Lecture dated 18 Cheshvan 5767

Table of Contents

• Aveirah lishmah as a conceptual and methodological problem
• Sodom, Lot, and his daughters: the biblical background and the dilemma
• Rashi and Nachmanides on the motives of Lot’s daughters
• The Sages in Nazir: a commandment on the daughters’ side and a transgression on Lot’s side
• Ammon and Moab: the reward for refined speech and the punishment for origin
• Sabbath 4a: “Sin so that your fellow may benefit” and the reason-based exceptions
• Tosafot on taking bread out of the oven: impracticality as a halakhic argument
• Defining aveirah lishmah and distinguishing it from laws of override
• Nazir 23a: “A transgression for its own proper sake is great” and Rashi’s reading of the Talmudic passage
• Interpretive attempts to narrow the concept
• Tools “broader than Jewish law” and the cigarette example: non-halakhic legitimacy
• Sefer Ha-Ikkarim and the Netziv: reward for intention versus conditions on deriving pleasure
• The text’s conclusion: extreme circumstances as the basis for legitimacy

Summary

General Overview

The text presents the concept of aveirah lishmah as a complicated topic that at first seems impossible to handle with ordinary halakhic tools, because from a halakhic standpoint “it’s simply forbidden, period,” and yet the Sages do relate to certain situations as if they contain the value of a commandment even when the act itself is defined as a transgression. The central example is Lot’s daughters, who acted מתוך a perception that the world had been destroyed and therefore “there is no man in the land to come to us,” and because of that chose an incestuous act in order to “preserve seed from our father.” In the words of the Sages, a complex mix of reward and punishment surrounds that act. Later, additional Talmudic passages are brought in (bread in the oven on the Sabbath, the rule “Do we tell a person: sin so that your fellow may benefit?”) to show that Jewish law itself sometimes operates with exceptions, reasoning, and non-formal boundaries. The discussion reaches the root issue: how can an act that is a “transgression” receive Torah legitimacy, and what are the conditions and tools for determining such a thing according to the interpretations of Rashi, Tosafot, Nachmanides, homiletic authors, Sefer Ha-Ikkarim, and the Netziv.

Aveirah lishmah as a conceptual and methodological problem

The text states that the concept of “aveirah lishmah” is “a problematic topic,” and even problematic in terms of what tools one could use to deal with it, because ordinary halakhic tools end with “forbidden” and leave no room for discussion. The text presents an internal tension within the term itself: if Jewish law permits a situation of conflicting values, then it looks like a “commandment,” not a “transgression for its own proper sake”; and if Jewish law forbids it, then it is unclear how it could be positive. The text distinguishes between “laws of override,” such as saving a life overriding the Sabbath or a positive commandment overriding a prohibition, and “aveirah lishmah,” emphasizing that aveirah lishmah apparently belongs specifically in a place where “there is no halakhic rule that permits it at all.”

Sodom, Lot, and his daughters: the biblical background and the dilemma

The text opens with the verses about the destruction of Sodom and the rescue of Lot, and brings the account of Lot and his daughters moving into a cave and the daughters’ decision: “Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, and preserve seed from our father.” The text lingers over the names of the sons, “Moab” and “Ben-Ammi,” and presents a rabbinic distinction between a more explicit name and a “more delicate” one, weighing the value implications of that distinction. The text sets up the episode as an extreme dilemma: the daughters think the entire world has been destroyed “as in the generation of the Flood,” and so they see the continuation of humanity as dependent on a transgression. The text raises the question whether in such a case the answer is just “forbidden, end of story,” or whether there is some additional dimension that complicates the picture.

Rashi and Nachmanides on the motives of Lot’s daughters

The text quotes Rashi on “and there is no man in the land” as saying that the daughters “thought that the whole world had been destroyed as in the generation of the Flood,” and on “our father is old” as expressing the concern that if not now, “perhaps he will die or cease fathering children.” The text brings Nachmanides, who presents the act as an attempt to do “the deed appropriate for us,” מתוך the belief that “perhaps God will have mercy and we will bear a male and a female, and the world will continue through them,” and that their rescue was not for nothing. The text adds from Nachmanides that the daughters “were modest and did not want to tell their father that he should marry them,” and that he mentions the possibility that among the descendants of Noah a daughter was not forbidden to her father, or else that such a thing was “extremely disgraceful” in those generations.

The Sages in Nazir: a commandment on the daughters’ side and a transgression on Lot’s side

The text brings the Talmudic passage in Nazir as the basis for the Sages’ attitude toward the act: “They intended it for the sake of a commandment… he intended it for the sake of a transgression,” and emphasizes that the daughters are defined as “righteous” and Lot as “wicked.” The text quotes Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korcha’s statement, “A person should always hasten to perform a commandment,” and connects it to the reward of the older daughter, who preceded the younger one by “four generations in Israel to royalty.” The text quotes the rabbinic exposition on the vocalization of “when she rose” in order to establish that Lot was aware when she got up, and therefore there was something he should have done on the second night. It concludes that the Talmud portrays Lot as morally responsible, in contrast to the daughters’ intention for the sake of a commandment.

Ammon and Moab: the reward for refined speech and the punishment for origin

The text brings the Mishnah, “An Ammonite and a Moabite are forbidden, and their prohibition is forever,” as the negative side connected to the act, and presents this as punishment for the transgressive aspect on Lot’s side. The text cites Rabbi Yohanan’s statement that the Holy One, blessed be He, does not withhold even “the reward for refined speech,” and details the difference between Moab and Ben-Ammi: “Do not harass Moab… war is what is forbidden, but we may cause them distress,” whereas with Ammon, “we may not even cause them distress at all.” The text thus presents a double picture, in which the very same episode contains both punishment and reward, and describes this as the coexistence of “a transgression on one side and a commandment on the other.”

Sabbath 4a: “Sin so that your fellow may benefit” and the reason-based exceptions

The text brings the Talmudic passage in tractate Sabbath about someone who stuck bread to the wall of an oven on the Sabbath, and the question whether “they permitted him to remove it before he comes to liability for a sin-offering,” along with Rav Sheila’s interpretation that the case is one of inadvertence and the permission concerns “others.” The text quotes Rav Sheshet’s objection, “Do we tell a person: sin so that your fellow may benefit?” as a clear assumption even without an explicit source. The text emphasizes that Tosafot bring examples where we do in fact tell a person to transgress for another’s benefit, such as “a commandment involving the many is different,” in the case of Rabbi Eliezer who freed his slave in order to complete a quorum, and also the idea of a “lighter prohibition” to prevent a “greater prohibition” in certain circumstances. From this, the text concludes that the rule operates with limited force, and at times on the basis of human reasoning.

Tosafot on taking bread out of the oven: impracticality as a halakhic argument

The text focuses on Tosafot’s difficulty: if the case is one of deliberate action leading to stoning, then “it is obvious he will not listen to us if we forbid him,” and it uses this to show that Tosafot assume that a legal position no reasonable person would be able to live by is not accepted as the plain meaning of the discussion. The text sharpens the point that the consideration here goes far, because it incorporates the limits of human capacity into the understanding of the Talmudic passage, and presents this as proof that even within halakhic thinking there is recognition of “extreme” and “pathological” situations in which the ordinary demand cannot stand. The text compares this to the tension in the story of Lot’s daughters, where the ruling “forbidden” does not capture the whole picture given their perception of reality: “without this, humanity becomes extinct.”

Defining aveirah lishmah and distinguishing it from laws of override

The text defines aveirah lishmah as a situation in which “a very high value stands on the scales,” and in order to act for it “I have to commit a transgression,” interpreting “lishmah” as meaning “for the sake of Heaven.” The text states that examples like saving a life on the Sabbath or a positive commandment overriding a prohibition are not “aveirah lishmah,” because they are part of the halakhic rules of decision, whereas aveirah lishmah is precisely the case where the act remains a “transgression” from a halakhic standpoint and yet it is still claimed to contain something positive. The text asks why, if the situation is extreme enough, it does not simply become fully permitted in halakhic terms, and presents the lack of clarity about “where the line is, when one decides, and who decides” as a fundamental problem.

Nazir 23a: “A transgression for its own proper sake is great” and Rashi’s reading of the Talmudic passage

The text brings Rav Nahman bar Yitzhak’s statement, “A transgression for its own proper sake is greater than a commandment not for its own proper sake,” the difficulty raised from the rule, “A person should always engage in Torah and commandments even not for their own proper sake,” and the Talmud’s conclusion, “Rather, say: like a commandment not for its own proper sake.” The text points to the difficulty in the flow of the Talmudic passage and suggests a reading based on Rashi: at first the subject of the statement is the problem of a commandment done not for its own proper sake as a deficiency, and that reading is rejected because “a person should always engage” proves that a commandment done not for its own proper sake is still desirable. The text concludes that the final point is that aveirah lishmah is presented as a positive act in a practical sense—“this too has to be done”—and it brings Yael, the wife of Heber the Kenite, as an example, since she receives the blessing “Most blessed of women in the tent shall she be,” corresponding to “Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah.”

Interpretive attempts to narrow the concept

The text describes how “most medieval authorities (Rishonim) and later authorities (Acharonim)” try to interpret aveirah lishmah in an “orthodox” way, so that it refers to an act that is really permitted or is not truly a transgression. As an example, it cites a homiletic interpretation in Derashot Ibn Shuib of “In all your ways know Him, even in matters of transgression,” taking it as referring to the use of human drives in permitted contexts such as eating. The text presents this interpretation as especially far-fetched in the context of Yael and Lot’s daughters, because in the Talmudic passages themselves we are dealing with sexual prohibitions that are defined as transgressions, and yet the Sages still speak of “for the sake of a commandment” and of reward. The text declares that one cannot “escape the fact” that there is here a legitimacy granted to actual transgressions in certain situations, even if the Talmud does not explicitly connect Lot’s daughters to the phrase “aveirah lishmah.”

Tools “broader than Jewish law” and the cigarette example: non-halakhic legitimacy

The text states that, like it or not, there are “tools broader than halakhic tools,” because in halakhic terms the act remains “a transgression,” and yet there are situations in which “you have to do it.” The text formulates this as the claim that the will of the Torah is not exhausted by Jewish law alone, and gives an analogy of a doctor friend asked about smoking a cigarette in an advertisement: medically the answer is “no,” but in a broader sense of economic considerations the answer may be “yes,” even though it remains unhealthy and is chosen for other reasons. The text uses this analogy to argue that aveirah lishmah remains a transgression “according to Jewish law” but may be justified “according to the Torah” from a broader perspective of repairing the world or responding to extreme situations.

Sefer Ha-Ikkarim and the Netziv: reward for intention versus conditions on deriving pleasure

The text presents Sefer Ha-Ikkarim as seeming to argue that any act done with the intention of serving Heaven is positive, but then clarifies that what he means is that there is “reward for the intention,” even though the act is a transgression and the person “will also get hit for it.” The text presents the Netziv (in Meshiv Davar) as emphasizing the prohibition on deriving pleasure in the case of aveirah lishmah, and quotes his language that there are “two conditions,” one of them being that one not derive pleasure from that transgression, bringing the Talmud’s difficulty about Yael: “But wasn’t she deriving pleasure from the transgression?” The text clarifies in the Netziv that the act can be required “because of saving Jewish lives,” but if she had derived pleasure, “she would not have been praised at all.” It concludes that the Netziv does not make the permissibility of the act itself depend on the absence of pleasure, but rather makes the praise and the purity of the act depend on that, while the decision itself arises from the circumstances and not only from the motivation.

The text’s conclusion: extreme circumstances as the basis for legitimacy

The text concludes with the claim that there are “extreme circumstances that authorize us to commit transgressions,” and formulates a distinction between “permitted according to Jewish law” and “permitted according to the Torah,” such that the act remains “a transgression” and that is why it is called aveirah lishmah. The text weaves into this Tosafot on removing the bread from the oven as an example of the idea that “it is impossible to demand” that a person comply with a rabbinic prohibition when his life is at stake, and Lot’s daughters as an example of how their perceived reality turned the act into “a matter of commandment” in the eyes of the Sages. The text emphasizes that the practical question of the boundaries of such decisions remains open and dangerous, but the framework it lays out is that within the Torah there exists a layer broader than formal halakhic decision-making, a layer that in certain situations grants force to an act that still remains defined as a transgression.

The topic is a transgression for its own sake—for the sake of Heaven. A problematic topic. It’s problematic even to think about what tools we should use to deal with it at all. With a concept like a transgression for its own sake—should we deal with it using halakhic tools, non-halakhic tools? How can you deal with transgressions using halakhic tools? From a halakhic standpoint it’s simply forbidden, that’s it. What is there to discuss? A commandment that comes through a transgression? What? Isn’t a transgression for its own sake really a commandment for its own sake? In a moment, in a moment, we’ll define it. The Talmud speaks about a transgression for its own sake. The question is what it means by that. So that’s our topic today. Let’s start with the verses, which are what actually lead us to discuss this this week. There’s the story of the destruction of Sodom, and the verses describe it this way: “And the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven. And He overturned those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and the vegetation of the ground. But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt. And Abraham arose early in the morning to the place where he had stood before the Lord. And he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of the plain, and saw—and behold, the smoke of the land went up like the smoke of a furnace. And it came to pass, when God destroyed the cities of the plain, that God remembered Abraham, and sent Lot out of the overthrow, when He overthrew the cities in which Lot dwelt. And Lot went up out of Zoar and dwelt in the mountain, and his two daughters with him, for he was afraid to dwell in Zoar”—he saw that everything around him had been destroyed, so he was afraid—“and he dwelt in a cave, he and his two daughters. And the firstborn said to the younger: Our father is old, and there is not a man on earth to come to us in the manner of all the earth. Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, and preserve offspring from our father. And they made their father drink wine that night, and the firstborn came and lay with her father; and he did not know when she lay down or when she arose. And it came to pass on the next day, that the firstborn said to the younger: Behold, I lay with my father last night; let us make him drink wine tonight also, and go in, lie with him, that we may preserve offspring from our father. And they made their father drink wine that night also, and the younger arose and lay with him, and he did not know when she lay down or when she arose. Thus both the daughters of Lot became pregnant by their father. And the firstborn bore a son, and called his name Moab; he is the father of Moab to this day”—Moab is of course a hint in the name, from father—“and the younger, she also bore a son, and called his name Ben-Ammi; he is the father of the children of Ammon to this day.” Yes, Ben-Ammi is a slightly more refined expression. She doesn’t say outright that it was from father, but “from my people,” yes, Ben-Ammi. It’s a bit more delicate, and the Sages even find differences between the names: Moab and Ben-Ammi. Moab puts the transgression more out on the table than Ben-Ammi, and therefore we really do see a certain difference between them. Is there a transgression inside the name Ben-Ammi? What? No, not at all. Only someone who knows the reality might take it as a hint. And that’s why it’s indeed seen in a somewhat more positive light. What actually happened here? Why did Lot’s daughters really make this decision? Seemingly they simply willingly decided to commit a transgression—incest. It’s actually a question whether father and daughter, for descendants of Noah, might be permitted, because there’s the question whether she was really considered his daughter—most sexual relations are attributed to the husband—so it’s a major question why there is even a transgression here from a halakhic standpoint, because it may be that father and daughter is permitted for descendants of Noah. But all right, the fact that the Talmud treats this as a transgression can be explained in various ways; I’m not going into that here. For example, that in Lot’s case there really was a presumption that most sexual relations are attributed to the husband—he did know these were his daughters. There is here… So Lot’s two daughters basically decide willingly to violate a sexual prohibition in order to bear children. What is this? Pure wickedness? Crime for the sake of Heaven? Evil impulse they couldn’t withstand? What are we talking about here? Why did they make this decision? The verse itself already hints at it—look: it says, “And the firstborn said to the younger: Our father is old, and there is not a man on earth to come to us in the manner of all the earth.” What does that mean? They thought the entire world had been destroyed, like in the Flood. Look at Rashi—I photocopied Rashi here: “Our father is old”—and if not now, when? Perhaps he will die or cease fathering children. “And there is not a man on earth”—they thought the whole world had been destroyed as in the generation of the Flood. In other words, they had escaped from the city, they saw that everything around them was destroyed, all five cities of the plain had been destroyed, and they were certain that this was basically another Flood—that the world had been destroyed. Whoever remained was only their father and the two of them, that’s all. Like Noah’s ark. And now they are really facing a genuine dilemma. Think of yourselves—someone imagines himself in such a situation. We are now in a situation where there is not another human being in the universe. The only ones left are the two daughters and the father, that’s it. Now we have to decide: should we commit a grave transgression, a sexual prohibition, something ugly, but by means of it humanity will continue, human existence will continue—or not? Or maybe, I don’t know, a prohibition is a prohibition, “What have you to do with the hidden things of the Merciful One,” as they say. A prohibition is a prohibition, and if it’s forbidden then you don’t do it. So before judging this as a prohibition—and before Noah, as I said earlier—in Sanhedrin it seems there is no prohibition of a father with his daughter, but the Sages say there is a prohibition here. How to explain that? There are various ways. I mentioned one possibility: perhaps in Lot’s case there was indeed a presumption because it’s a forbidden relation not to become accustomed to—no, sorry—in Lot’s case, because he was a civilized person. A similar problem also existed in the generation… right, and there too: “the sons of God came to the daughters of man”—the sons of God to the daughters of man—so the question is who the sons of God are, and in the midrashim of the Sages they solve that problem there. There’s also the question whether they married their sister. Regarding Jacob’s sons and daughters, it’s written that the tribes married their sister, so there are those who say each one married a sister from a different mother—however they solve various problems there. Yes, this exists in other places too. But bottom line, it’s clear that here the Sages see the matter as a transgression, whatever the explanation may be. We’ll see that in a moment, but I’m just anticipating it to give the context. So it’s no longer such blatant wickedness as it looks at first glance. It’s a real dilemma. Meaning, the question of what to do in such a situation is a hard one. I don’t know what the correct answer is, but it’s a hard question. In other words, it isn’t so simple to say: criminality, plain and simple—the impulse overtook them and they couldn’t control it, that’s all. There is some kind of dilemma here where all of humanity’s continued existence depends on this transgression—a transgression on which all human existence depends. Without committing this transgression, humanity is destroyed. What do you do in such a situation? So do you trust in God? I don’t know—maybe. We need to examine it. That’s our topic. In practice, then, if we put ourselves in Lot’s daughters’ shoes and are in such a situation, this is the kind of dilemma that seemingly has a very simple halakhic answer: forbidden. “What have you to do with the hidden things of the Merciful One?” The Holy One forbade it, the Torah forbids it, finished. What’s it to you? The Holy One will do what He sees fit; you do what is placed upon you. Seemingly. And maybe not only seemingly—maybe in practice too. And still, it turns out that this is not the full picture. Even if from a halakhic standpoint the answer is simple, there may be dimensions here that are not halakhic, and those non-halakhic dimensions can somewhat complicate the picture. Before I get to this concept of a transgression for its own sake, which is where this takes us, because this is really some kind of transgression for the sake of Heaven, yes? Some transgression that has a positive goal, an elevated goal, not just an impulsive transgression and the like. Before we get to that, I want to bring a somewhat different example. I won’t go into it in great detail. The Talmud in tractate Sabbath—only in order to illustrate something—this concerns us in two respects, even though it isn’t itself the topic. It’s a brief introduction. The Talmud discusses there: “Rav Bibi bar Abaye asked: If one stuck bread to the oven wall, did they permit him to remove it before he comes to liability for a sin-offering, or did they not permit him?” Yes? Someone stuck bread to the oven wall on the Sabbath. Now the question is: if the bread gets baked on the Sabbath, he violates a stoning-level prohibition—if he did it intentionally, that is. So now, if I remove the bread from the oven, then it won’t get baked and I won’t come to liability for stoning. If I don’t remove it, then the bread will stay there until it’s baked, and in the end I violate a prohibition punishable by stoning, or a sin-offering if it was unintentional. So the question is whether I’m allowed to remove the bread so that I won’t come to liability for a sin-offering. The act of sticking it in, I already did; what depended on me I basically already did. Rav Aha bar Abaye said to Ravina: What are the circumstances? The Talmud starts clarifying the case. If you say it was unintentional and he didn’t remember—never mind, I won’t enter all the details because there’s a lot to discuss there and it’s not our topic. I’m skipping to the middle. Rav Sheila said: Actually it was unintentional, and whom did they permit? Others. Meaning, it’s talking about an unintentional act, so if he himself did it unintentionally and doesn’t know it’s forbidden, then who will remove it? That’s just a practical question, not a halakhic one. So they answer: others. We know he stuck bread in the oven, we know it’s forbidden; the question is whether we are allowed, in order to save him—are we allowed to remove the bread? Rav Sheshet objected: Do we tell a person, “Sin, so that your fellow may benefit”? Do we tell a person to sin so that his fellow can be saved from transgression, so that your fellow may benefit? Of course that’s a rhetorical question, and the answer is no. In other words, there is some assumption here that such a thing is unthinkable. By the way, no source is brought for this principle. No source. It is simply obvious to the Talmud, without any source, that it is impossible for me to sin so that my fellow may benefit. There is no such thing. Therefore the Talmud rejects that and says: rather, Rav Ashi said: actually it is intentional, before he comes… In short, there are discussions afterward—did they permit him, did they permit others? Those are already practical questions, how does this happen if it was unintentional? For us, this is the important point: do we tell a person, “Sin, so that your fellow may benefit”? Within this, Tosafot here on page 4, a famous Tosafot: “Do we tell a person, ‘Sin, so that your fellow may benefit’?” And he brings several examples where we do in fact see that we do say this. We do tell a person to sin so that his fellow may benefit, in several situations, and all the medieval authorities (Rishonim) discuss this, comment on it; there are parallel Tosafot as well. You can see that the Masoret HaShas points to parallel Tosafot. They give various answers. “A learned associate would prefer to commit a minor prohibition rather than let an ignoramus commit a major prohibition”—that’s a Talmud in Eruvin. If a learned associate commits a minor prohibition in order to prevent an ignoramus from committing a grave prohibition, then certainly that is possible. So Tosafot says: that’s not similar. It’s not similar because there the ignoramus commits the prohibition because of the learned associate. I am the one who caused him to commit the prohibition. In such a situation, of course I am obligated to sin in order to save him from transgression. But if it’s a case like ours—someone stuck bread in the oven, not because of me—and now the question is whether I’m allowed to sin in order to save him from transgression, then it says that’s forbidden. But later Tosafot brings more examples. For example, Tosafot says, where it is a public commandment, then yes. Rabbi Eliezer freed his slave, even though it is written “of them you shall work forever”; it is forbidden to free slaves; anyone who frees his slave violates a positive commandment. Rabbi Eliezer freed his slave in order to complete a quorum. Why? Do we tell a person, “Sin, so that your fellow may benefit”? Or so that you yourself may benefit—it doesn’t matter, whether you or your fellow. So the Talmud says: a public commandment is different. What does that mean? For the sake of a quorum, which is a public commandment, it is permitted, permitted to commit a transgression. In other words, there are circumstances in which Jewish law itself allows us to commit transgressions for the sake of a public commandment. There are other circumstances too, for example a commandment… There are those who infer here from the wording of the Talmud in Eruvin that I quoted earlier—Tosafot here doesn’t say this, but the parallel Tosafot do—that a learned associate is prepared to commit a minor prohibition so that the ignoramus will not commit a major prohibition. In other words, in situations where the prohibition I’m saving him from is very, very severe, then I am allowed to commit a minor prohibition. Where exactly is the line, how much, what counts as “major”? That doesn’t matter right now. But in situations where the scales are not very balanced, then too one may sin so that his fellow may benefit. This is a dispute among the medieval authorities here. A pursuer—not that I’m saving the pursued, but that I’m saving the pursuer from his own transgression, from the grave transgression he is about to commit, and then I violate a prohibition of injury or I don’t know what, maybe even murder. What injury? Maybe even murder. Meaning, if I can save him by injuring one of his limbs, and if not then I kill him. Right? Either way I am doing some kind of transgression. The question is whether in that case it is really done in order to save the pursuer from transgression. Let’s assume so—if it’s to save the pursued, that’s already a different case. What is the conceptual understanding of the law of the pursuer? It isn’t just a question of case. Rashi in Sanhedrin understands, or so it appears, that it is to save the pursuer from transgression. But that’s very hard to understand, so it’s hard for me to make use of it here, because even an incompetent pursuer I kill. A deaf-mute, an incompetent person, or a minor who is pursuing someone to kill him. So what do I do? I kill him. Because of “do not stand idly by your neighbor’s blood” or something like that. Fine, so you see that the law of the pursuer applies even where the pursuer is not committing a transgression in a meaningful sense; there is no transgression from which to save him. So that Rashi is problematic, and we won’t get into it here. But it’s also not a transgression to kill the pursuer. Fine, but you say: why is it not a transgression? Because I am saving him from a greater transgression. So apply that everywhere. Who said? Maybe precisely because of that, here too it would not be a transgression—because in the end I’m doing it to save him from a grave transgression. That itself is what makes it not a transgression. In the case of a pursuer it’s exactly from a verse. Fine, but whether the law of pursuer is from a verse or not is also a big question. “Then you shall cut off her hand”—but that’s not clear at all. There is some logic and there is a verse. In short, pursuer is a separate topic and we won’t deal with it here. In any case, from Tosafot here we see various considerations that he raises—and these have halakhic force—that this rule, that we do not tell a person to sin so that his fellow may benefit, is a limited rule. In other words, there are situations in which we do tell a person to sin so that his fellow may benefit. So we already see here some sort of situation in which we exercise some kind of discretion about whether to commit transgressions. In other words, there are clashes of values where we can decide to commit a transgression. Now notice: this is without a source. In the case of the pursuer you can bring me a verse, but here there is no source, no verse. No verse is brought saying when it is permitted to commit a transgression in order to save another from transgression and when it is not. What is a grave transgression and what is a minor one? How do we know that a public commandment is different? Why, for a public commandment, is it permitted to commit a transgression? Where is that written? For all of these there is no source at all. It’s a decision based on reasoning. How can one decide on the basis of reasoning that it is permitted to commit a transgression? In other words, these sorts of calculations—weighing transgressions against commandments—what happened to “What have you to do with the hidden things of the Merciful One”? What does that mean? If this is a transgression, then you don’t do it. Whatever will happen, the Holy One will deal with. Why are you now getting involved and committing transgressions with no source, no verse, no anything, simply because you decided it’s preferable? Does a person have such discretion? Another point: here in Tosafot a very interesting consideration arises—again, entirely from reasoning. In fact, he raises it as an objection to the Talmud, but it seems so obvious to him that it cannot be otherwise. Everything we’ve said concerns a prohibition punishable by stoning, yes? We are talking about the stage where the Talmud establishes the case as intentional. So in the case of an intentional act, notice what happens here. Intentionally I stuck bread in the oven. If it completes during the Sabbath, I incur a stoning-level prohibition; they will execute me. Now the Talmud discusses whether I am allowed to go and remove the bread from the oven, which is only a rabbinic prohibition. Removing bread is considered a skill, not labor; it is a rabbinic prohibition. So the Talmud discusses whether I am allowed to violate a rabbinic prohibition when, on the other side of the scale, my life is at stake—they will stone me if it happens. This is an impossible situation. Would any of you stand firm in that? Suppose the Talmud were to say that it is forbidden to remove it. Forbidden to remove it—but you know that tomorrow morning the court will stone you. So the bread will be baked, and because of the rabbinic prohibition I won’t touch the bread? Seemingly formalists would come and say yes, that’s the law, rigidly: there is no counsel and no wisdom against God. Meaning, if that is the law, that is the law. And removing the bread is only a rabbinic prohibition. One could even ask: saving a life overrides everything—but all right, that’s not exactly relevant here. What does “saving a life” mean? It’s a transgression for which the court is commanded to kill you. It’s not that you happen to be in danger. So under the law of saving a life I’m not sure there’s an objection here. But listen to what Tosafot asks. Tosafot says: “And if you say: what kind of question is this, whether they permitted him to remove it? It is obvious that he will not listen to us if we forbid him.” Do you hear that? Tosafot says: what kind of discussion is this in the Talmud—whether they permitted him to remove it or not? On the side where it’s intentional, where they’re going to stone him—in the case of a sin-offering, no, but on the side where it’s intentional—what kind of discussion is that? If we forbid him, says Tosafot, would anyone listen to us? So what? We’re discussing the law—what difference does it make whether he’ll listen or not? I want to know the truth, not whether he’ll listen. I want to know the truth: is he allowed to remove it or forbidden to remove it? The fact that nobody would obey such a ruling—well, what can we do? We’re all human beings, people fail. But he committed a transgression; he was not allowed to do it. No—Tosafot assumes that if nobody would listen to us, then it certainly cannot be correct. There can’t even be a discussion about it. Notice, this is a far-reaching consideration. What? Yes, but that’s not a decree. Ah—in truth, here it actually is a decree, because removing it is only a rabbinic prohibition. Maybe, maybe. But I think there’s a deeper point here; he doesn’t explain it and I don’t understand. Because if he does listen to us, then he wouldn’t have intentionally done this in the first place. So he repented in the meantime. What, in one second he repented? Yes—what difference does it make? These are imagined situations; we are trying to clarify the law. It doesn’t matter right now how exactly it happened. The plain sense is that he did it intentionally, without witnesses, without warning. No—with witnesses and warning, everything. He is coming to be stoned. The Talmud establishes it as either intentional or unintentional. Intentional means intentional with witnesses and warning—that’s what intentional means. No, no—the Talmud says stoning. The Talmud says stoning. On the side where it’s intentional, we are speaking of a stoning-level prohibition. He is going to be stoned. And the Talmud is discussing whether he is permitted to save himself from stoning, or whether others may save him, by means of the rabbinic prohibition of removing the bread. No, the plain sense is that he committed an intentional transgression whose penalty is stoning. But the Talmud, Tosafot, doesn’t read the Talmud that way. Tosafot says that since the Talmud says stoning, therefore nobody would listen to us—unless Tosafot is imagining extremely God-fearing people who, even apart from the stoning, would be afraid of the prohibition itself, and therefore they would not remove the bread in order not to enter into the prohibition. Intentional means liable to stoning—that’s what intentional means. So this is what Tosafot says about it. Why say it’s not correct? You’re just repeating Tosafot’s objection. On the contrary, I don’t understand Tosafot’s objection. You’re repeating Tosafot’s objection—that is Tosafot’s objection. What are you talking about with this person? Will he listen to us? Will he listen now? Notice, what does “he won’t listen to us” mean? He didn’t listen to us before, and he won’t listen now either. Fine, but now he will listen? More than that—even if he repented in the middle, he still wouldn’t listen to us. He wouldn’t listen because—what, he’ll sacrifice his life over this? Fine, he’s righteous, he repented, he’ll never intentionally put bread in an oven on the Sabbath again. But will he sacrifice his life over this rabbinic prohibition? Is there any sane person who would obey such an instruction? That’s something extremely remote. A person would have to be a towering saint; it almost cannot happen. There are many laws like that. Like what? For example, your house is standing there burning and there is… no, no—in danger to life, you can extinguish it. Only for property you can’t. If there’s danger to life, you can extinguish. The house is burning, all your property is going up in flames, and you don’t extinguish it? You stand there saying, “Wow.” Okay, okay. That’s hard—but it’s not your life. You’re not going to die. There’s still a difference. By the way, there too, you know that in practice this is a law no one ever keeps, because they always identify some danger that somehow arises because of the situation, and therefore it can be extinguished. That’s how they handle it. I actually think this law should be written in the Code of Jewish Law with a note that this is its purpose—not that people should actually observe it. Really. Or for example if your hand is caught on the Sabbath. Okay, so I’m saying: yes, clearly some measure of self-sacrifice is required. But when a person says, “Tomorrow they’ll stone me if I don’t violate a rabbinic prohibition”—despite that, Tosafot says: this cannot be, no one would listen to such a thing. Even if he repented in the middle—not because he’s a criminal. If he’s a criminal then of course he won’t listen. I’m talking even about someone who is done with all that, he stopped being criminal. He was like Rabbi Elazar ben Dordaya—there are those who acquire their world in one moment. In an instant he repented. Now he is righteous. He still won’t listen to us. What righteous person would listen to us not to violate a rabbinic prohibition in order to save his own life? He’s going to be stoned. Simply “desecrate one Sabbath for him so that he may keep many Sabbaths.” What’s the problem? He’ll desecrate one Sabbath, remove the bread, and as a result he’ll be able to keep many Sabbaths. What’s wrong with that? There is even a halakhic consideration that supports him. He won’t listen to us, says Tosafot. So what does that mean? Tosafot says that if so, the Talmud cannot be discussing this. Why not? Because that cannot be the law. Why not? If the halakhic rule really says that it is forbidden now to remove the bread. The plain halakhic reasoning would say that even if it were itself a stoning-level prohibition, it would still be forbidden to remove the bread now. Why? Because the transgression—you already did it, it’s over. What does that have to do with now? So now a death penalty is hanging over you—so what? At the moment two possibilities stand before you: either commit a rabbinic prohibition or do nothing. What permission do you have to commit a rabbinic prohibition? What happened has happened. That is the dry halakhic calculation, if we ignore the fact that the person’s life is involved and so on. That’s usually how Jewish law works. As they constantly discuss, for example, autopsies. They do them so that doctors will learn and be able to save lives. And still, if there is no patient lying before you, it is forbidden to dissect the dead. Why? But this is saving life. No—if there is currently no sick person before me, then right now I cannot commit transgressions for that reason. This also relates to the topic of sinning so that your fellow may benefit. So the plain halakhic reasoning says yes, it is forbidden to remove the bread, and if you die afterward—what can be done? That’s what comes out; you baked yourself into this situation. But Tosafot says this as obvious. Notice: he asks against the Talmud, he doesn’t explain the Talmud. Why is this so obvious to him? Why? I think we need to sharpen what the issue is. How suddenly would he be exempt from stoning because someone removed the bread for him? Suppose, I don’t know, the oven suddenly goes out, water splashes on it not because of him, or it collapses and the bread doesn’t bake. He still did the… It’s like a person who shot at one person and hit another. No, in those situations he really is exempt. Jewish law exempts him from murder. But in terms of intent, he intended to kill, and he would be… We can wag our finger at him, but he isn’t liable to stoning. Yet he intentionally desecrated the Sabbath. Fine, “intentionally desecrating the Sabbath” is like “he intended to eat pork and lamb ended up in his hand.” Rava said: If he intended to eat pork and lamb ended up in his hand, as far as he was concerned he committed a transgression—but what happened? He’s not only wicked, he’s also unlucky. Meaning, he tries to commit transgressions and doesn’t succeed. So what? Does he deserve punishment? No. He doesn’t get lashes for pork. What? A descendant of Noah, once he intended to commit a transgression, is punished for it even if he didn’t succeed, no? Not at all. The idea that the Holy One combines an evil thought with action—that’s something else. But the Holy One… On that Talmudic passage—it isn’t correct to say this, in my opinion—but he wants to say that it is literally the transgression. If you intended to eat pork and ate lamb, you won’t get lashes, that’s obvious, but to say that it is literally the transgression of eating pork—that you violated the prohibition of eating pork—that’s what is written there in the Talmud. There can’t be such a thing; that’s not correct. Anyway, Tosafot is basically saying that despite the fact that the usual halakhic mode of thought would say: yes, it is forbidden now to pursue this fetus—sorry, to remove the bread—and if a death sentence results, then a death sentence results. What can be done? I look at what lies before me right now. Right now the question is whether to commit a rabbinic prohibition or not. Why in the world would you commit a rabbinic prohibition? If that later leads to stoning, fine—what can be done? You brought this upon yourself. That is the formal, normal halakhic thinking. But Tosafot says: this cannot be. No one would stand in that. So what? It cannot be that Jewish law demands of a person something that no reasonable person can withstand. There cannot be such a thing. And that’s why Tosafot is so confident about it that this is not presented merely as an explanation of the Talmud; it’s an objection to the Talmud. In other words, Tosafot says: the Talmud says this, it discusses the question whether he should come to stoning by not removing the bread, or remove the bread and be saved—that’s the plain sense of the Talmud. Tosafot says: how can the Talmud discuss this? It can’t be; nobody would listen to us. In other words, Tosafot is so sure of this principle—that something impractical cannot be forbidden—that it is not merely his explanation of the Talmud; it’s his objection to the Talmud, and he changes the plain meaning of the Talmud because of it. He says: this cannot be, with no source, nothing—just plain reasoning. What do we see here? We see that Jewish law itself, in a certain sense—and soon we’ll see more about what “Jewish law itself” means here—recognizes that in extreme situations, in pathological situations, in situations no person can withstand, then one can commit transgressions. In other words, you cannot demand of a person not to commit transgressions in such circumstances. So this is an example that isn’t exactly the same as what we’re discussing, but it resembles it. Because what happens with Lot’s daughters? Think about it. It’s a very extreme situation in which, at least as they see it, no one in the world exists except the two of them and their father. If they don’t commit the transgression, humanity is extinguished. There will be nothing left. The seed of Abraham will vanish on its own—or yes, the seed of Adam will vanish on its own. So the dilemma is not simple. Once again the question arises: am I allowed to make this kind of calculation, which is really against the halakhic type of regular thinking, but because the situation is so extreme, Jewish law—or the Torah, or soon we’ll see different formulations—will grant some legitimacy to this consideration, even though it is seemingly against Jewish law? We’ll see. How long were they in the cave? Maybe—what—if it was only a matter of a few days, then they could look around, and practically speaking they didn’t see; they thought the world had been destroyed. That’s what matters. They were there in a state where they thought the world had been destroyed. That’s the data from the standpoint of what they thought. What will be? What happens? What? Wasn’t he their rabbi? They were these great rebbetzins? I don’t know—maybe. I don’t know what he knew. It seems from the Talmud that he did know, because after all the angels came to him and told him they were going to destroy Sodom. I think he did know that it wasn’t the whole world, but he was sleeping. They didn’t ask him at all because they didn’t want to ask him at all. Why is that a flaw? They thought the world was destroyed—it was obvious to them. What was there to ask? If something is obvious to me, I’m not going to ask. You ask when you don’t know. But I know, I know. I look around and I see that the world has been destroyed. They didn’t know about the entire world. You see that the whole area, five cities—the world back then was basically the Near East. You see that everything familiar around you has been destroyed, fire is coming down from heaven, the earth is desolate, so you are convinced that the world has been destroyed. This also doesn’t fit the biblical text so well, since they fled from Sodom to Zoar, and then from Zoar fled onward, but in Zoar they were—there were people there. He asked that Zoar be spared and it was spared. I don’t know how they understood that in the end. Yes, the truth is I don’t know. But the Torah itself says exactly that—the Torah itself, not only Rashi. The Torah says: “And there is not a man on earth to come to us in the manner of all the earth.” They thought there was nobody. It really is a question why Zoar didn’t open their eyes, but practically that is what they thought. It’s clear; the Torah itself describes it that way. Maybe they thought it was a process still continuing. Could be, could be that they thought Zoar too would… They couldn’t see? They weren’t looking back anymore to see whether Zoar had been destroyed or not. Okay. So “the situation is extreme”—is that something individual? Suppose I’m someone coming to kill someone else by stoning. From his perspective he says: look, I’m going to die, so I’ll kill the one killing me so I won’t die, under the law of a pursuer. Never mind from what angle. For our purposes, he says: I am a whole world unto myself. I want this world to continue existing. So where is the boundary here? I don’t know. Good question. We’re only beginning. But I’m describing situations in which the question whether to keep the law or not is no longer so trivial. In other words, it’s not so simple to say: forbidden, finished—“What have you to do with the hidden things of the Merciful One?”—everything is closed. I’m showing you both in the Talmud in tractate Sabbath and from the plain meaning of the Torah in the story of Lot’s daughters that there are such considerations, where when there is an extreme situation a person can’t withstand, there is legitimacy to committing transgressions. That’s what we see. Is there legitimacy here too? With Lot’s daughters? In a moment we’ll see. We haven’t yet said. According to what follows, you see that the Torah doesn’t relate to it all that negatively. Two nations come from them. What? In a moment, in a moment—we’ll see it in the Sages. What does that mean? Take Nachmanides, who appears later. Look at Nachmanides: “And preserve offspring from our father”—perhaps because they said: let us do what is proper for us to do, and maybe God will have mercy and we will bear a male and a female and the world will continue through them, for the world is built on kindness, and the Lord did not save us for nothing. Hear that? Real fear of Heaven, straight from the house of Jacob they emerged now. “And they were modest and did not want to tell their father that he should marry them, for among descendants of Noah a man is permitted with his daughter”—that’s what I mentioned earlier—“or else the matter was considered extremely ugly in the eyes of those generations and had never been done. And likewise our Sages in the aggadot criticize Lot very strongly.” And what about his daughters? What is he guilty of? What is he guilty of at all? He was asleep. They got him drunk. They got him drunk. Okay. And apparently not only with wine. So let’s move for a moment to the Talmud. Look at the source page, the second page. At the end of the Talmud in Nazirite, at the end of the long passage, literally the last lines: Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korha said: A person should always be first to perform a commandment, for in reward for the one night that the elder preceded the younger, she merited that four generations before the younger she would come to royalty in Israel. Do you hear that? “A person should always be first to perform a commandment.” “And Abraham rose early in the morning”—that’s written too. So because the elder preceded the younger—why? To perform a commandment—she merited four generations earlier to royalty. How did she merit royalty? Ruth the Moabite; Naamah the Ammonite, Solomon’s wife. So the basic attitude of the Sages, the basic attitude, is that apparently this was a commandment, right? Their intention was for a commandment. We’ll see in a moment. That’s what it seems like, at least: “A person should always be first to perform a commandment.” Now above that the Talmud says—start from the beginning: Rabba bar bar Hana said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: What is the meaning of the verse, “For the ways of the Lord are straight, and the righteous walk in them, but transgressors stumble in them”? It is like two people who roasted their Passover offerings. Yes, a well-known Talmudic passage. They reject that. Let’s skip ahead and go directly to Lot. End of the seventh line: “Rather, it is like Lot and his two daughters with him: they intended for the sake of a commandment, and ‘the righteous walk in them’; he intended for the sake of transgression, and ‘transgressors stumble in them.’” Once again you see—Lot’s daughters intended for the sake of a commandment. “But perhaps he too intended for the sake of a commandment?” Maybe Lot too? Who says only they intended for the sake of a commandment and not him? Rabbi Yohanan said: This whole verse is said with reference to transgression: “And Lot lifted up…” and “she lifted…” “lifting up” is an expression of transgression, as in “his master’s wife lifted up her eyes,” and so on. It was taught in the name of Rabbi Yosei bar Huni—we’ll skip a bit. It was taught in the name of Rabbi Yosei bar Huni: Why is there a dot over the letter vav in “when she arose” regarding the elder? To teach that… So Lot did know. When she lay down he did not know, but when she arose he did know. So regarding the younger, by then he could have done something. With the elder, it had already happened—he was coerced. But on the second night—“and what could he have done? What was, was.” The practical implication is that on the following night he should not have drunk wine. On the next night it was the younger. If he knew when she arose, then he knew. In other words, Lot intended for transgression. But I think it’s even more than that. In practice I don’t quite understand why the Talmud even needs to get there. We already spoke about why this was intention for a commandment on the part of Lot’s daughters: because they were sure the world had been destroyed. But Lot, I think, did know. Lot knew it was only the cities of the plain. The angels came to him and said that the Holy One was going to destroy only the cities of the plain. So Lot knew that there was still life beyond Sodom and Gomorrah and the cities of the plain. So even if—well, all right—he knew and his daughters didn’t know. So the daughters intended for a commandment. Now Lot himself, of course—even if he knew there were other people in the world—if he was fully coerced because he was asleep or drunk or something like that, then he was still coerced, right? So we still need to get to a place where we show why nevertheless Lot had something he ought to have done here. In other words, because when he arose from the elder he knew. Otherwise, even if he knew there were people in the world and clearly he wouldn’t have initiated the act, he still should have prevented it from happening. So in the end, Lot was wicked and his daughters were righteous. “The righteous walk in them and transgressors stumble in them.” That’s how the Talmud treats Lot and his daughters. And indeed we find here in the Talmud—on the second night didn’t he need to be concerned, by the way? If he knew humanity still existed, then why did he think the younger would come to him? Why should he think the younger too would come to him? Because if he sees the elder came to him, then he understands there is some issue there. So he should have been concerned that the younger would not come. And he drank wine. The Talmud says in the second paragraph in the middle of the passage: Rava expounded: What is the meaning of the verse, “A rebellious brother is harder to win than a fortified city,” and so on? “A rebellious brother” refers to Lot, who separated from Abraham. As we learned—I’m skipping three lines to save time—as we learned: an Ammonite and a Moabite are forbidden, and their prohibition is eternal. Yes, they are forbidden and their prohibition is eternal. Why? Because of their origin. Yes, Ammon and Moab were born in sin, and because they are like that they are forbidden: “No Ammonite or Moabite shall enter the congregation of the Lord.” That is one side of the coin. The other side, third paragraph: Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: From where do we know that the Holy One does not withhold reward even for refined speech? For whereas the elder called him Moab, the Merciful One said, “Do not harass Moab, and do not provoke them to war.” To war—no, but lesser harassment we may do. Whereas the younger, who called him Ben-Ammi, the Merciful One said, “Do not harass them and do not provoke them” even with lesser harassment; do not harass them at all. So that’s what I mentioned, the difference between Ammon and Moab. But what do we actually see here? That Ammon and Moab have two sides. After all they were born from Lot, each from a different daughter. Lot’s side was the side of transgression; the daughters’ side was the side of commandment. That is how the Talmud defines it here. So because of Lot’s side of transgression—“no Ammonite or Moabite shall enter the congregation of the Lord”—that is the punishment for the transgression. And because of the commandment on the part of Lot’s daughters—“do not provoke them to war”—that is the reward. But you said earlier explicitly why Moab and Ammon may not enter: because they did not come before you with bread and water. That doesn’t matter—that’s a result of the act. The commentators really say that. It’s a result of the act; their character was formed as a result of it; that is why they did not come before us with bread and water. And in the end it all developed from here. That is how the Talmud presents it. So the Talmud says: for Lot’s sin, “no Ammonite or Moabite shall enter the congregation of the Lord.” For his daughters’ commandment, “do not provoke them to war”—that is the reward. So notice once again: there is a transgression on one side and a commandment on the other. For Lot’s daughters it is truly a commandment. Lot, it is a transgression. The daughters, a commandment, and there is reward; and there is punishment. Can’t the verses be explained in a way that Lot isn’t such a villain? What does “constraint” mean? This is a derashah. You can argue about what led to these interpretations, but in any case we don’t know how derashot are made. But “and he lifted up”—the Sages tell us that this is language of transgression. So they derive from the verse that this is so. Why is there a dot over the vav? They have various interpretations from which it emerges that Lot is something negative. Beyond that, they probably understand that the fact that they didn’t come before us with bread and water also came from somewhere. So all this probably led them to conclude that there was nonetheless some problem there, that it wasn’t purely a commandment. Especially, as I said earlier, because the background is that they thought “there is not a man on earth to come to us”—they were sure the surrounding world had been destroyed—but in the plain sense Lot knew the world had not been destroyed. So there are, after all, some differences even in the simple reading of the verses. Good. So what this means for us now is that the Sages’ attitude—or the Torah’s attitude according to the Sages’ interpretation—toward Lot’s daughters is basically that they performed a commandment. They deserve reward for it. They performed a commandment; we learn from them rules about being first to a commandment; they were rewarded for being first to a commandment. It is really a commandment. So things are no longer so simple. It comes out that they committed a transgression, but that transgression was done under such extreme circumstances that the Torah itself regards it as a commandment, because that was apparently what had to be done in that situation. And that is what leads us to the topic of a transgression for its own sake. Why are you sure there was a transgression if this was before the giving of the Torah? For descendants of Noah, in any case, it is still forbidden, even before the giving of the Torah. It is a transgression for descendants of Noah too. For descendants of Noah this is already…? Yes. Sexual prohibitions are one of the prohibitions for descendants of Noah. Now the question of father—here I already noted that this… It leads us to the concept of a transgression for its own sake because that is the subject of the Talmud. And the Talmud in Nazirite, in that same passage I just quoted from, is really the fundamental Talmudic source regarding a transgression for its own sake. And interestingly, it appears in the same context together with all the calculations regarding Lot’s daughters before it and after it, yet the Talmud does not connect Lot’s daughters to the topic of a transgression for its own sake. I don’t know why. I also didn’t find anyone who commented on that. I found some who understood that it is connected, even though the Talmud doesn’t make the connection, but I didn’t find a comment asking why the Talmud doesn’t bring them as an example of a transgression for its own sake. It brings Yael, the wife of Heber the Kenite; perhaps Tamar. Why doesn’t it bring them? This whole Talmudic passage is full of how much this was a commandment and how righteous they were and so on. So why doesn’t it appear here as an example of a transgression for its own sake? That really isn’t clear to me. I’m saying: there are commentators who simply write, as something obvious, that Lot’s daughters are a case of a transgression for its own sake, from the context of the Talmud. But in the Talmud itself it isn’t entirely clear. I think the context nevertheless says something. The fact that it appears in the same sugya probably means that the Talmud sees some connection between the matters. What exactly the definition is—I’m not entirely sure. So let’s enter the topic of a transgression for its own sake. In practice, a transgression for its own sake is a situation in which a person finds himself in a state where a very high value is hanging in the balance, and in order to act for that value I must commit a transgression. “For its own sake” means for the sake of Heaven—that’s what it means. I think this is patterned after “Torah for its own sake”; otherwise it’s not clear what “a transgression for its own sake” means—for whose sake? For the transgression’s own sake? I assume it is simply the antithesis of “Torah for its own sake,” so they use the same expression. For the sake of God. Right, but “for the sake of God” would be “for His sake,” so why “for its sake”? In “Torah for its own sake,” the Rosh in Nedarim says “for its own sake” means for the sake of the Torah. But in “a transgression for its own sake,” what would we say—for the sake of the transgression? So the terminology isn’t clear. But in any case, that is the concept, and that concept involves a certain tension. It involves a certain tension because… let’s think for a moment what exactly the definition of a transgression for its own sake is. We know there are situations in Jewish law where values clash and we must decide between them in one way or another. And whenever you decide in a situation of clashing values, one value is trampled and one value is fulfilled. It’s always like that. For example, saving a life and the Sabbath: saving a life overrides the Sabbath. What does that mean? That the value of saving a life is so important that it outweighs desecration of the Sabbath. Would we call that a transgression for its own sake? No. I wouldn’t call that a transgression for its own sake. Why not? Because that’s the halakhic definition: when saving a life conflicts with Sabbath desecration, Jewish law itself tells us that it is a great commandment to do it through the greatest authorities and quickly, and one who asks too many questions is a shedder of blood. It is a very important commandment to save life. That isn’t called a transgression for its own sake. Or when a positive commandment overrides a prohibition—is that called a transgression for its own sake? Ritual fringes—wool and linen together in fringes—is that a transgression for its own sake? No. A positive commandment overrides a prohibition; that itself is a halakhic rule. Jewish law itself says that when a positive commandment conflicts with a prohibition, the positive commandment overrides the prohibition. So what is a transgression for its own sake? Something that Jewish law does not permit. So if it is something that Jewish law does not permit, then in what sense is it positive? After all, we’re talking about a transgression for its own sake as something positive. And from whichever angle you look at it, there is a very problematic tension here. On the one hand, if it fit into the ordinary rules of Jewish law, then it wouldn’t be a transgression for its own sake; it would be a commandment. That is what Jewish law imposes on us. So what’s the problem? The very term “a transgression for its own sake,” before we even enter the sugya, tells us that this is not that. It’s something else. More than that: there is also the concept of a commandment that comes through a transgression, halakhically. Maybe the act of Phinehas and Zimri? Yes. But with Phinehas that isn’t a transgression for its own sake. He arose and killed him—“it is the law, but we do not instruct accordingly.” It is the law, but we do not instruct accordingly. But that’s still the law. It’s the law. We don’t instruct accordingly because we don’t want everyone to do it, only zealots. But it’s still the law. On the face of it, I wouldn’t call that a transgression for its own sake either. Not Phinehas? Yes—rather, a transgression they were forbidden to do. Exactly. But again, conceptually this is very problematic. Because from whichever angle: if from the standpoint of Jewish law it is forbidden to do it, then why is it such a great commandment, as the Talmud says? If it is permitted to do it, then it’s like saving life overriding the Sabbath, and then it isn’t a transgression for its own sake; it’s a commandment. Laws of override are found within Jewish law; that isn’t called a transgression for its own sake. That’s what Jewish law says in a conflict. So what is a transgression for its own sake? This isn’t a conflict. What do you mean? Here what stands opposite is not something under your control. Why? If the Holy One decided that the whole world should be destroyed and you are not supposed to intervene… If He decided that that person is sick and about to die, then you can’t do anything? What can be done? The halakhic rules say yes, you can. Okay, so it is a conflict. There is no halakhic rule permitting you. Exactly. So I’m saying—it is a conflict. It’s a conflict for which there is apparently no halakhic rule, because if there were a halakhic rule permitting me, it would be like a positive commandment overriding a prohibition, like anything else, and that is not what is called a transgression for its own sake. So there is no halakhic rule. I am still in conflict, and this conflict seemingly has a simple way out: Jewish law says what it says, and I must do that. But no—it turns out the picture is not so simple. So it is forbidden according to Jewish law, but nevertheless someone who does it is okay. How do you digest that? If it is forbidden according to Jewish law, then it’s not like saving life overrides the Sabbath, but nonetheless someone who does it has at least a side on which this is okay. It is a commandment. Lot’s daughters, for example. So let’s look at the sugya. The Talmud says as follows, in Nazirite, photographed here in the second passage: Rav Nahman bar Yitzhak said—yes, in the middle of the second passage inside the Talmud—Rav Nahman bar Yitzhak said: A transgression for its own sake is greater than a commandment not for its own sake. What is written here? A transgression for its own sake is greater than a commandment not for its own sake. The Talmud asks: But didn’t Rav Yehuda say in the name of Rav: A person should always engage in Torah and commandments even not for their own sake, because from doing them not for their own sake one comes to do them for their own sake? So a transgression for its own sake can’t be greater than a commandment not for its own sake. Rather, say: like a commandment not for its own sake. It isn’t greater; it’s the same. As it is written: “Blessed above women shall Yael, wife of Heber the Kenite, be; above women in the tent shall she be blessed.” Who are the “women in the tent”? Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah. And Yael, wife of Heber the Kenite, is the example the Talmud brings for a transgression for its own sake. She had relations with Sisera in order to kill him and save Israel, and therefore that is called a transgression for its own sake. And about this the verse says: “Blessed above women shall Yael be”—equal to the four matriarchs, greater than the four matriarchs, even though she committed a transgression for its own sake. So we see that a transgression for its own sake is like a commandment not for its own sake. That is what the Talmud says. This whole business is really one great astonishing midrash from beginning to end. The objection isn’t an objection, the answer isn’t an answer—what is the Talmud doing here at all? The Talmud starts with “a transgression for its own sake is greater than a commandment not for its own sake.” That is its first statement. What is the objection? “A person should always do something not for its own sake, because from not for its own sake one comes to for its own sake.” So what? Fine, true—do it not for its own sake because from that you will come to do it for its own sake, but a transgression for its own sake is greater than that. What’s the problem? Why does the fact that one should do commandments not for their own sake in order to reach doing them for their own sake contradict the idea that a transgression for its own sake is greater than a commandment not for its own sake? What kind of objection is that? And what is the answer? The answer is: no, it’s really the same. So now it’s clear? Why should one do commandments not for their own sake so that one may come to do them for their own sake, if it’s exactly the same thing? Then everything is wide open already. And the verse itself presents it as even better, as if… And that’s the next stage—the answer that isn’t an answer—and then what is the prooftext? From Yael, wife of Heber the Kenite? You want to show me that a transgression for its own sake is like a commandment not for its own sake? Sorry—a transgression for its own sake is like a commandment not for its own sake. And to whom are you comparing Yael? To the four matriarchs. Are the four matriarchs examples of commandments not for their own sake? Those are commandments for their own sake. And it even says “Blessed above women shall Yael be”—more than them. So it is more than a commandment for its own sake, not merely like a commandment not for its own sake. What is going on here? This is really Chinese. It’s impossible to understand a word of this Talmudic passage. The truth is that before I get into the plain meaning of the Talmud, one should know that most of the medieval and later authorities explain this Talmudic passage, and the concept of a transgression for its own sake in general, in a thoroughly Orthodox way. They say we are talking about something that is really permitted according to Jewish law. There are those who say that a transgression for its own sake means using the appetite for eating, as we saw in the sermons of Rabbi Yehoshua ibn Shuib. Do you see here? What’s the novelty? Big question. Yes, the last source. “Therefore a person who is a person of truth uses it in things necessary for the world, as our Sages said: ‘In all your ways know Him,’ even regarding a transgression.” Meaning, in eating, and so on. In other words, our drives should be used positively—for Sabbath meals, for example. Fine, that is called a transgression for its own sake. A bit odd, yes? And then to compare it to Yael—not to mention Lot’s daughters, where we are talking about causing actual transgressions, and they intended them for the sake of Heaven. But afterward he says: “And there are those who explain, even an actual transgression, if his intention is for the sake of Heaven, as they said: great is a transgression for its own sake, as in the matter of Yael.” In other words, he interprets Yael as an actual transgression. What he brings there is another midrash—“In all your ways know Him, even regarding a transgression.” That midrash he explains about eating and the like. But regarding Yael it seems to be agreed that the intention is an actual transgression. This is his approach. The Maharik, in section 167—that same Maharik I cited in the previous lecture on “and commits a trespass against her husband,” that very same responsum—the Maharik also speaks about a transgression for its own sake. He reads it as obvious: there is no such thing as committing transgressions and saying that this is positive. And therefore these aren’t really transgressions; clearly they are permitted, and so on. And in a great many places—meaning, most who dealt with this Talmudic passage explained it this way. This is a very remote reading of the Talmud. I understand what drives them to read it that way, but it is a very remote reading. Very remote. I don’t understand how one can read it this way at all. Not to mention Lot’s daughters. True, the Talmud does not connect the term “a transgression for its own sake” explicitly to Lot’s daughters. But leave that aside. Even without the Talmudic passage about a transgression for its own sake, what about Lot’s daughters? There there is a transgression, and of that they say it is called a matter of commandment, and they received reward for it, and so on. There is no escaping the fact that the Talmud here grants some legitimacy to actual transgressions in certain situations that we need to understand. Here—the Talmud says it was for a commandment. What? So it was really for a commandment. It was for a commandment, but the act they did was a transgression—with their father. So it is a transgression done for its own sake, meaning for the sake of a commandment, for a positive purpose. Fine. But the act was a transgression. It wasn’t just using the appetite for eating. The act was an actual transgression, against the Code of Jewish Law. One would have had to incur stoning for such a thing. Yes, execution by the sword for descendants of Noah, everything is fine—but yes, it was something carrying the death penalty. So I think that reading is very far from the Talmud. I completely understand why everyone tries to force it into the Talmud anyway, but it’s very far. So how should the Talmud be read? Let’s go back to the difficulties in the Talmud. I’ll suggest an explanation, and with all due respect to all the other commentators, honestly I don’t know. There are many, and most read it their way. But I think it’s a reading that really doesn’t work. The Talmud asks—at the beginning it says this: “A transgression for its own sake is greater than a commandment not for its own sake.” We constantly assume that the subject of this sentence is “a transgression for its own sake,” but that is not correct. The subject of the sentence is “a commandment not for its own sake.” The Talmud is not trying to magnify or explain how great a transgression for its own sake is. The Talmud is trying to explain how bad a commandment not for its own sake is. That is the Talmud’s point. Where do I see that? Read Rashi. I brought Rashi, the source right before the last one. Since it says “a transgression for its own sake is greater than a commandment not for its own sake,” Rashi writes: this implies that a commandment not for its own sake is inferior. “But didn’t Rav Yehuda say…” and then the objection is brought. Rashi sensed the difficulty, and Rashi tells us: you didn’t read the Talmud correctly. The Talmud—the subject of the sentence is not the transgression for its own sake. The Talmud wants to say that a commandment not for its own sake is something one should not do; it is even worse than transgressions for their own sake. Obviously a commandment not for its own sake is not worse than a transgression not for its own sake, but it is worse than a transgression—for example, a transgression for its own sake. That is how the Talmud initially understood it. Then the Talmud says: wait a minute—but it says that one should always do commandments not for their own sake, because from not for their own sake one comes to for their own sake. How can you say this is something bad? Fine, it’s not perfect, it’s not ideal, but yes—if you do it not for its own sake, it’s still preferable that you do it. Through that maybe you’ll come to do it for its own sake. So you cannot be saying that a commandment not for its own sake is something even worse than a transgression—that one should not do it at all. And all the focus throughout is on the side of the commandment. Then the Talmud flips around. Now the Talmud says: then apparently we didn’t understand that sentence correctly. That sentence was not meant to speak about a commandment not for its own sake. It was meant to speak about a transgression for its own sake. And it comes to tell me that a transgression for its own sake is perfectly fine—one should do it—just like a commandment not for its own sake. Not that they are on the same level, but that this too is something one should do, just as one should do that. The discussion is not about levels at all. It isn’t a discussion about levels—whether they are equal or not. The question is which of them is a proper act that one should do, and which is not. The Talmud first thought it was obvious that a transgression for its own sake is a bad act, and the meaning of the statement was that it wanted to tell you that a commandment not for its own sake is even worse—meaning, don’t do it at all; better not to do it. Then the Talmud says: what do you mean? It says one should do a commandment not for its own sake, because from not for its own sake one comes to for its own sake. So the Talmud says: right, so apparently we didn’t read the first sentence correctly. The first sentence should be read not as a statement about a commandment not for its own sake, but as a statement about a transgression for its own sake. And what does that sentence really say? A commandment not for its own sake—we do it, right? It is ultimately a positive thing. Maybe not perfect, but positive. It is a commandment. It lacks proper intention, but it is still a commandment. And they tell me that a transgression for its own sake is also a positive thing. If there is no choice, then a transgression for its own sake should also be done. Under certain circumstances, that too should be done. And that is the Talmud’s conclusion. And about this the Talmud says that Yael is blessed among women like the four matriarchs. Since Yael, in her situation, although it was an act of transgression, it was a transgression for its own sake, and a transgression for its own sake is like a commandment, like the four matriarchs. It is not a question of level, whether it is exactly above or below. It is a question whether this is a positive act or not—whether one should do it, like a commandment not for its own sake, rather than refrain from doing it. The Talmud says yes: one should do this too. The act is something positive. It seems that this is the only way to read the Talmud; that is clearly how Rashi read it. He sensed the difficulty, and then everything falls into place. Meaning, apart from the concepts themselves, of course—how can one grant legitimacy to a transgression for its own sake? But the reading of the Talmud becomes clear. Now what does this mean? It says “greater than a commandment”—it should have said “a transgression for its own sake is like a commandment not for its own sake.” Like a commandment not for its own sake, yes. Maybe even more? Why is the word “than” used? Where? “A transgression for its own sake is greater than a commandment…” Then later you see it says it is even better. On the level of rank it is even better. “Rather, say: like a commandment not for its own sake”—that is the conclusion. At first they thought it said “than,” and afterward they changed it to “like.” That is the Talmud’s answer. The Talmud’s answer is: there one should say “like,” not “than.” Good. So for our purposes, I no longer really have time to get into the issue itself. The conceptual analysis here is very problematic. I’ll say it briefly. On the one hand, how can one grant legitimacy to transgressions, even if they are for the sake of Heaven? The first problem is of course: where is the boundary, when do we decide, who decides, what situation is extreme enough to justify which transgression? The lines are very unclear. And if it is extreme enough, then why is it not fully permitted by Jewish law? Why is it not like saving life on the Sabbath? Why is it still defined as a transgression, only a positive transgression? The second question is perhaps even deeper and harder: what tools should we use to discuss this at all? If I discuss it in halakhic terms, then in halakhic terms I cannot discuss such a thing because in halakhic terms it is a transgression—that is precisely the definition. In other words, within halakhic tools there is no such permission. So what other tools are there? What else? Then in what sense is it legitimate if it is a transgression? How can there be such a thing—something that is a transgression but is still legitimate? We are forced to say that there are broader tools than halakhic tools. What does that mean? It means that what the Torah wants from us is not exhausted by Jewish law alone. In other words, there are things outside the law that have practical consequences. And sometimes there can be a situation where Jewish law forbids me to do something, but broader Torah considerations—the “fifth section” of the Code of Jewish Law, in the language of the Hazon Ish, outside the four sections, outside formal law—override the halakhic considerations. And it does not say it is permitted; from a halakhic standpoint it is forbidden. But one should do it—one should do it. I’ll give an example I once saw in an article by someone named Shay Wozner from Tel Aviv University. He gives an example of this. Suppose there is an actor and they offer him to do a cigarette advertisement, and they pay him a fortune for it, a million dollars. Fine? And for that he has to smoke a cigarette for the camera. So he comes to his doctor friend and asks him: tell me, should I do it or not? Cigarettes are bad for your health. Should I do it or not? The doctor says: if you ask me as a doctor, then no, because smoking a cigarette is unhealthy. If you ask me as a friend, then definitely yes. Why? Because the medical consideration says no. But there are other considerations. The health consideration is one thing, and the economic consideration is so powerful that it overrides the health consideration. So does that mean it is healthy? No, it is still unhealthy. But there are other considerations because of which I will do it anyway. The same with Jewish law—only this is a much bigger novelty. When Jewish law says it is forbidden for a father to have relations with his daughter, it is a transgression in every case, even in extreme situations. But sometimes there are considerations beyond halakhic considerations, and it remains a transgression. Yet there are considerations—repair of the world, very extreme situations—in which it is legitimate to commit a transgression. Not halakhically legitimate, just as there it is not medically legitimate to smoke the cigarette for the advertisement. From the standpoint of health it is not healthy, and it remains unhealthy even after the decision. But that doesn’t matter, because besides health there are other considerations. So one cannot say that the health system grants this legitimacy. But the broader system says that nonetheless it is right to do it. Here all sorts of considerations enter. There are those who want to say—the Ikkarim, which I photocopied here—he actually claims that any act done with good intention, for the sake of Heaven, is a positive act, regardless of whether it is a sinful act or not. That’s really a revolutionary claim. That is how he explains the Talmud here. If the act—if the intention—is for the sake of Heaven, then it is a positive act, even if it is a transgression. He doesn’t even make it depend on extreme situations. In other words, this whole thing is very strange. Anyone who reads him more carefully will see that this is not what he means. What he means is that there is reward for the intention. The transgression is a transgression, and you’ll take a hit for it too. But if your intention is positive, then for that aspect you will receive the reward you deserve. In his language, perhaps you’ll merit the life of the World to Come, or some portion in the World to Come, something like that. But he does not mean that this is truly a legitimate act that one ought to do. It’s a kind of intermediate interpretation. In other words, it is not a totally forbidden act, but neither is it a fully legitimate act. Practically speaking it is a forbidden act, but if your intention is good, you receive reward for that. That is an intermediate interpretation. The Netziv—and there is a very famous responsum in Meishiv Davar, part of which I also photocopied here—the Netziv speaks about a transgression for its own sake. Rabbi Kook also has a responsum—actually two responsa—in which he speaks about it at greater length. Both of them basically emphasize the element of true intention, or in the Netziv’s case the element of pleasure—that is his novelty. The Netziv argues that one must not do it with enjoyment. If someone does it for pleasure, then it loses the status of a transgression for its own sake. That is at least how people usually read the Netziv. Anyone who reads the Netziv inside will see that he never dreamed of saying such a thing. He says this in many places, by the way, both in his commentary on the Torah and in his responsum. And people always quote him this way. It is simply not correct. I’ll just read one passage and with that I’ll finish. He says that there are two conditions for committing a transgression for its own sake. First condition: that one not derive any enjoyment from that transgression at all. As we find there regarding Yael, who was praised for having committed a transgression for its own sake. And the Talmud asks: but she did derive enjoyment from the transgression! How can this be? Even though she was entitled to commit a transgression because of the danger to the Jewish people, if she had enjoyed that transgression, she would not have been praised at all. For it is forbidden to derive enjoyment from a transgression for its own sake. What is he saying? If she had done it also for her own pleasure, she still would have been obligated to do it. He never said otherwise. She certainly would still have had to do it because of the life-threatening danger to the people of Israel. But she would not have been praised for it. That is what he says. Not that refraining from enjoyment is what turns a transgression into a transgression for its own sake, but rather that I am forbidden to enjoy it. Yet the act itself must be done in any case. Why? Because what determines the legitimacy of the act is not at all my motivations, but the reality—as with Lot’s daughters. Lot’s daughters’ motivation is something admirable. But the reality is that, in their eyes, without the transgression the world would be extinguished. That itself turns the transgression into a transgression for its own sake. Whether I enjoyed it or not is a question of whether, together with that, I also committed another prohibition, because it is forbidden to derive enjoyment from a transgression for its own sake. But that is not a condition in the permission to commit a transgression for its own sake. You can also see this later in his words—he says it very clearly. I think people usually misunderstand him. It’s simply incorrect. And then it turns out that with the Netziv we really find an approach that says: not only is this an optional commandment, as Rabbi Kook wants to say; not only that one receives reward for the intention, as the author of Sefer Ha-Ikkarim says, even though it is a transgression; there are those who want to say it is nothing at all, just a transgression, or that it is entirely permitted according to Jewish law. Rather, the Netziv says exactly what I said earlier: there are extreme circumstances that authorize us to commit transgressions. It is permitted to commit transgressions—not according to Jewish law, but according to the Torah. According to Jewish law it is still a transgression, because otherwise it would not be a transgression for its own sake. According to the Torah. And therefore, in those very extreme circumstances, it is permitted to commit transgressions. A person who knows that tomorrow he will be stoned—then Tosafot says he is allowed to remove the bread. In such extreme circumstances, no one will demand that he stand firm over that rabbinic prohibition. In extreme circumstances, it is permitted to commit transgressions. True, there is a prohibition on enjoying it, meaning one must be careful to do it with pure intention. But even if the intention is not pure, one still has to do it. In other words, because the circumstances dictate it. That is the Netziv’s great novelty—precisely what people usually do not learn from him; that is his great novelty. Those who do not read that in him do so because they are not prepared to grant any legitimacy to transgressions for their own sake at all, like most commentators. I think that is not what the Netziv writes. Now, one moment.