s a Torah-level dispensation, like we discussed in the commandment where there’s a dispute whether it’s fully permitted. No, fine, I understand—fully permitted. So it’s permitted by Torah law. Now what? If it’s fully permitted, and if we say it’s overridden, and they’re within the overridden category… But the Torah overrode it because they’re not yet at the age of commandments or something, so the Sages come and say: no, we restore it. But what do you mean “they say”? So they say it—so what? If it’s overridden, once the Torah already overrode it, then only the Torah can say: “Ah, no, no, that’s not what I meant to override; I’m qualifying that.” And then it would come out Torah-level that they’re obligated. But those decisors say they’re rabbinically obligated, not Torah-level. And now the rabbis have no way even to begin—unless the Torah itself says: “I qualify the exemption that the blind person or the minor has.”

With traffic laws are you okay? I mean, do traffic laws apply to you? Is that fine? Traffic laws are like any law—you can ask exactly the same question. Yes: why does the legal system apply to me? Same question. It’s something philosophers ask: how do you obligate yourself? Right, right, excellent question. Same question. Again—understand—you’re saying: how am I obligated to the legal system or to law? Exactly the same question. What do you mean? The law is no holier than the Torah. The same question can be asked about that too. Sorry for the anarchism, but it’s exactly the same question.

Wait, maybe I’ll continue then—yes. You wanted to comment? I’m not quite clear on the answer you gave him, that if indeed the Torah qualified the exemption regarding prohibitions, then that means their obligation is Torah-level. For example, I’m obligated to light Hanukkah candles; that obligation comes from “do not deviate,” and still it’s rabbinic. Rabbinic isn’t the same slot. So that’s not a simple question. Meaning, people really attack Maimonides—Maimonides who understands it as deriving from “do not deviate”—so Nachmanides attacks him: then why isn’t it Torah-level? And Nachmanides doesn’t accept that, and Nachmanides himself indeed says that in order for it to be rabbinic it can’t derive from “do not deviate.” And the question of where it does derive from is another question—we’ll talk about that. Is the authority of the Sages itself Torah-level? Okay—exactly the same question. That’s the question of the authority of the Sages with respect to adults. It just expands what I said earlier according to Nachmanides—that if it doesn’t derive from “do not deviate,” then you can ask the same question: why do adults have to obey the Sages? Not just why do minors have to obey the Sages. Excellent question. Maybe we’ll deal with that sometime when we discuss rabbinic law and Torah law.

Doesn’t the concept of being “already sworn from Sinai” apply? To whom? It’s a halakhic concept, that we were sworn from Sinai. Fine—but who said I’m obligated to Jewish law? I’m asking why I should be obligated to Jewish law, so you can’t tell me: because there’s a law that says you have to be obligated to Jewish law. That’s like my asking why I should be obligated to the law, and you tell me: because there’s a law that says every citizen has to obey the law. But that’s what we accepted at Sinai. Fine, we accepted—so what? Who says what we accepted is binding? He’s saying it’s a commitment, a contract. No—so a contract, that’s already one of the possible answers. Fine, that’s a different matter. But of course here too you can ask: and what grounds the obligation to obey contracts that I undertook? I don’t want to obey. That too is a moral, legal, halakhic principle that needs grounding. So what if I committed myself?

Fine—we can’t escape this. In the end we’ll have to stay with the answer, as I said, this way: why are we obligated? Just because. “Just because” in the sense I said last time—not arbitrary “just because.” Not “just because” in the sense that it has no meaning at all, I flipped a coin and that’s what came out. Rather “just because” in the sense that there are things that simply do not need grounding or explanation. Since every explanation in the end presupposes some first intelligibles by means of which I explain. And you can always ask: and where did the first intelligibles come from? Yes—like in geometry: how do you know there is exactly one straight line between two points? You build all of geometry on that, and how do you know that? Because it’s self-evident. There are things that are somehow self-evident, and therefore I don’t need grounding. Meaning, every chain of reasoning—even if I find some explanation—will always stop at some principle or principles regarding which I no longer ask “why?” Because it’s obvious; it’s self-evident to me.

Is that faith? Maybe that too is faith—we may discuss that later as well, not today, maybe one of the next topics. That’s why the Sages say: “Everything is in the hands of Heaven except fear of Heaven.” You need this initial thing. Yes—“fear of Heaven” here is in a somewhat more basic sense than people usually mean. It’s not just some feature of serving God; it’s the foundation on which the whole business is built. Meaning, that sense that obviously if the Holy One commands, then I need to do it. Okay? And therefore every system of reasoning, when people come to justify it, will stop somewhere.

When you ask why obey the law—if I return to your question—what can one answer? In legal theory, gallons of ink have been spilled on this. There is no answer. Obviously there’s no answer. The only answer there is: because obviously one should—what do you mean? Why is there no answer? There can’t be an answer, because every such answer will be based on some other principle, and then I’ll ask: and where did that principle come from? Say it’s because of a social convention, because we all agreed—okay, and who said I need to uphold conventions that I agreed to? Otherwise we’ll suffer damage? So that’s not obligation. Out of fear? Then that’s not really an obligation—it just means it’s useful. So I’ll quietly break the law and I’ll make sure it doesn’t harm me. Fine? There’s no essential obligation here. There are such people—but the question is whether there’s a claim against them. Meaning, that argument really says not only that there are many such people, but that I have no claim against them at all. Because really, if it doesn’t harm anything and nobody, then I can do it; and if it does cause harm but I don’t care about the harm, then I can also do it. This does not ground obligation to the law; it grounds the utility of law. The question is whether there is moral obligation. Yes—obligation, even without saying moral. Not utility. There’s a difference between utility and obligation.

I began last time with the distinction between factual statements and normative statements. A factual statement—that something is harmful—is a fact. But the obligation, that I am obligated to obey, that is a norm. A norm is never derived from facts. If someone comes and says: okay, it’s harmful, and I don’t care about causing harm—so what? You’ve accomplished nothing. Meaning, you still need to assume that what is harmful is forbidden to do, and then I’ll immediately ask: wait, wait, forbidden? Where does that “forbidden” come from? Why is it forbidden? I don’t care about the harm. If the consideration is only utilitarian, then that’s not obligation—it’s utility. And a person will make his own calculation whether he’s for that utility or against it. When you want to clarify why there is obligation, you’re stuck. Because obligation is not a factual statement. It won’t help: you can observe the whole world, collect facts, do whatever you want—you’ll never be able, from facts, to explain obligation.

You’re reinforcing this with regard to self-commitment. Fine regarding someone committing himself to do something for his own sake. But now you come and obligate others—you decree that others also have to do things. Right, and I’m claiming they must. So where does that basis come from? That’s the question I’m asking. And I’m saying that once I reach the conclusion that this is binding—and right now I mean binding not only on me, but on all of us—then that’s my conclusion. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I have no authority, doesn’t matter. But from my perspective I do have a claim against someone who doesn’t keep it—not only with respect to myself. That’s very dangerous. So others can also reach that same conclusion. Law is dangerous. How did law reach the conclusion that various things need to be done? There can be some other law that reaches less sympathetic conclusions—there have already been such things in history. Right, it’s dangerous, what can you do? But it’s true.

But we can distinguish here: there are laws intended to protect against harm to others. Okay. And there are laws, for example, that from eight in the morning I have to pay for parking. Okay. And when I park somewhere and don’t pay, I’m causing no harm to anyone. Fine. You’re just violating the law. I’m violating the law, but the obligation to pay from eight in the morning is not the same as the obligation not to murder. Not the same—but still. So regarding the second obligation, yes, there is an obligation by virtue of my agreeing to live in a society and not in a forest. And society obligates me. Society obligates me—and I couldn’t care less. Why pay for parking? Otherwise there won’t be money to build sidewalks. What do you mean by obligation? What kind of obligation are you looking for? Obligation in the sense that people can rightfully complain about me for not doing it—not coercively, in the sense that since I’m causing harm they put me in prison so I won’t cause harm—but that they can really claim that I was not okay. Society thinks that someone who harms others is not okay. Why? And that’s an agreement. No—if it’s an agreement then it proves nothing. It thinks that way and acts by force. I’m asking whether there is any basis for that claim, not whether people do it. They do it, obviously they do. But the question is whether the whole matter is merely coercive, or whether you use force because there is justification to use force—meaning, because the other person really is not okay.

A society can’t exist if everyone harms everyone else. Why not? Utility. What do you mean? Exactly—again we’ve returned to utility. So you think that’s impossible and I think it’s possible. What do you want from me? So I’ll tell you: I want nothing from you; I’ll just hit you so you won’t harm me. Fine, I accept that. But that’s not moral obligation. I’m asking whether you can claim against me—meaning, say that I am not okay. In order to say that I’m not okay, not in order to imprison me so I won’t harm, you need some basis. Explain on what basis you think that. Even if I don’t agree, I’m not claiming that after you present such a basis everybody will agree. That’s another question. I’m not sure we all agree about everything. But at least you have moral justification for claiming against me.

You’re moving to values. If there are no agreed-upon values… Okay. No—not agreed upon. That’s why I say, leave agreements aside. Values don’t have to be agreed upon. But I think these are binding values. So from my perspective I can make a claim against you. It could be that you won’t agree—fine, then we’ll have to argue, or I don’t know, decide it one way or another. I’m asking about my justification in relation to you—leave agreements aside. Agreements are an additional discussion.

The first man, when God commanded him “from the tree of the garden you shall not eat,” there was a command there, and he felt he didn’t ask why. I’m asking whether we too generally don’t ask. Most of us don’t ask, but there the Holy One commanded him. Right. And also deservedly. What? We too are commanded all the time, like the first man. Most human beings really don’t ask why—they just do. But now I want to put it up for discussion. Maybe it’s not reasonable—why do it? So I’m saying he didn’t think twice if… If he didn’t think then he was foolish—what can you do? But I’m asking now why he really should have done it. It’s not proof that he didn’t think. So he didn’t think. There are many people today too who don’t think about it. And by the way, that’s not necessarily to their discredit. As I said last time, in the end nobody can think this through. That was actually my claim. Because in the end you always finish with: “just because.” Because it seems true to me, that’s all. Because it’s self-evident to me, that’s all. There can’t be a stronger answer than that, because even a reasoned answer will eventually reach some principle that is simply self-evident, and that’s it. Just like that, period. There’s no level that remains if you keep going down all the time, another principle and another principle, because it’s turtles all the way down—we talked about that.

So I brought the example from Maimonides about idolatry out of love or fear. There’s a dispute between Abaye and Rava in tractate Sanhedrin whether one who worships idolatry out of love or fear is exempt or liable. Rava says exempt, Abaye says liable. Rava says exempt, Abaye says liable. And halakhically we rule that he’s exempt. One who worships idolatry out of love or fear is exempt, and in Maimonides it says: unless he accepted it upon himself as a god. Meaning, if you decide that the idol is your god, then you’re liable. So I asked: what is this acceptance as a god, and what’s problematic about worship out of love or fear—assuming that idolatry operates in the same patterns as serving God? Meaning, if you direct toward the idol what you should have directed toward the Holy One, then you are committing idolatry. So the very definition of something as idolatry already contains within it the definition of serving God. And then I ask: why isn’t this idolatry? After all, worship out of love or fear would seem to be the pinnacle of serving God, no? That’s what you’d call religious worship. So if you take those psychological resources and direct them toward an idol, that’s idolatry in the strictest sense. What’s wrong with idolatry out of love or fear?

I understand—love and fear of others, no? No, no. Love and fear of the Holy One? According to Maimonides. I said that most of the medieval authorities explain idolatry out of love and fear, because of this difficulty, to mean love and fear of other human beings. Then okay—you say that’s not real idolatry, you’re doing it because of other people. But Maimonides says: love and fear of the idol itself. So what is there besides that? Ah—that’s the question. So what is there besides that? What is called accepting it as a god, which does make one liable for idolatry? What is there beyond love and fear of the idol? So Maimonides defines it as… Maybe that when you accept it, you accept it as having some power, but not the total power. There’s fear that maybe the sun affects something, so I want to worship that too. But I don’t accept it as the sole one in the world who can influence, who is responsible for the power. Yes, I partially agree with that formulation, because you’re still hanging it on the question of what it can do to me. Or what it manages in the world—whether it’s the only manager or just manages part of the business. I’m saying: leave that aside. I’m asking about the strength or scope of my obligation toward it. I don’t know whether it runs the whole world, but the question is whether one can say automatically—and this is what I said last time—that I obey the policeman because I’m afraid he’ll give me a ticket. That’s not idolatry, right? Why not? I’m serving him out of fear. Meaning, I do what he says because I’m afraid he’ll do me harm. Right? That’s what Maimonides says: “as its worshippers imagine that it does good or evil,” that’s idolatry, right? So here too: I think the policeman can harm me, I obey him and do what he says because I fear him. And how do you love him? What? No, so fear—fear too is not… that already depends, some people love him too, I…

This is exactly the self-evident thing: you heard “ticket,” so do it because it’s obvious that you should. Okay, so now let’s see—that’s accepting as a god. But the love and fear—what’s the problem? The problem is that one could say the difference is that a policeman really does harm. Meaning, you really will get a fine. Whereas the idol is nonsense. The idol can’t do anything to you. Maybe according to Maimonides that could work, because Maimonides indeed holds that all those other forces have no substance at all; all the prohibitions of idolatry are simply a prohibition against being foolish. But many medieval authorities (Rishonim) didn’t understand it that way. Many understood that there are other powers there that one may not turn to. Meaning, it’s not necessarily a mistake in the philosophical sense. And even beyond that—what’s the prohibition against being mistaken? So I think it can harm me—so what? Then I’m mistaken, I don’t properly understand the reality around me. I think that this idol can really do something bad to me, and let’s say according to Maimonides that’s nonsense, and it probably really is nonsense—but then I’m just reading reality incorrectly. Is that idolatry? For that you need to kill someone? So he doesn’t understand reality correctly, that’s all.

Therefore I don’t think that explanation is enough. Rather, the point is that when I obey the policeman, I’m not obeying because he has authority over me. I’m obeying simply because he’ll cause me harm. I’m speaking beyond the righteous people who obey him because that’s how one ought to behave. I’m speaking about someone who doesn’t want to behave that way, but does it because the policeman is threatening him with a ticket. Fine? So why isn’t that idolatry? It’s not idolatry because there it’s a practical consideration. I obey him because otherwise something bad will happen to me, just as I don’t walk into fire. Is that idolatry, because I know it will burn me? Is that idolatry out of fear of the fire? It really will burn me. Meaning, it’s not about whether I’m right or wrong; it’s a practical consideration. Now, if I obey someone because of a practical consideration—some utility, profit and loss, and so on—that is not idolatry by definition. Regardless of how fully I obey him, and there’s no quantitative difference in the intensity of the obligation, but the basis of the motivation for that obligation is a practical consideration.

But the Holy One—no, no—love, how… Love too is like that. There’s a practical consideration in love? What does “practical” mean? I love, so I want to nourish that need in me, that feeling in me—it still ultimately starts from within me. And therefore it’s a consideration that… I’ll soon bring the antithesis and then it’ll be even clearer. In Maimonides too, love is interpreted in two ways; maybe I’ll comment on that in a moment.

Opposed to this stands accepting as a god. What is accepting as a god? After all Maimonides says: so when does one really worship idolatry? When one accepts it upon himself as a god. What does that mean? “God” means: whatever he says, I do. That is a god. I’m not calculating what will happen to me if I don’t do it, and whether I love him or don’t love him, but there is a self-evident sense that whatever he says, I do. That is called accepting as a god. And that is the meaning of “god,” not only “accepting as a god.” Only someone toward whom your relation is of that kind can be your god. And therefore only toward something like that can there be idolatry. Meaning, idolatry—or serving God, on the other side—is something that begins with an obligation that is not conditional on anything. Therefore here I somewhat differ from what you said before: I don’t think the scope is what determines it, but rather the character of the motivation. Meaning, it’s similar. Why? Why? I’m not… there is no “why.” That’s just how it is. No, I understand the difference—I’m asking why you think it’s because “I’ll do whatever he says,” rather than because of how I relate to him? “How I relate to him” is the same thing. What’s the difference? In short, love and fear are not that. According to your view, love and fear could have been that if it were all-encompassing—if he rules everything and I’m terribly afraid of him. But Maimonides says love and fear; he doesn’t say partial love and fear. What does he say? Full fear is godhood and partial fear isn’t? No, that’s not how it sounds. It sounds like something else—not love and fear. Love and fear are one thing, and accepting as a god is something else. And I think the point is that love and fear are motivations that begin with me. I do something because I fear him; I do something because I love him. That too is a motivation that begins with me. And as long as it begins with me, it’s not religious worship. Not serving God and not idolatry. Religious worship means unconditional obligation—whatever he says, I do.

You spoke at the end about being killed rather than transgressing, and things like that. Is that connected? I didn’t speak about it, but I’ll get there—I want to get there. I haven’t spoken about it yet. Obviously it’s connected, but I’ll reach it later. So I think the definition that emerges from this Maimonides is that the essence of religious worship is commitment that depends on nothing, that has no explanation in the language we’ve been using. That’s why I’m bringing it here. It’s an obligation I cannot explain by saying I fear because something will happen to me, or because I love, or because who knows what, there will be some benefit. And it fits his formulation in chapter 10 of Laws of Repentance: to do the truth because it is truth. Right—so I’ll get to that Maimonides too, because in the very next law we’ll see a contradiction on this issue, and we’ll discuss that in a moment. I’m getting there.

So the definition of religious worship, essentially, I think that’s the definition of doing something for its own sake. To do something for its own sake means for the thing itself—not because of some other reason. Yes, like the Rosh—there’s a wording of the Rosh here. It says in tractate Nedarim 62b: Rabbi Elazar bar Rabbi Tzadok says, “Do things for the sake of their Maker and speak of them for their own sake.” Do things—that is, the commandments—for the sake of their Maker, for the sake of the Holy One; and speak of them for their own sake. What does “for their own sake” mean? For their own sake. “Speak of them” refers to Torah study, as distinct from “do things,” which is observing the commandments. So the Rosh says: “Do things for the sake of their Maker”—for the name of the Holy One, who made everything for His own sake. “The Lord made everything for His own sake” is a verse in Proverbs. “And speak of them for their own sake”—all your speech and engagement in words of Torah should be for the sake of Torah. Not for the sake of the Holy One, but for the sake of Torah itself. Very Lithuanian—here’s a hint of Lithuanianism straight from Torah, this Rosh. Meaning, the Rosh says: we study Torah not for the Holy One, but for the sake of Torah. Torah is the thing itself—people serve Rabbi Yosef Karo and not the Holy One, that’s often the feeling.

But there is something true here: once you say that Torah is a basic value, then a basic value cannot depend on something outside itself. That’s what we said before, the problem of normative grounding. And therefore if Torah study is a basic value, you have to do it for its own sake. That’s the meaning of doing it for its own sake. And when you serve God, you do it for the sake of God—that’s “do things for the sake of their Maker.” What does that mean, for God’s sake? It means there is no personal consideration of mine that explains why I need to do this or why it’s worthwhile. I do it simply because He commanded. Like that fellow—the one who climbed Everest, I don’t remember his name—when they asked him why he climbed Everest, he said: because it’s there. Meaning, he sees Everest and he can’t not climb it. What kind of question is that? Once I see something like that, you don’t climb it? Who doesn’t climb when he sees something like that? I know one or two people like that who wouldn’t, but that’s his feeling. And exactly the same when they ask you why you serve the Holy One: because He’s there. That’s all. There is no other answer. Not because otherwise there’ll be damage, because otherwise He’ll do this or that to me.

But then where is free choice? You’re saying: I do it because I’m forced to do it. No—what do you mean forced? What’s the connection to choice? What do you mean there’s no free choice? I could have chosen not to do it. I choose this obligation. The fact is not everyone does. Ah—so that’s choice in its very essence, what do you mean? And this is without a reason. Right—and if there is a reason, then it’s not free choice. Because if there’s a reason, then the reason caused me to do it, not my choice. On the contrary: when there’s no reason, that’s free choice, not when there is a reason. When there is a reason, that’s determinism, not free choice. Fine—we’ll talk about that too.

So this actually means there is a parallel between serving God and idolatry, mutatis mutandis. So according to Maimonides’ interpretation, if idolatry done out of love and fear and not as accepting it as a god is not really idolatry, can one conclude that also in serving God, if a person does not accept the Creator as God in the sense of creating obligation, but only in the sense of love and fear, then he is not serving God? Correct—that’s the conclusion. Yes. And now I’ll get to that in a moment; I’m about to say exactly that.

I’ll mention perhaps the Maimonides referred to earlier. In chapter 10 of Laws of Repentance, in law 1, Maimonides writes there that a person should not perform the commandments for the sake of reward. Rather, one should do the truth because it is truth, and in the end the good will come. Meaning, there will be good in the end, but you don’t do it for the sake of that good. You do the truth because it is truth. And that is exactly this definition. Meaning, in the end good will come—there is good in the end. Not only in the world to come; also in this world. I hope, I think, that someone who keeps Torah ultimately makes the world better. But you don’t do it for that. Not because that good doesn’t exist, but because that is not the motivation for which I do it. And therefore he says: do the truth because it is truth. That’s exactly the definition. I don’t need other explanations. The moment you introduce other explanations, you’re no longer serving God in the full sense.

However, that’s law 1. In law 2 there what does he write? “And what is the proper love? What is the way to His love and fear?”—that’s in Foundations of the Torah. “What is the proper love?” That one should go about all his days, I don’t remember the exact wording, consumed by His love constantly like the love of a woman, and the whole Song of Songs is an allegory for this, for this matter. Is that doing the truth because it is truth? That sounds like overflowing love, right? More than that. In law 1, when Maimonides says to do the truth because it is truth and in the end the good will come, he continues with one more sentence. He says: and this is what is called serving out of love. Contrary to what we saw here in Laws of Idolatry. In Maimonides, it seems to me, there are two concepts of love. There is one concept of love that is like emotional love—just as when you fear someone, so too you can love someone in the emotional sense. There is love in some sense as intellectual love of God, as some call it. Meaning, this love really means commitment. My feeling is that I am committed to Him directly. I am nullified before Him. Meaning: whatever He says, I do. Not because I have some calculation that it’s worthwhile to do it or not worthwhile not to do it, but that is the meaning of love in its philosophical sense. And that’s what Maimonides says: this is what is called serving out of love. So “love” there is in the second sense.

Then he says: and what is the proper love? And suddenly he moves from that cold, extreme rationalism of law 1—do the truth because it is truth, and that is called serving out of love—to something terribly emotional, like the love of a man for a woman that accompanies him all the time. What? As a result? Maybe it’s a result, and maybe it’s not even a result but just a metaphor that should not be taken too far. Meaning, Maimonides intends to say that you should be in that consciousness all the time, all hours of the day, constantly, just as a man’s love for a woman accompanies him all the time and he is constantly absorbed in it. He does not necessarily mean something emotional. At least I think so, because otherwise there’s a pretty blatant contradiction between law 1 and law 2. He means to say how much this is supposed to accompany me, how fundamental it is supposed to be at all times.

So the claim is that it should accompany me constantly like the love of a man and a woman. But what is it that is supposed to accompany me? What is this love? The intention is unconditional commitment. And that is exactly what he says in Laws of Idolatry—that it’s not love and not fear. Now I really come to your remark. How was Abraham willing to bind Isaac? Okay, so you’re returning to the three cardinal transgressions. I’ll get there. I think only on this basis can it be explained. But before that I just want to make the basic point clear.

We’re used to criticism of people who come to prayer because that’s what they’re used to, that’s what everybody does, and it becomes “the commandment of men by rote.” That’s not real prayer. You need to come because you want to speak with the Holy One, and ask Him for things, and praise Him, and all kinds of things of that sort. Then that’s truly excellent prayer. That is a huge mistake. A huge mistake. I think, first of all factually—and that doesn’t yet prove anything—but factually it seems to me that most people who come to synagogue come from the first motivation. Let’s be honest. They simply go because that’s what one must do. Meaning, because that’s what one does, because there is a commandment to pray, and that’s why we come. I think very few people come to synagogue because of some emotional storm, love and fear and connection to the Holy One, and so on. And then, of course, people usually say: okay, that’s a low level, those people—it’s not really prayer. You need to work on the more emotional dimensions, and so on. But that’s not true. Clearly that is the fundamental motivation for prayer.

Leibowitz. Yes—commandments require intention. Commandments require intention means the intention to fulfill one’s obligation, not mystical intentions. And prayer is one of the commandments, and a commandment requires intention first and foremost in that sense: to fulfill one’s obligation. So that’s one mistake—the mistake of people who think that prayer from a sense of obligation is not prayer. That is the best prayer there is. That is the very essence of prayer. Prayer out of obligation, at the moment when you express love in the second sense, unconditional commitment. I go to pray if I feel a need… not if I feel a need. I am committed to what the Holy One expects of me or demands of me.

But there is an opposite mistake, and this is the second point. The opposite mistake says that if this is so—and that’s Leibowitz—he always took a good idea, a correct idea, and took it one step too far. Meaning, he took this correct idea and said: if so, then this is the entire content of prayer. This is the entire content of prayer; now you might as well recite a phone book. Yes, you could also recite a phone book—it makes no difference at all. You need to express commitment three times a day, and it makes no difference how you do it; the content of the prayer is irrelevant. That seems implausible to me. It’s implausible, because the Sages sat and enacted an enactment defining what one does pray, what one doesn’t pray, and how one prays. If they just needed to define something arbitrary, then what’s the problem? Say: take the third book from the left on your shelf and say it three times every day. That’s it. Why do I need all this thought about every word, what to say, what to insert there, what not to insert, what is indispensable, what isn’t indispensable? Therefore it’s not plausible.

But prayer itself—wasn’t it instituted by the Sages? That’s not the question. According to Maimonides it’s Torah-level. According to Maimonides it’s Torah-level; the Sages instituted how to do it. But according to Maimonides the obligation is Torah-level; according to Nachmanides, no. So positive commandment number five. So where is Leibowitz mistaken? He’s not mistaken essentially. Everyone attacks him essentially, but they too are mistaken. Or if you like: he is right and they are right, each partially. The point is that prayer has two stories, or several stories—it’s a multi-story structure. The first floor is Leibowitz’s floor. When you go to pray, you do it because one must. And someone who goes to pray because he needs to—meaning he has needs—has not fulfilled his obligation. He simply has not fulfilled his obligation, because commandments require intention, and certainly prayer requires intention. But not only the intention of the words and the prayer-specific aspects, but the intention to fulfill one’s obligation.

True, that’s not everything. After you come from obligation, there is also room for love, and fear, and thought, and praise, and request. Obviously, the Sages did not arbitrarily institute precisely this text. Obviously we are also supposed to climb to the second, third, fourth, fifth floors—each person as far as he reaches in prayer. And certainly such prayer is most fundamental, but it is not complete. Complete prayer must also contain the second, third, fourth, and fifth floors. But if there is no first floor—if there are only the second floor and above, meaning only love and fear without the fundamental obligation, without my going to pray because that’s what one must do, period. Not because I need something, not because I expect something from the Holy One, not for any reason, but because that’s what one must do, because the Shulchan Arukh says one must pray, and that’s why I go to pray—if that is missing, then one has not fulfilled the obligation. Commandments require intention. If the prayer lacks love and fear, one has fulfilled the obligation. It is not complete prayer, but one has fulfilled the obligation. The levels of intention required can go to infinity, each person as far as he reaches—that is not indispensable.

And therefore I think the correct model is one that both sides get wrong. It is not true that rote prayer—the spiritual supervisors always talk about this, not to pray by rote—that’s nonsense. To pray by rote is the best prayer there is as floor one. After that you can load onto it love and fear and all the other things. Not only can you—it’s desirable. It’s not indispensable, but it’s desirable, certainly. And that is Leibowitz’s opposite mistake: he says only floor one, there are no floors beyond that. That’s taking it too far.

It’s like what we once discussed about Torah study, when I brought the introduction to Eglei Tal. Eglei Tal writes there that many people mistakenly think that if you study with joy, that counts as studying not for its own sake. You’re really studying because it’s enjoyable. Then he says: what? Every morning we bless, “Please make the words of Your Torah sweet in our mouths,” meaning we want it to be sweet to us, that we enjoy it, delight in it, and so on. Therefore, he says, there is no greater mistake than this. It is part of the commandment itself to rejoice in and love the learning, because then it also enters into you, you connect to it, you understand it—an entirely different world. But there is a continuation to Eglei Tal’s words that is less well known than those lines. Eglei Tal says: but if the reason you study is the joy or the pleasure, then that really is study not for its own sake. Meaning, if that is the reason. Yes, exactly. If the reason you study is the joy, then it is study not for its own sake. You need to study because you need to study. True, afterward it is proper that there also be emotional connection and love of the matter and all that—that’s excellent, it strengthens the learning, increases understanding, internalization, everything is true. But that is not the foundation. If it is in the foundation, then it is study not for its own sake. “From not for its own sake one comes to for its own sake” — so that too has value, but it is still not for its own sake.

And the same is true in serving God. I think in serving God it is even more extreme, in my view, though I hesitate a bit to draw full conclusions of that type. So one could say the same in serving God, but it seems to me that in serving God it’s even stronger. Meaning, if someone serves out of love and fear, he is really not serving God. It’s not just that he isn’t serving God for its own sake. He is simply not serving God; he is serving himself. If he serves because of obligation, and on top of that adds love and fear—that doesn’t mean these things are negative. It means they do not belong on floor one, but on floor two. And that is the point. I’m not claiming there shouldn’t be such things; I’m claiming they belong on floor two and not floor one.

Many people can serve God because it gives them pleasure, because they have a religious experience from it. They are not servants of God. They could be complete atheists. There are people who have religious experiences and are atheists. There are many such people. Artists often report having a religious experience even though they do not believe in the Holy One. Those experiences are enzymes. Meaning, drink a little something or eat a little something and you’ll get experiences like that too. The question is whether you are really committed, not what experiences it brings you. The question is whether you are committed—that is what defines serving God. What defines serving God is commitment.

Maybe an example. I already said that a friend of mine gave me this reading of Maimonides on idolatry—Nadav Shnerb, he’s a physicist from Bar-Ilan, we studied together for a long time. He explained this Maimonides to me and I think it’s a beautiful interpretation. So I think he gave me this example. He said: look, you come at night, you’re wrecked with exhaustion. You undress, you’re already in pajamas, you get into bed, your eyes are already closing. A moment before that you remember you didn’t pray the evening prayer. And there’s even a prayer quorum at 11 at night. Fine, now you’re exaggerating—but you didn’t pray the evening prayer. Then you run through the entire Talmud in your head, the whole discussion whether the evening prayer is optional, and everything, and in the end what do you do? What does an ordinary person do? Either he goes to sleep because he has no strength, or he props himself up on his elbow, sticks one arm back into the sleeve, because it’s not pleasant like this in an undershirt, mumbles something, skips three words, says one, and falls asleep. And that’s basically what he does.

Then of course the spiritual supervisor comes and scolds him and says: listen my friend, that’s rote, it’s worth nothing; where’s the intention, where’s the connection to the Holy One? That’s simply nonsense. You have no more beautiful prayer than that. No more beautiful prayer than that. Why did he do it? After all, he’s not going to get his requests answered with the nonsense he’s doing there. So why did he do it? He did it because it is obvious to him that he is obligated. He didn’t pray the evening prayer—because it’s there. Therefore he did it. That’s all. That is serving God in its purest essence. I mean that sincerely, not as a clever saying. It’s absolutely true. Someone who does that does it because he is committed to serving God. Fine, someone even more righteous—as I said earlier, no need to exaggerate—someone even more righteous will get up, get dressed, and pray properly. And if there’s a prayer quorum at 11 in the synagogue, maybe he’ll even go to synagogue. Then he deserves a citation from the Chief of Staff. But the first one too—that is serving God. Meaning, it’s something very worthy of appreciation, not something I would dismiss at all.

Can one be a robot in serving God? What do you mean a robot? Is everything a robot? No, so I’ll explain the difference between this and being a robot—that’s an excellent question. I really do owe an explanation for that. Just one more example first, okay?

There’s Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev, all those Hasidic stories—sometimes even from them you can learn something. So he says that he sees some Jew standing with prayer shawl and phylacteries, repairing the yoke of his wagon next to the synagogue in the middle of the morning prayer. So he says to the Holy One: Master of the Universe, see what a nation of righteous people You have. When they’re in synagogue, they pray; when they’re repairing the wagon, they pray; they’re always praying. This public is wondrous. I always used to smirk at these Hasidic sayings, these first-grade-kid sayings. Really now—what did he mean to say here? It’s nonsense. What are these ridiculous stories? But when you look at it through these lenses, it’s not ridiculous at all. Because if that person wanted to repair the wagon, then why did he come to synagogue at all? Let him stay home where no one sees him and repair the wagon. Surely there are two synagogues in his town, so everyone will think he’s in the other one. You know why on a desert island there are two synagogues for a Jew, right? You don’t know. No, you don’t know. You think it’s because there’s one synagogue I pray in and one I don’t. You’re mistaken. It’s so I can pray in neither, because then everyone will think I’m in the other synagogue and no one will know I’m not there.

Anyway—why did that Jew, who wants to repair the wagon, go to synagogue at all? For what? Why is he doing it wearing prayer shawl and phylacteries? It’s exactly like the evening prayer example, right? Why does he do it? Then let him repair the wagon; in any case he’s not fulfilling the obligation. No—he has to go. There is morning prayer. One has to pray. So he’s with prayer shawl and phylacteries; we’re all human; he’s under pressure; he needs to repair the wagon. Fine. We’re all human, so he’s not perfect. But there is something in him that is as fundamental as can be, much more than in someone who goes to pray because he feels deep religious emotions and wants to forge a connection with the Holy One, but not out of a sense of obligation. Because on another day, when he won’t have that feeling, he won’t go. So the more praiseworthy worshipper is the one with the wagon. Obviously the most praiseworthy worshipper is someone who does both—meaning, who goes out of obligation and also doesn’t repair the wagon in the middle. But there is genuine charitable judgment here; it’s not just a Hasidic story. There really is genuine charitable judgment here. You can see that the person is truly committed.

Now, to the automatism. You see, the question really arises here, and it is a very fundamental one, and it deserves its own discussion: doesn’t this basically turn a person into an automaton? Meaning, what am I saying? I don’t exercise judgment at all—whatever the Holy One says, I do. This is somewhat connected to what you asked about choice; it’s a reflection of the same question. It seems to me not. The claim that I do this because of obligation and not because of other reasons does not mean I didn’t decide on it. On the contrary. I decided to be committed. I didn’t decide in order to gain some utility, or to sustain some emotion or other within me. I didn’t decide on it in order to achieve something—but the commitment itself is an enormous decision. A person has to make a decision that he is committed.

Now my claim is not that we are all such great philosophers and truly sat down, decided, accepted this commitment upon ourselves, and by its force we act with it as our guiding light. That may be what should have been. We are all human beings, and human beings are complex, and they accept their obligations for all sorts of reasons. So I’m not trying to flatten complex pictures here. But still, in the model, I think it is very important that our utopia—the model to which we direct our gaze—be a correct model. And that correct model means that I accept upon myself to be committed to the Holy One because He’s there. That’s all. Not for any other reason.

Now, how is that formed? Sometimes education contributes to it, society, sometimes it’s my decision, it’s a combination of many things. None of us is perfect; it’s a combination of many things. And that is one of the reasons, by the way, for all these frameworks—not because we rely on each person to make the right decisions all by himself and that’s it, but because we try to help him through social structures, education, home, and so on. Fine, that’s all true. But that’s of course a result of weakness.

But the moment he stops the commitment, then he won’t do it? Then he won’t do it. So then the commitment itself wasn’t really commitment? If he stops, then he stops—what do you mean? I don’t understand. No, you’re saying: he has a commitment to accept divinity, yes, to be… So not because of religious feelings or anything like that. Why? Because a person with emotional feelings—on a day he doesn’t have the feeling, he doesn’t have the feeling… No, it’s not “why.” Not why—because that’s the truth. Not “why.” It’s not because that other person will come to ruin and therefore cancel it. Yes, but once a person decides to take commitment as an axiom, let’s call it that—once he no longer has that axiom, then he won’t do it? So then he never had anything either, because from the outset it wasn’t there? Heaven forbid, I didn’t say he had nothing. I said that is serving God not for its own sake. Fine? What—Torah study not for its own sake is nothing? The Talmud says: “A person should always engage in Torah and commandments even not for their own sake, because from not for its own sake one comes to for its own sake.” Certainly. I’m not claiming it’s nothing. I’m claiming the foundation is missing. It’s floor two without floor one.

No—the person who has floor one, if he stops, he consciously decided it, he also admits that since he accepted it consciously, he cancels it consciously. So he has no floor one. Huh? Then he has no floor one. Even at the stage when he did keep the commandment, he didn’t have floor one? No—when he kept the commandments he did, and now he has gone off the religious path. What do you mean? Why should it work retroactively? “Regretting one’s earlier deeds”—that’s in tractate Kiddushin. A completely righteous person who rebelled lost his merits. The Talmud says he is not considered half-and-half. It says: if he regrets the former things—if he regrets the commitment by which he had been committed until now—then the Talmud innovates, and that is a big novelty, that he also loses the merits up to now. But if from now on he ceases to be committed, then he is half-and-half. You do have the possibility of severing yourself from commitment.

If it’s commitment at all, what do you mean? What other commitment is there? What do you mean other commitment? Commitment is something I decide on. If it’s not something I decide on, it’s valueless. If the Holy One had programmed us to do it, He would have achieved the greatest commitment possible—but then it would have no value. The angels—or, to distinguish, dogs—are completely committed. Whatever they are programmed for, that is what they do. But that has no value. Obviously such commitment does not replace choice. It is choice. It all begins with our choice. Only my claim is that when I choose to be committed, I don’t choose it in order to, or because of. I choose, period, because it is obvious to me that it is right. That’s my most basic axiom. But of course it is my choice. Someone can come and say: okay, I stopped, I think this is not right, and now I choose something else.

How do we say that on the one hand it’s an axiom and on the other hand it’s our choice? If I don’t see it as something that’s supposed to stand over me as… How? I… I would only delete the “how” at the start. I think that’s the only possibility. Only if there is no other reason is it our choice. If there is another reason, then is it my choice to go work because I have no livelihood? No, no—there’s some… We spoke in this whole chain of values that in the end there is one basic thing that is simply placed there, and that’s how one should act. Yes. But if someone doesn’t see that, why should it have been incumbent on him? Who said it was incumbent on him? If he doesn’t see it, then he isn’t there. So people shouldn’t even complain against him? He’s coerced by his own mind. Someone who doesn’t see it is coerced; there is no claim against him at all. The Radbaz writes in a responsum—we may talk about this too sometime. The Radbaz writes in a responsum that they asked him about some Jew who said Moses our teacher was a god. He was ultra-pious—even more pious than the others—not a heretic, but more righteous than the rest. So they sent a question to the Radbaz: what do we do with him? A heretic—what do we do with him? He said: leave him alone; he is coerced in his mind. What do you want? That’s what he really thinks. A heretic is someone who does it because of impulse. Meaning, if he truly thinks that way, he is coerced. He is mistaken—not that whatever anyone thinks is therefore correct. He’s mistaken. But he is coerced; that is what he really thinks. What do you want him to do?

“Long live our master, our teacher, and our rabbi.” Fine, right—they too are mistaken, same thing, for nothing. Yes, maybe what you’re sketching here is a form of serving God with very little room for maneuver. There are two deviations here. The first deviation is, say, social pressure. That story you told about the rabbi from Berdichev—I’m not sure he went to pray. I said, I said—we’re speaking typologically. I’m not talking about a concrete individual. No, no, there’s another reason to go pray even though you aren’t praying. I understand. I later made the correction, I already said it. I said that we’re all human beings, and obviously we do things from complex motives. For some of us social pressure is in a higher dose and decision in a lower one; for others the decision is stronger and the pressure is weaker. But all of us are mixed together.

And there’s the other side, which it’s very easy to fall into, and that’s fear because you really believe there is punishment for sins, or love because you see that there is… So that too is still a fall. So what remains for me if I want to serve God in a pure way? Just the truth? The meaning is only the truth. Correct. Everything else is not truth. What can you do? It’s not truth. Now again—we are all complex people and we all act from various motivations. It’s obvious to me that that wagon-driver also had an evil inclination, and didn’t only do it all for Heaven’s sake with the wagon repair. And the fact that you’re here in the middle—but in the first example, before you… Maybe that’s just because you obey out of habit, you didn’t even think about it, so who knows—maybe you have some internal conditioning and you won’t feel good without it. There can be many explanations. I’m not making claims about concrete individuals. Every concrete person has his own motivations. I’m talking about typological models. Let’s think about an ideal person who does it this way—if he does it this way, then that is serving God in its pure form.

Each of us knows people are complex, meaning they do things for many reasons. It sounds like there’s something in between someone who’s coerced and someone who chooses to act. It sounds like there’s something in the middle. There are only people coerced, and only people who do the right thing? Yes, of course. People who know it’s right and nevertheless their impulse causes them not to do it. Not that they think it is right not to do it, but rather impulse. Sin is always the result of impulse. If it isn’t the result of impulse, then it’s coercion. The opposite of what people usually think. People think that if sin is the result of impulse, then the person is coerced. Nonsense. If sin is the result of impulse, that means it’s sin. If it isn’t the result of impulse, then he is coerced—because that’s really what he thought, so what do you want?

But a person who also decides—does he decide to obey the impulse? A person decides… No, no, no “because.” Again you’re going back to “because.” I’m claiming the decision is not because of something else. It’s because that is obvious to me; because it is right in my eyes. That is the most basic decision—there is no “because.” “Because” means there is another floor beneath it. There is no floor. I’m talking about the first floor, the ground floor. Fine? And therefore there is no decision “because.” The decision is simply this—that’s what I decided. Not because of something else. Fine? And one has to understand in essence: all our normative decisions, all our normative commitments, by and large are built this way. When we ask why obey the law, there are lots of these explanations and others—read them if you want, it won’t help you at all. Believe me, it doesn’t convince anyone who doesn’t want to obey the law to obey it. So why do people really obey the law? Because it’s there. Not because of agreement and social contract and damages… There are people who do it because of damages, in a practical sense. But those who are truly committed do it because they made a decision to accept this thing as an obligation.

Now here—and this brings me to another remark made earlier—the question is whether something like this is not idolatry. And I think in this sense one must be very careful. This is a fine line. Again, I don’t want to become a kind of thought police, where people go out afterward checking themselves all the time to see whether they are idolaters. But if you think I’m right at all—then I say… Does anyone else think like you? Everyone who is right thinks like me. It may be that the set of people who are right is empty. Anyone else? Maybe Maimonides. What? Maimonides, Leibowitz, Spinoza…

So I want to say: there really is another implication here that came up—the question whether when I do what the policeman tells me—someone asked that earlier—because I truly think, those righteous people I mentioned, that they do it not out of fear of punishment but out of obligation—whether that isn’t idolatry. It’s not a simple question. In my view it’s not simple. Meaning, if you accept upon yourself commitment to another normative system—state law, the moral system, whatever it may be besides the Torah system—and you understand that it’s another system, then there is some kind of duality here. Because you are essentially accepting two gods, two authorities, upon yourself. And that god doesn’t have to have a bodily form, as is well known; idolatry too can be without bodily form, not only the Holy One. Meaning, if I serve an entity that has no bodily form but is an entity that is not the Holy One—something else—that too is idolatry. The constitution. What is the constitution? Someone who worships the constitution of the state. The constitution, yes.

So I’m saying: “the law of the kingdom is law”—no, that’s exactly where I’m going. Exactly, exactly. Meaning, if you understand that this too you do because of commitment to the Holy One—and right now I don’t care whether it’s halakhic obligation or Torah obligation—but the Holy One is what stands at the base of that commitment, then there is no problem at all. If not, I really don’t know. I’ve been debating this for many years. Is commitment to morality, for example—someone like Leibowitz, who argued that morality is an atheistic category… Now people misunderstood and thought that because of that he thought one need not be moral. That’s not true. He thought one should be moral as a human being, not as a Jew. Meaning, that too gets understood exactly like “the law of the kingdom is law.” You may think it lies outside Torah, but it is something that by definition the Holy One commands us to do. Fine—I have no problem with that. That is called Torah. That’s why I say: Torah does not mean a collection of clauses in the Shulchan Arukh or in Maimonides. Torah means—if from my perspective this comes from the Holy One, if I think the Holy One expects this of me. If so, then of course there’s no problem at all.

But if there is something I conceive of as an obligation—not one that brings me some utility, not love and fear—but I serve it, accept it upon myself as a god, in the sense that whatever it says, I do, and this does not come from the will of God, then in my opinion there is a concern here of associating another power. And I’m speaking also, for example—just a moment—about moral obligation, which people naturally take to be obvious. What do you mean—we’re human beings, of course there has to be moral obligation. Yes, but if moral obligation is not connected in us to fulfilling the will of God, but is an atheistic category as Leibowitz said, then I think there is a problem of duality here. Because in the end you are taking on another god. True, the moral god is not some concrete being; it’s not a personal god. There isn’t some specific someone or something that you worship. Fine—you worship an idea, a principle. That is a god without bodily form. So I’m somewhat uncertain about this because it’s a harsh statement, but I think at least on the philosophical level this borders on serving in partnership with another power.

A natural intuition—if a person understands that he thinks this is the right thing, yes? You’re saying that’s idolatry? It depends. If he thinks it’s the right thing in the sense that the Holy One expects this of me when He created me with this natural feeling, then there is no problem. But if he thinks: no, it’s unrelated; the Holy One wants from me the 613 commandments and the rabbinic commandments and so on, and besides that I am also a human being, and as a human being I am obligated to morality. If there’s a contradiction—like sacrificing offerings, that’s not moral. Kant—the categorical imperative of Kant, yes. Kant goes to the categorical imperative. The categorical imperative says nothing, because the question is why you are obligated to the categorical imperative. Kant himself speaks of morality as proof for the existence of the Holy One, because without Him there is no morality. So he too understands that the fact that we formulated the categorical imperative does not mean we are obligated by it. Okay, we formulated it—and now why do it? Because the Holy One expects us to do it. So if you are committed to morality, there is no problem with that—on the contrary, I think there is a problem with someone who is not committed. But you have to understand that this thing is part of God’s will for you. Otherwise there is, I think, some kind of duality here.

But then one has to explain that the Holy One wants something from every person simply insofar as he is a human being—that the Holy One wants something from every person simply insofar as he is a human being, even if he is not Jewish. Obviously. Is there any doubt about that? The seven Noahide commandments—what do you mean? And in the United States there’s this whole thing of constitutionalism. Meaning, everyone says this isn’t the constitution because our forefathers didn’t think… That’s idolatry. Right, that’s idolatry—unless you think the Founding Fathers are some kind of representatives of God’s will. I don’t know exactly; there are Puritans who might think that, I don’t know.

But it comes out from this that the atheist who is committed, of course, to morality is an idolater. Correct—at least on the conceptual level. Again, I’ll say: there’s something here… By the way, in my opinion the atheist who is committed… Look, there’s someone over there on the right who’s been pointing for a long time. Yes, the atheist—I’ll come back to him in just a second, sorry, I didn’t notice. The atheist who is committed to morality—in my humble opinion, in most cases—is misreading himself. He is committed to it because he understands that the Holy One expects it. He just hasn’t articulated it. It isn’t conscious for him. Without that there is no morality. Fine, we’ll talk about that when we talk about morality. That’s another topic, sorry.

Where do secular Jews fit into this picture? Meaning, those who are committed to a framework—are they committed to the illusion of Judaism? They aren’t committed to anything. They’re just… They’re not committed to the halakhic system of Judaism. They aren’t committed to anything. They just want to be here because they’re Jews and they feel connected. That’s all. Give them some nice experience. Fine. That’s not commitment; it’s nothing. You don’t see them as committed? Explicitly not. So why do they remain in Israel? Because they want it. Ask them. Because chocolate pudding is cheaper here. Because they want it. Because they feel connected. Why does a person remain in his family home? Because the Holy One told him to stay? No—because he feels connected there, so he stays there.

But what about the coerced ones by your definition? What? If they’re coerced? Certainly, yes. About that maybe we’ll talk with all those categories who have no share in the world to come because they’re listed in Sanhedrin—except that they’re coerced. What you’re saying is they’re coerced. Only they’re not coerced. If they were coerced they would have a share in the world to come, or at least they might. It’s not the same thing. As for the world to come, I don’t understand these things. So that—yes, maybe in another meeting—I’ll talk about how we relate to various kinds of heretics, coerced people, secular Jews, “a child captured among the gentiles.” What is the meaning of the things I said here, even though I still have more planned on this issue. So we’ll see. Maybe I’ll continue it next time or afterward.

But this is a lifestyle of commandments. It’s commitment to what the Holy One said—what do you mean? A lifestyle of commandments is part of what the Holy One said. If he chooses for himself what he wants, then he isn’t committed. That’s not called being committed. If someone picks one commandment—say, all the odd-numbered ones, from one to 613, he keeps all the odd-numbered ones—then he’s not committed; he chose what he wanted. That’s not called commitment. That’s why a convert who converts but does not accept one out of the 613 commandments is not a convert; he is a gentile. Religious commitment means the whole package. You accept it because it’s there. You don’t check.

After all, what is that whole midrash that describes how the Holy One went around to the nations and offered them the Torah? He said to them—they asked Him, what’s written in it? He said: “Do not steal.” They said: no, that doesn’t suit us. He came to others and said: “Do not murder.” Doesn’t suit us. He came to Israel and they said: “We will do and we will hear.” Then that heretic says to Rava: “Hasty nation, who put your mouths before your ears”—what are you doing jumping right to “we will do and we will hear”? Check the merchandise first. What’s going on there? Exactly this story. “We will do and we will hear” is accepting as a god. I don’t inspect what He said and what it leads to. Rather, I have a clear commitment: if He said it, that is what obligates me. Period.

All the other nations were willing to keep the Torah like any ordinary person. Meaning, they were willing to see what it gives us, whether it suits us or not, and then they’d observe it. But here this is accidental obedience. It is not essential obedience. You happen to be synchronized with what the Holy One wants. That’s the best example there is. What? That this proves—what you said. Exactly, yes.

And a secular person who is loyal to the state—that’s idolatry? What the Haredim always say, which sounds very funny. But he is coerced. Coerced, right—but still. See, there’s something about this statement of the Haredim that looks very frightening at first glance. In the book responsa Pe’at Sadek by one of those zealots from Haifa—what was his name? Munk or Rosenthal, one of those there. He wrote responsa Pe’at Sadek, some anti-Zionist zealot. He has a responsum there on whether one may hide in the parliament of the heretics when army soldiers are chasing him, or whether that prohibition is one of those where one must be killed rather than transgress—meaning, it is forbidden to enter the Knesset to hide there, even if you die. Meaning, the idea is that this is idolatry.

Now, ironically, that responsum always amused me—but ironically, what I’m saying now means there is something real in it. I’m not claiming this is the halakhah, because I don’t think it is correct that commitment to the legal system in Israel is idolatry. I can see it as the will of God too. But in principle, on the conceptual level—say if you’re secular—then it would be a case of “be killed rather than transgress.” Meaning, if you’re religious then it’s permitted. That’s basically how one might formulate it. That’s a good point to stop on.