Lighting the Menorah in the Temple and on Hanukkah, and Their Significance

Table of Contents

• Wicks and oils on the Sabbath, in the Temple, and on Hanukkah
• Abaye, the authority of the speaker, and the Magen Avraham
• If it went out, one is not required to relight it, and the time for lighting
• The parallel to the labor of baking: the initial act, the time condition, and the actual result
• Does the lighting perform the commandment or does the placing perform the commandment, and lighting from one lamp to another
• Women and the Hanukkah lamp, and the meaning of “they too were included in that miracle”
• The independence of the Talmudic topics versus the linkage made by the Shulchan Arukh
• Beautifying a commandment after the commandment has already been fulfilled: circumcision, the etrog, and Hanukkah
• Publicizing the miracle versus “the flame rises on its own”: preparing the menorah and Hanukkah lighting
• The menorah as a symbol of wisdom: spiritual preparation, “finding,” and the context of discovery
• The Midrash Tanchuma on circumcision at the beginning of Tetzaveh and Kli Chemdah

Summary

General Overview

The lecture deals with the laws of the Hanukkah lamp and their relationship to the parameters of the labor of baking, and presents two central topics in the Talmud: whether, if it went out, one is required to relight it or not, and whether the lighting performs the commandment or the placing performs the commandment. The claim is that these operate in the Talmud as independent topics, even though there is a conceptual connection between them. The lecture ties the structure of these topics to the structure of the labor of baking: an initial act that creates a halakhic framework, and a required measure of time that does not necessarily demand an actual result in practice. It then broadens the discussion to accepting statements based on who said them, through the story of Abaye and the Magen Avraham, and to the limits of the permission to “hang oneself on a great tree,” including a discussion of a forged Jerusalem Talmud on sacrificial matters and an explanation of why that is especially serious. Finally, a conceptual reading is offered: the Jewish law that emphasizes an act enabling a result, without requiring the result to occur in practice, reflects a religious outlook according to which a person is required to prepare and make the effort, whereas “the flame rises on its own” describes the appearance of wisdom and the result as something like a found object.

Wicks and oils on the Sabbath, in the Temple, and on Hanukkah

The Talmud states that wicks and oils that the Sages forbade using for lighting on the Sabbath were forbidden because the flame flickers with them, or because the oils are not drawn well after the wick, lest a person come to adjust them on the Sabbath and violate a labor prohibition. The Talmud compares this to the Temple and determines that these wicks and oils are not fit there either because of “to raise an eternal lamp” and “so that the flame should rise on its own, and not rise by means of something else.” So on the Sabbath the reason is concern for desecrating the Sabbath, while in the Temple the reason is the principle of the flame’s self-sustaining rise, but in practice the operative definition is similar. Rav Huna applies the prohibition to Hanukkah as well, both on the Sabbath and on weekdays, and Rava explains this by saying that he holds that if it went out one is required to relight it, and that one may use its light. Rav Chisda holds that one lights on weekdays but not on the Sabbath, because if it went out one is not required to relight it, but one may use its light. Rav Zeira holds that one lights both on weekdays and on the Sabbath, because if it went out one is not required to relight it, and on the Sabbath one may not use its light, so there is no concern that he will adjust it.

Abaye, the authority of the speaker, and the Magen Avraham

The Talmud relates that Abaye did not accept a teaching transmitted in the name of Rav Yirmiyah, but did accept it when it was transmitted in the name of Rabbi Yochanan. He then says, “If only I had merited, I would have learned that teaching from the start,” and regrets having depended on the identity of the speaker rather than discussing the matter on its own merits. The lecture brings the Magen Avraham, who rules in practice that one may say things in the name of a great person “so that they will accept it from him,” and suggests a limitation: that permission applies only in order to get the listener to consider the reasons seriously, not so that he will accept it automatically because of authority. If the listener will certainly accept it because of the name alone, then it is forbidden. A story is brought about Rabbi Shalom Shwadron, who said in the name of the Chazon Ish that one may do this, with the comment that he himself would not reveal whether he had actually heard it from the Chazon Ish. An anecdote is also brought about the forgery of a manuscript called “Jerusalem Talmud on Sacrificial Matters” at the beginning of the twentieth century, the debates over its authenticity, the Rogatchover’s ruling that it was forged, and Kli Chemdah, who wrote a book about it. The point made is that such a forgery is especially severe because the Talmud carries binding authority, and therefore listeners will be obligated to accept it, unlike an incorrect citation of a halakhic decisor, where freedom of halakhic ruling still remains.

If it went out, one is not required to relight it, and the time for lighting

The Talmud challenges the view that “if it went out, one is not required to relight it” from the baraita: “Its commandment is from sunset until the marketplace empties out,” and raises the possibility that the meaning of that time is that if it went out, one must relight it. The Talmud answers that the time was stated either regarding someone who did not light initially, that he may still light until the marketplace empties out, or “for measurement,” meaning that one must put in enough oil so that it can burn until that time. The lecture states that this is how the law is ruled in practice: both are true. One must initially place enough oil for roughly half an hour, but if in practice it went out before then, one is not required to relight it. So the act is measured by the preparedness that enables burning, not by the actual continued burning in practice.

The parallel to the labor of baking: the initial act, the time condition, and the actual result

The lecture draws a parallel between lighting a Hanukkah lamp and sticking bread dough onto the wall of an oven: in both cases there is an initial act followed by a required stretch of time during which a result is supposed to occur. The lecture suggests that the structures of possibilities discussed with regard to the labor of baking appear here as well: one can view the time as a condition that reveals that the initial act was an act of commandment or transgression, one can view the act as ongoing, and one can view the initial act as doing everything without dependence on the actual result. The lecture emphasizes that there is no necessity for the halakhic ruling on Hanukkah to dictate the ruling on the labor of baking; rather, the similarity exposes the same categories of analysis. The lecture even suggests, within a discussion of Rashi regarding removing the bread from the oven, that one could understand liability even if it did not actually bake, provided that at the time of sticking it on there was an act that in principle enabled baking. This parallels Hanukkah, where it is enough to light in a way that enables half an hour, even if in practice it goes out.

Does the lighting perform the commandment or does the placing perform the commandment, and lighting from one lamp to another

The Talmud brings a dispute between Rav and Shmuel over whether one may light one Hanukkah lamp from another. One suggested reason is degradation of the commandment when one lights through an ordinary “match,” while another is that it “diminishes the commandment,” because transferring the flame reduces the strength of the first lamp. The Talmud sharpens the practical difference between those reasons in the question of direct lighting from lamp to lamp, and concludes with the statement of Rav Huna the son of Rav Yehoshua that the law depends on whether the lighting performs the commandment or the placing performs the commandment. The Talmud resolves that the lighting performs the commandment from the wording of the blessing, “to light the Hanukkah lamp,” and concludes that if a deaf-mute, an intellectually incompetent person, or a minor lit it, “he has done nothing at all,” and one must extinguish it and relight it properly. By contrast, a woman certainly lights, because of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi’s statement: “Women are obligated in the Hanukkah lamp, for they too were included in that miracle.”

Women and the Hanukkah lamp, and the meaning of “they too were included in that miracle”

The lecture points to a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim) over whether the rule that women are exempt from positive time-bound commandments also applies to rabbinic commandments, and notes that Tosafot see the Talmud here as proof that a special reason is needed to obligate women, so without it they would have been exempt even from rabbinic commandments. The lecture raises a conceptual difficulty with the rationale “they too were included in that miracle” and asks why some unique participation is needed—why is it not enough that women were part of the public that was saved? In the name of the Griz, a precision in Maimonides is cited: he mentions “freed slaves” rather than slaves, and this is interpreted as indicating that there is a special obligation for women beyond general salvation. But the lecture suggests another possibility: an unfreed slave is not included in that same Jewish-public status, even though he is obligated in commandments like a woman. The discussion then turns to the question of “a lamp for a man and his household,” and whether one person’s lighting fulfills the obligation for the members of the household. It is said that fundamentally one lamp for a man and his household is sufficient, even though there are beautifications and customs beyond that, and the possibility is discussed that a woman who lights discharges everyone else just like any other obligated person.

The independence of the Talmudic topics versus the linkage made by the Shulchan Arukh

The lecture argues that conceptually one might have identified “if it went out, one is not required to relight it” with “the lighting performs the commandment,” and “if it went out, one is required to relight it” with “the placing performs the commandment,” but the Talmud does not connect them at all and does not prove one from the other. The lecture explains that they can be separated even in substance, because even if the lighting performs the commandment there can still be a condition requiring a measured duration of burning, and on the other hand even if the placing performs the commandment one could still say that after the moment of placement there is no obligation to maintain the result if it went out afterward. The lecture emphasizes that the Shulchan Arukh, in section 673, does explicitly connect them: “The lighting performs the commandment; therefore, if it went out before its time has passed, one is not required to relight it… and if he wishes to be stringent… he should not recite a blessing over it.” In this way, it presents an understanding that the discussion concerns the very nature of the commandment itself. The lecture deals with practical questions about lighting on Sabbath eve, about intentionally extinguishing it before the time, and about placing the lamp in a location where the wind will put it out, and concludes that a lighting that does not allow the potential for half an hour is not a valid lighting, but extinguishing that happened on its own after a valid lighting does not require relighting.

Beautifying a commandment after the commandment has already been fulfilled: circumcision, the etrog, and Hanukkah

The lecture compares the Hanukkah discussion to the discussion of circumcision regarding “shreds that do not invalidate the circumcision,” for which one does not return on the Sabbath, and brings the dispute between the Tur and Maimonides over whether on a weekday one does return to them or not. The lecture presents Beit HaLevi and the Griz, who explain the dispute as depending on whether beautification can be done after the performance of the commandment has already been completed, or whether beautification must accompany the performance itself. It also offers an alternative formulation, making it depend on whether the commandment is the action “to circumcise” or the result “to be circumcised.” In the name of Rabbi Chaim of Brisk, a discussion is brought about two etrogim, one certainly kosher and the other possibly more beautiful, with the claim that there is no beautification after one has already fulfilled the obligation. Therefore one should first take the one of doubtful but enhanced beauty, and afterward the certainly kosher one. The lecture also brings the Raavad regarding betrothal, “it is more of a commandment for a person to do it himself than through his agent,” as a possible case of repeated performance for the sake of beautification, while noting that this is a different discussion. In the Hanukkah context, the lecture cites in the name of the Griz that in Maimonides’ laws of Hanukkah there is no room to add the higher-level beautification lights after one lamp has already been lit and the commandment has already been performed, and says that the matter depends on whether the beautification is done continuously as part of the same framework or with a delay that renders it a lost opportunity.

Publicizing the miracle versus “the flame rises on its own”: preparing the menorah and Hanukkah lighting

The lecture sharpens the apparent absurdity: the goal of the Hanukkah lamp is publicizing the miracle, yet the law does not require that the lamp actually keep burning the entire time; it is enough to perform an act that enables it to burn for the required measure, and after the fact, if it went out, one is not required to relight it even if it could be fixed. The lecture suggests that this is not accidental but an intentional message, and connects it to the menorah in the Temple, where it is required “that the flame rise on its own.” The lecture presents a halakhic phenomenon in the Temple: preparing the lamps is a service that requires a priest, whereas the actual lighting is valid even by a non-priest, and Maimonides even sees this as the ideal practice. This is interpreted as emphasizing preparation over result. The lecture suggests that on Hanukkah too the emphasis is on preparation, and that although there are differences between the Temple menorah and the Hanukkah menorah, the common denominator is that a person is commanded to create the conditions and the framework, while the result is viewed as something that can come on its own.

The menorah as a symbol of wisdom: spiritual preparation, “finding,” and the context of discovery

The lecture cites the rabbinic teaching, “Whoever wants to become wise should turn southward… and your sign is that the table is in the north and the menorah in the south,” to establish that the menorah symbolizes Torah and wisdom. The lecture then brings sources about the conditions for Torah to endure: the comparison of Torah to water, which endures only in one whose mind is lowly; the words of Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa about fear preceding wisdom; and the verse “the fear of the Lord is his treasure,” together with Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin’s interpretation that fear is the “storehouse” in which Torah endures. The lecture describes the process of learning as one in which a person formulates a difficulty and prepares mental and intellectual tools, but the resolution comes as an illumination that is not algorithmic, in the image of “a found object when one’s mind is distracted” and “the flame rises on its own.” The lecture adds an anecdote about a method for systematic inventive thinking and sets it against the experience that creative insight cannot be fully mechanized. It ties this also to the distinction in philosophy of science between the context of discovery and the context of justification, and concludes that the source of an idea is less important than its examination and reasoning—closing the circle with the beginning of the lecture about accepting statements according to the speaker rather than according to their content.

The Midrash Tanchuma on circumcision at the beginning of Tetzaveh and Kli Chemdah

The Midrash Tanchuma on the Torah portion of Tetzaveh opens with “Teach us, our Rabbi” about circumcision, and states, “A minor is circumcised on the eighth day,” and the question is raised how this fits the portion of Tetzaveh, which does not deal with circumcision. The lecture notes that Kli Chemdah elaborates on the analogy between lamps and the commandment of circumcision, and wants to argue that the commandment is “to be circumcised,” just as the commandment is “that it should be burning.” The lecture accepts the analogy but argues in the opposite direction: on Hanukkah the commandment is to light, not that the lamp should be burning, and correspondingly in circumcision too the commandment is to circumcise, not to be circumcised. At the end, a suggestion is brought that understanding the miracle of the cruse of oil as being divided into eight days, where each day a small lighting was done and the miracle was that it continued to burn, may fit the idea that human effort is the preparation and what follows is “the flame rises on its own,” and the speaker agrees with that.

Okay, as we decided last time, this time the lecture is about Hanukkah. But on second thought, it seems to me that you can definitely also find some connection to our regular discussions about the labor of baking. I put a question about that on the prep sheet, so I’ll comment on it later as well. Maybe I’ll begin with two halakhic topics that relate to the Hanukkah lamp. One topic is: if it went out, does one need to relight it or not? And the second topic is: is the commandment fulfilled by placing it, or by lighting it? In the Talmud it looks like these are two independent topics. Meaning, one is not connected to the other in any way. No proof is brought from one to the other; each proceeds on its own. I’ll attach the file here, I’ll share the file here. Right, so the Talmud says like this on page 21: Rava said: “Wicks about which the sages said that one may not light with them on the Sabbath, because the fire flickers on them; oils about which the sages said that one may not light with them, because they are not drawn well after the wick.” Meaning, one has to light in a way that there’s no concern that problems will begin with the lamp, with the flame, and then I’ll come to fix it on the Sabbath and violate the prohibition of kindling on the Sabbath. Later the Talmud compares this to the laws of lighting the lamp in the Temple and says: “Rami bar Hama taught: The wicks and oils about which the sages said that one may not light with them on the Sabbath, one may not light with them in the Temple, because it says, ‘to raise an eternal lamp.’ And his father taught him and said to him: so that the flame should rise on its own, and not rise by means of something else.” There’s a very interesting analogy here that I’ll come back to. On the Sabbath, my concern is that if the fire doesn’t catch properly, I’ll come to fix it—and when I come to fix it, what’s the problem? I violate the prohibition of labor on the Sabbath. In the Temple, the problem is not that I’ll come to fix it. In principle there’s no problem; we’re talking about a weekday, of course. There is no prohibition of labor in the Temple. Rather, there’s some principle that the flame has to rise on its own and not with someone’s help, a human being’s help; it has to rise independently. And therefore de facto, although the reasons are different, de facto the definition is the same definition. Meaning, the oils and wicks used for lighting on the Sabbath and in the Temple have to be such that the flame rises smoothly. On the Sabbath this is so I won’t come to desecrate the Sabbath, and in the Temple because there is some principle that the flame must rise on its own. Later the Talmud brings this regarding the Hanukkah lamp. Rav Huna said: “The wicks and oils about which the sages said one may not light with them on the Sabbath, one may not light with them on Hanukkah, whether on the Sabbath or on a weekday.” Rava said: “What is Rav Huna’s reason? He holds that if it went out, one must relight it, and it is permitted to use its light.” Right, so of course there are now three opinions here—you saw the Talmud—there are three opinions regarding these wicks and oils with which one doesn’t light on the Sabbath. What about Hanukkah? What about a weekday of Hanukkah, and what about the Sabbath of Hanukkah? Rav Huna holds that one does not light with them on Hanukkah, neither on the Sabbath nor on a weekday. So why not light with them on the Sabbath? That’s for the same reason as an ordinary Sabbath that is not Hanukkah. But of course there also has to be the assumption that it is permitted to use its light, because if it is permitted to use its light, then I’ll come to fix it because it bothers me; I won’t be able to see properly.

I have a question about this issue of “it is permitted to use its light.” I didn’t really understand this topic at all, even the very fact that Rav Huna said—right? It seems to me that Huna said it is permitted to use its light. But if I light the menorah on Hanukkah, then I can’t use its light. What, only if the lighting wasn’t done properly? No, today you can’t, because that’s how it was ruled in Jewish law. You’re mixing up the Talmudic discussion with the practical halakhic ruling. Here there are three opinions in the Talmud; we rule in Jewish law that it is forbidden to use its light. Fine, but Rav Huna’s opinion is not like that. Rav Huna holds that it is permitted to use the Hanukkah lamp. It’s Rav Huna who says one does not light. Neither on the Sabbath nor on weekdays of Hanukkah: if it went out, one must relight it, and it is permitted to use its light. Rav Hisda disagrees with him and says: one may light with them on a weekday—I’m talking about Hanukkah of course—on a weekday, but not on the Sabbath. Why? If it went out, one need not relight it, and it is permitted to use its light. So if it is permitted to use its light, then on the Sabbath there is concern that he may come to fix the flame because he is using it, but on a weekday one may light with it because if it goes out one need not relight it, so there is no concern that it will go out and he will come and relight it. If he doesn’t relight it, nothing happened; he doesn’t need to relight it. That is Rav Hisda’s opinion. Rav Zeira holds a third view: “The wicks and oils about which the sages said one may not light with them on the Sabbath—one may light with them on Hanukkah, whether on a weekday or on the Sabbath.” And again, as expected—we already know—Rav Yirmiyah said: “What is Rav’s reason? He holds that if it went out, one need not relight it,” and therefore there is no problem in his not relighting it, because there is no need to relight on a weekday. And on the Sabbath, it is forbidden to use its light, so there is no concern that he’ll come to fix it so it will shine better for him, because it is forbidden to use its light. Therefore, both on weekdays and on the Sabbath, one may light with them.

Later the Talmud says there: “The sages said before Abaye in the name of Rav Yirmiyah, and he did not accept it. When Ravin came, the sages said before Abaye in the name of Rabbi Yohanan, and he accepted it.” Right, really ad hominem. He said: “Had I been worthy, I would have learned this teaching from the start.” Right, he basically accepted it from Rabbi Yohanan and did not accept it from Rav Yirmiyah. That too is actually an interesting point. Meaning, he determined his position on this law according to the question of who said it—not on the issue itself, but on the person who said it. And later he himself regrets it, and indeed says, “Had I been worthy, I would have learned this teaching from the start.” Then I would have accepted this law already at the beginning, when they said it to me in Rav Yirmiyah’s name, and I wouldn’t have hung it specifically on the person who said it; rather, I would have examined the law itself. And just as a side remark I’ll add: there is a Magen Avraham that I’m very fond of. He says—really he brings a Talmudic passage—but he brings that Talmudic passage as Jewish law, and says that one may say things in the name of a great person “so that they will accept it from him.” In order that people should accept it, I’m allowed to say it in the name of someone who didn’t say it—to lie. To hang it on a tall tree. What? To hang it on a tall tree. No, but here it isn’t true. Yes, okay, but because he hung it on a tall tree. Yes, that’s true. Even though it isn’t true, you’re allowed to say it in the name of a great person as though that great person said it, so that they’ll accept it from you. And now this is an interesting question. Whenever I think about this Magen Avraham, I ask myself how this can be. Meaning, some ignoramus will come and tell me: listen, selecting food on the Sabbath is permitted; Rav Moshe Feinstein said that—I don’t know—the greatest halakhic decisor of America not all that long ago. So then what? I’ll stumble because I rely on what he said and I’ll select on the Sabbath, when he’s just some ignoramus who thinks that way, and Rav Moshe Feinstein never said it—and he’s allowed to lie? Rav Moshe? Therefore I want to claim that this permission of the Magen Avraham was said only in a place where it is clear to me that they won’t accept it from me, even though a great person said it. Meaning, if we’re really talking about a case where if I say it in the name of a great person, the listener will definitely accept it, then certainly I’m forbidden to do such a thing. I’m allowed to do it only on the assumption that the listener will not accept it merely because, despite the fact that a great person said it. So then why at all—what is this permission needed for? What good is it? The answer is simple. Meaning, if I say something and I see that the person I’m speaking with is not prepared to accept it—he dismisses me or doesn’t listen. I raise arguments, claims that in my eyes are good arguments, and the fellow isn’t convinced; he doesn’t think about them at all, he dismisses me. I tell him: you know what? Rav Moshe Feinstein said this. The moment he hears that Rav Moshe Feinstein said it, he will reconsider. It’s not that he’ll automatically accept it; he may reject it, but he will no longer dismiss it. Meaning, he will listen to the arguments and consider them, and either accept them or not accept them. That is permitted. Meaning, I’m allowed to say it in the name of a great person so that the person I’m speaking with will seriously consider what I’m saying, but in the end form his own opinion. Therefore I’m not misleading him; he won’t accept things only because someone said them. But why do I still do it? So that he will seriously consider my arguments. When I see there is no listening to what I’m saying, then I take such a step, and that is permitted. Meaning, this story turns things upside down. From this Magen Avraham it comes out that it is specifically not correct to accept things because a great person said them. You have to judge every matter on its own. If a great person said it, that will of course cause you not to dismiss it, but to consider the arguments seriously. But in the end, you form your own position.

Today. Today he’ll listen to you, and tomorrow he won’t listen to you anymore because you lost your credibility. Okay, take that consideration into account too when you decide whether to do it, but in principle it is permitted. Not that it’s always advisable to do it; he says there is no prohibition. It’s preferable to hang it on a great person who’s already dead, so he can’t deny it. What, I can’t hear? It’s preferable to hang it on a great person who’s already dead. Or I meet someone only once and after that he sails off to Australia, so he’ll never hear me again—but right now I want to convince him. It doesn’t matter; that’s only a technical, tactical question. But in principle there is no prohibition here. That’s basically what the Magen Avraham says. Again, it’s a Talmudic passage. The Magen Avraham just brings it. There is a famous story about Rabbi Shalom Schwadron, the well-known Jerusalem preacher, who once said in one of his talks that he heard in the name of the Hazon Ish that one may say things in the name of a great person so that they’ll accept them from you—and that too he won’t tell them whether he really heard from the Hazon Ish or not. Wonderful, yes.

By the way, one more anecdote since I already got onto this topic. At the beginning of the twentieth century, a manuscript of the Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim came out. We don’t have a Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim; we have only the Babylonian Talmud. Now, I don’t know whether it once existed and disappeared, or never existed at all. In any case, no Talmudic text on the Order of Kodashim in the Jerusalem Talmud reached us, only the Babylonian Talmud. And even the Babylonian Talmud isn’t on all the tractates. In any case, someone forged a manuscript of the Jerusalem Talmud and wrote there his own novel insights in the laws of sacred matters, but in Land-of-Israel Aramaic, in the style of the Jerusalem Talmud, and he simply presented his own insights as the Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim. But he said he found it in manuscript; he didn’t reveal that these were his own insights. Okay? Now there were major controversies over this; he was apparently a very talented person, and there were big arguments over whether it was authentic or not. In the end the Rogatchover decided it was not authentic. The story goes that the Rogatchover was extraordinarily expert, so he knew that in every chapter of the Jerusalem Talmud there appears a sage who did not appear in the previous chapters. He had some rule like that about the Jerusalem Talmud. I haven’t checked whether it’s true, but that’s how they tell it: that the Rogatchover knew. He checked it in that manuscript, saw that it wasn’t true, and that there was some fake order there. The Kli Chemdah wrote an entire book about this Jerusalem Talmud—whether it was forged or not. Now the point is that people were very angry at the forger, and I asked myself why. Seemingly he’s allowed to do that, as the Magen Avraham writes, as the Talmud says. He hung it on a great person so that they would accept his novel insights—so what’s the problem? Why were they angry with him? He did something permitted. The point is, in light of what I said here, it’s very clear. Because the Talmud, unlike medieval authorities (Rishonim) or later authorities (Acharonim) or various halakhic decisors, whatever appears in the Talmud has to be accepted; it has halakhic authority. Therefore here, when you hang it on a Talmudic sage, when you say “this is what the Talmud says,” the listeners are obligated to accept it, and that one may not do. You may not hang something on a great person when you know the listener will accept it because a great person said it. The entire permission to do this exists only where the listener has the freedom to weigh it and decide in the end whether he accepts it or not. Now if we’re talking about a Talmudic passage, we don’t have that freedom, because we accepted upon ourselves the authority of the Talmud. And therefore they really were angry with him there for forging the Jerusalem Talmud on Kodashim. It’s a tactic for drawing attention, and not specifically so they’ll obey me; it’s more to draw attention. Yes, not just attention in the sense of students listening to me, but in the sense that they’ll seriously consider what I’m saying and then decide, instead of dismissing my arguments and not taking them into account. So not just that they listen, but that they take them into account—that is, that they are prepared to consider them seriously.

So I return to our topic. That was just a side remark in parentheses. Because here it seems he didn’t accept it when it was said in the name of Rav Yirmiyah, and that very same thing, when it was said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan, he did accept. We see that even Abaye—one of the greatest Amoraim—has some tendency to accept things from a person he esteems in some way, I don’t know. And therefore he himself later regrets it and says: if I had been worthy, I would already have accepted it when they told it to me in the name of Rav Yirmiyah. Why? Because I wouldn’t have been accepting it from Rav Yirmiyah; I should have considered it seriously and understood that it was correct. Why do I care who said it—Rav Yirmiyah or Rabbi Yohanan? I think that according to what I’m saying now, his repentance here, the regret he expresses, is not over contempt for Rav Yirmiyah and honor only for Rabbi Yohanan, but over the very approach that hangs on the person and not on the matter itself. Meaning, he should have judged the matter itself and not the speaker. What did you say? And there’s also a rabbinic practical difference regarding a child’s version, right? Fine.

“And if it went out, one need not relight it?” the Talmud asks. “But we raise a contradiction: Its commandment is from sunset until the foot traffic ceases from the marketplace. Is it not that if it went out, he relights it?” Right, you say “if it went out, one need not relight it,” meaning if it goes out you don’t have to light it again. The Talmud says: why? After all, it says: “Its commandment is from sunset,” and there is also an ending time: “until the foot traffic ceases from the marketplace.” Why mention the ending time? Seemingly, that implies that if it went out, I need to relight it until it remains lit until the end time—right? Until the foot traffic ceases from the marketplace. So to that the Talmud says: yes, “is it not that if it went out, he relights it?” The Talmud says: no. “If he did not light it, he may still light it.” The meaning is that if he did not light from the time the sun set, he may still light until the foot traffic ceases from the marketplace. But this speaks of the initial lighting. If he already lit it and it went out, he need not relight it. Or alternatively—a second answer—“for the measure.” And that too is how we rule in Jewish law—both of these we rule in Jewish law—that this was said only regarding the measure of how much oil one has to put in the lamp. So one must put in a measure of oil sufficient to last from sunset until the foot traffic ceases from the marketplace. Today we rule that this is something like half an hour. One has to put in enough oil so that it will burn for roughly half an hour. But if it goes out—if it burned only ten minutes and went out—it does not have to actually remain lit and continue to burn until the foot traffic ceases from the marketplace. Rather, from the outset one only has to make sure that it could burn for that half hour. And therefore in the conclusion we rule that if it went out, one need not relight it. Okay.

But you’re already starting to see the connection here to the labor of baking. Yes, in the labor of baking too, we stick the bread into the oven, and now there’s some duration of time that it has to remain in the oven in order to bake. The question immediately arises: wait a second—is the sticking itself already the labor of baking, so I’m already liable? Or not? Rather, the sticking is the act, but there is a condition that it actually bake. Or maybe not even that. Rather: does the sticking create the violation? Like: does the lighting create the commandment? Exactly. In parallel language, it is literally the same thing. So everything we said, in fact, about the labor of baking arises here in the Talmud explicitly regarding lighting the lamp. There is here basically some initial action that I do, namely the lighting, just like the sticking of the bread, and after that there is a certain time that it has to remain lit, just as there it has to bake. Then either this is a condition that reveals that the lighting was a commandment from the outset, or it is a continuation of the act of lighting, “his fire is because of his arrow,” as in the Nimukei Yosef’s reasoning, or perhaps really only the lighting itself performs the commandment and that’s it, and nothing more is needed. So all these possibilities that arise regarding the labor of baking arise also in this context of the Hanukkah lamp. Of course, this does not mean that what we decide regarding the Hanukkah lamp will also define the labor of baking. Obviously the possibilities exist both here and there, but even if the ruling in the labor of baking is, say, like the Minchat Chinukh—that the baking is part of the action of sticking and the labor is a continuing labor—still, regarding Hanukkah one can say that lighting performs the commandment, and afterward there is no need to relight, and it may even go out and everything is fine. There is no dependence between the topics; there is a similarity. That is, the different possibilities arise both here and there, but the ruling in each place is according to that place itself. It doesn’t have to be that the ruling here is also correct there. So that is regarding the topic of “if it went out, one need not relight it,” and we rule in Jewish law that if it went out, one need not relight it.

There is another topic there in the Talmud later on: whether the commandment is fulfilled by lighting or by placing. And this is what the Talmud says here. “It was stated: Rav said: one may not light from one lamp to another. And Shmuel said: one may light.” A certain scholar sat before Rav Adda bar Ahava and said: “Rav’s reason is because of contempt for the commandment.” Right, because when you light one lamp from another, you take the splinter, the match, what we call a match, and you light it from one lamp, transfer it, and light another lamp. So you are actually lighting—the match is ordinary, not a lamp of commandment. When you use a lamp of commandment to light a match, which is just ordinary—instead of striking it, you use a lamp of commandment—that is contempt for the commandment. You are basically using the commandment for an ordinary purpose, which in the end will also serve a commandment afterward, but right now you are merely lighting a match; you are not thereby lighting a Hanukkah lamp. That is contempt for the commandment. That is one possibility. He said to them: “Do not listen to him. Rav’s reason is because he diminishes the commandment.” The reason is different: rather, what is it? It diminishes the commandment. What does that mean? When lighting the match—when you bring the match close to the first lamp, the fire passes to the match and the flame of the first lamp goes down, yes, it is reduced; it becomes a weaker flame. More, and it is forbidden to diminish a commandment. Again, maybe a kind of contempt, but it is forbidden to diminish the commandment. So the Talmud says: “There is a practical difference between them.” What practical difference is there? There is a difference if he lights directly from lamp to lamp. If he lights the lamp directly from the first lamp, not via a match or splinter, but takes the second lamp, brings it close to the first, and lights it. So why? The one who says “because of contempt for the commandment”—from lamp to lamp, one may light. Meaning, if the problem is contempt for the commandment, then there is no problem here, because here I am using a lamp to light another lamp, and that lighting is itself a commandment. It’s not lighting something ordinary, like the match. It is not considered contempt for the commandment to use one commandment for another commandment of the same kind. But the one who says “because of diminishing the commandment”—that is, reducing the intensity of the flame in the first lamp—then even from lamp to lamp it is forbidden. Even if I light it directly to the second lamp, it is forbidden, because in the end the flame of the first lamp is diminished. So that is the practical difference.

In the end the Talmud continues: “What was the conclusion?” I’m skipping a section for a moment that is less important. “What was the conclusion? Rav Huna the son of Rav Yehoshua said: We see that if lighting performs the commandment, one may light from lamp to lamp; and if placing performs the commandment, one may not light from lamp to lamp.” Meaning, they asked: okay, so what is the law? Is it permitted or forbidden to light from one lamp to another because of contempt for the commandment or because of diminishing the commandment? We need to know, because there are halakhic practical differences. Rav Huna son of Rav Yehoshua says: I can’t tell you what the answer is. I can only tell you what it depends on. It depends on the question whether lighting performs the commandment or placing performs the commandment. If lighting performs the commandment, then one can light from one lamp to another, as in the Temple—right? As on Hanukkah like in the Temple—because when you light the second lamp, you have thereby performed a commandment, so it is not called contempt for the commandment. But if placing performs the commandment, then in fact when you lit the lamp you still did not perform a commandment; only when you place it in its location do you perform the commandment. And therefore you may not perform the lighting from the first lamp. So he claims this depends on the question whether lighting performs the commandment or placing performs the commandment. And that raises an interesting question whether this applies only to the reasoning of contempt, or also to the reasoning of diminishing, but I’m not getting into that now.

Then the Talmud begins: okay, now Rav Huna son of Rav Yehoshua has given us a device to try to clarify this law. Let’s examine whether lighting performs the commandment or placing performs the commandment, and through that we’ll find out whether one may light from lamp to lamp or not. Then the Talmud starts: “They asked: does lighting perform the commandment, or does placing perform the commandment?” They begin to clarify whether lighting performs the commandment or placing performs the commandment. In the end the Talmud says—the Talmud concludes—that lighting performs the commandment. Among other proofs, and also—here I’m reading from the end, I won’t get into the details right now—“from the fact that we recite the blessing ‘who sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to light the Hanukkah lamp,’ infer from this that lighting performs the commandment. Infer from this.” How would they have been expected to bless if placing performed the commandment? “To place the Hanukkah lamp.” So it’s a bit strange to bless “to place the Hanukkah lamp.” No, because at that point you’re lighting it in order to—I think what they mean here is that one should have recited “who sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us concerning the lighting of the Hanukkah lamp,” not “to light.” There is a difference between, for example, “concerning affixing a mezuzah” and “to affix a mezuzah.” How do we bless? The medieval authorities already discuss this: if the commandment rests on me personally to affix a mezuzah, then I bless “to affix a mezuzah.” But if the rule is only that there should be a mezuzah in my house—not that I need to place it, but that there should be a mezuzah in the house—then I bless “concerning affixing a mezuzah,” and not “to affix.” That is also why in circumcision we bless “concerning the circumcision” and not—and maybe I’ll touch on that later, perhaps. I’ll touch on that later. It depends somewhat on a dispute among medieval authorities.

In any case, for our purposes here, from the wording of the blessing it seems that the commandment is the lighting—that lighting performs the commandment. Because we bless “to light the Hanukkah lamp,” and not “concerning the lighting of the Hanukkah lamp.” I don’t think the meaning is placing; it doesn’t seem likely that they would have blessed there “concerning placing.” “And now that we say that lighting performs the commandment, if a deaf-mute, an incompetent person, or a minor lit it, he has done nothing.” Right. So if lighting performs the commandment, then if a deaf-mute, an incompetent person, or a minor—someone exempt from commandments—lit the lamp, then true, I now have a burning lamp in the house, but the commandment is the act of lighting, not that there should be a lamp burning. And therefore, the act of lighting was done by someone who is not obligated in the commandments—a deaf-mute, incompetent person, or minor. So he has done nothing; you have not performed the commandment. You have to extinguish it and relight it. The Talmud says: “A woman certainly may light, for Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said: Women are obligated in the Hanukkah lamp, for they too were included in that miracle.” Right. Although this is a positive commandment dependent on time, because it is only Hanukkah, it is a rabbinic positive commandment dependent on time, women are obligated because they too were included in that miracle.

Of course there is a great deal to say here on this issue. First, regarding a rabbinic commandment there is a dispute among medieval authorities whether the rule also applies that women are exempt from rabbinic positive commandments dependent on time. It’s a dispute between Rashi and Tosafot. Tosafot bring a proof against Rashi, among other things, from the Talmud here. The Talmud here needs a special reason to obligate women in the Hanukkah lamp, implying that without this special reason women would have been exempt. So we see that even with rabbinic positive commandments dependent on time, women are exempt. And that is difficult for Rashi, who says that regarding rabbinic commandments this rule does not apply. Okay? That’s one remark. A second remark: what is this reason, “they too were included in that miracle”? It’s very strange. In what other miracle were they not included? Meaning, if a miracle happened to the public, then the whole public should celebrate it. And also, the explanation “they too were included in that miracle”—the medieval authorities discuss what exactly that means. So whether this refers to Judith or whatever explanation we give, it sounds as though they were partners in the actual occurrence of the miracle, not merely that they too benefited along with the public from the results of the miracle. And the question is why we need that. Why do I care whether women were partners in bringing about the event, in carrying out the events, or whether a miracle simply happened to the community, the community celebrates that miracle, and the community includes women too? Why does the woman need to be an active partner in carrying it out in order to obligate her in the commandment? If this were not so, would I exempt women from the Hanukkah lamp? Didn’t they also benefit from the victory over the Greeks, or the purification of the Temple, or whatever it may be? This whole line of reasoning is a very strange line of reasoning. I suspect this is a reason stated only for rhetorical flourish.

Rabbi, yesterday I saw something from the Brisker Rav exactly on this topic. There he inferred from Maimonides, who wrote about the obligation in the Hanukkah lamp “women, etc., including freed slaves.” And he inferred from this that the practical difference is that an ordinary slave, whose status is seemingly like that of a woman according to what we’re saying, still would not be obligated, even though he too was included in that miracle. And the fact that Maimonides writes “freed slaves” and not “slaves” means that there is a special obligation here for women, and it’s an obligation greater than that of men, because the very fact that they brought about the miracle is an independent obligation and not just because they too were saved. Because if that were the reason, then even non-freed slaves would be obligated. Okay, I hear that, but it is very strange. Very strange, because the question is why we need it. I could explain otherwise. I could explain that freed slaves were not included in that miracle, because they are not Jews. Converts are obligated. What? Converts are obligated. Maimonides writes “a convert.” Because a convert is halakhically considered like a Jew from birth, as a son of Abraham our father. He is considered a son of Abraham our father. And isn’t a freed slave like a convert in every respect? Exactly, yes, right. Therefore he truly is obligated. But a slave who was not freed—true, he is obligated in commandments like a woman, but that doesn’t mean he is a Jew from birth. So in his case you really do need a reason to obligate him, and that reason does not exist. But in the case of a woman, I think even without that reason. What you are saying could maybe explain why they needed the reasoning that women were active partners, because if they had said only that they too belong to the Jewish people, I might have thought perhaps slaves too. But I don’t know, maybe. I don’t…

I want to ask for a moment about this obligation to light. I’ll put women aside for the moment, even though they are connected to it. Is every individual obligated to light? Because the wording here is “a woman certainly lights,” and afterwards it says “women are obligated in the Hanukkah lamp.” Maybe if we said the commandment is the lighting itself, then every person has to actually light? And not what? I didn’t understand. You mean “a lamp for each man and his household”? Yes. No. A lamp for each man and his household. Suppose there is a woman who has a house and lives alone. No, I’m asking: if the father lights, does he discharge the obligation of the children who are over bar mitzvah age? Yes, both the sons and the daughters, in principle. “A lamp for each man and his household” is enough. Strictly speaking. There are embellishments and this depends on customs, but in principle, strictly speaking, “a lamp for each man and his household” is enough. Here the discussion is what happens if a woman lives alone in the house. Or even not alone, where only she lights for everyone. Yes, if she alone lights for the whole family. If she is obligated, then she is obligated, just like anyone else. But seemingly here in the Talmud it isn’t talking at all about “a lamp for each man and his household”; seemingly each individual has to light. No, no, they are not getting into that question here at all. There is an obligation of the Hanukkah lamp. They are not getting into how many one has to light, how, and where. That comes later; those are other topics there.

Okay, so on the face of it, on the face of it, I at least would have said by logic that these two topics are really just two sides of the same coin: the topic of “if it went out, one need not relight it” and the topic of “does lighting perform the commandment or does placing perform the commandment.” What do I mean? If lighting performs the commandment, then if it went out, one need not relight it, because I already performed the commandment—I lit it. Why do I care that afterward it went out? But if placing performs the commandment—meaning that the lamp has to be lit, that the act of lighting is not the point, but rather the lamp has to be lit—then also if it went out, I do need to relight it, because the lamp has to be lit. Seemingly these are simply two sides of the same coin. But in the Talmud itself, as I said before, there is not the slightest hint of this. The Talmud does not connect the topics in any way. It appears from the Talmud that these are two independent topics. Otherwise it should have brought a proof. It should have said: from the fact that we rule that if it went out one need not relight it, it follows that lighting performs the commandment. When they were checking whether the law is that lighting performs the commandment or placing performs the commandment, what was the problem? They could have brought the conclusion of the topic “if it went out, one need not relight it” and proven from here that lighting performs the commandment. Or the other way around: if they wanted to clarify whether if it went out one must relight it or not, they should have brought the conclusion that lighting performs the commandment and inferred from here that if it went out one need not relight it. But the Talmud does not do that. The Talmud clarifies each topic separately and reaches a separate conclusion. True, in the end it comes out that we rule in a way that happens to fit, because we rule both that if it went out one need not relight it, and also that lighting performs the commandment, which on the face of it fits. But the way the inquiry proceeds shows that there is really no connection between these two things; it’s accidental. That’s from one direction.

Now why indeed would there be no connection between these things? How can this be understood in a way where there is no connection between the two topics? You can understand it like this, and again this takes me back to the parameters of baking, to the labor of baking. If I say lighting performs the commandment, that does not mean there is no condition that it burn for half an hour, right? Lighting is the act of the commandment, provided that afterward it burned for half an hour—like in the labor of baking. The sticking creates the violation, provided that it stayed there half an hour until it baked. Same thing. Then what? If in practice the lamp went out, I would have to relight it. Why? Because I have to ensure that the condition is fulfilled; otherwise my lighting will not count as a commandment. Then it could be that lighting performs the commandment, and yet if it went out one must relight it. And likewise the opposite: it could be that placing performs the commandment, but if it went out one need not relight it. After I placed it, it went out; no need to relight, because I already placed it, everything is fine, so one need not relight it. True, if it went out before I lit it, then obviously I need to light it; and if it went out before I placed it—sorry—then obviously I need to light it, because I need to place it when it is lit, or light it when it is placed, whichever. We usually do the reverse: we light it when it is already in place, which for us counts also as placing. Not important; here the lighting is the placing. But if I lit it in one place and moved it to another place, then the stage at which the commandment is performed is the placing. Therefore, if at the moment of placing the lamp was extinguished, then obviously I have to light it. But if after placing it, it went out—after placing it it went out—then one can say there is no need to relight it. What’s the problem? I already placed it. Therefore from the topics themselves it appears there is no connection, and really on the substantive level there does not have to be a connection.

On the other hand, it is hard to ignore the affinity between the two topics. There is some affinity between the two topics, and therefore it is not all that surprising that the Shulchan Arukh—it is surprising in light of the Talmud, but in terms of the reasoning itself it is not surprising—that the Shulchan Arukh, when it brings these laws in section 673, siman 673—not the year 673… According to the Talmud that brought the example of the Sabbath, where lamps burn from the beginning of the Sabbath and continue burning even after the Sabbath, so why does one need to relight it? If placing is the main thing, seemingly there’s no need to relight, and then it really is connected to… But for Sabbath candles, you need the light; you light in order to use their light. I could light them from yesterday. Fine, light them from yesterday, but you still need the light to remain. Fine, but then the essence of the commandment is not the lighting but the placing. Well, maybe Sabbath candles have to be discussed separately. Indeed they were discussed separately; you need to extinguish and relight. Right, it was ruled that you have to extinguish and relight, so it was ruled that for Sabbath candles it is not like the Hanukkah lamp—so what’s the problem. No, I’m talking about a Hanukkah lamp that was lit before the Sabbath. Hanukkah lamp—that’s the Terumat HaDeshen. Wait, we’ll get there, we’ll get there. I hope we’ll get there. That’s at the end.

So, the Shulchan Arukh does connect these two laws. It says: “Lighting performs the commandment. Therefore, if it went out before its time passed”—of course, if it went out within the half hour, because if it went out after the half hour then according to all opinions one need not relight it—“he need not relight it. And even if it went out on Sabbath eve before accepting the Sabbath, while it is still daytime, he need not relight it”—that is the Terumat HaDeshen. “And likewise, if after he lit it he came to adjust it and accidentally extinguished it, he need not relight it. And if he wishes to be stringent with himself and relight it, he should not recite a blessing over it.” Fine? Because basically you are not obligated to light, so certainly you do not bless over it, because this is a lighting that was not required. So the Shulchan Arukh appears to connect the rule that lighting performs the commandment with the ruling that if it went out one need not relight it—which is very surprising, because in the Talmud it seems unrelated. But the Shulchan Arukh understood that this is indeed the same discussion. And what idea lies behind that? Apparently the Shulchan Arukh understood that the dispute over whether lighting performs the commandment or placing performs the commandment is really the dispute over what the commandment is. Is the commandment the act of lighting, or is the commandment that it should be lit and I don’t care about the act of lighting? Then, if the question is whether lighting or placing performs the commandment, one can understand that if lighting performs the commandment, then if it went out one need not relight it. Why? Because I have already done the act of lighting. But if placing performs the commandment—meaning the commandment is that it should be lit—then if it went out, I need to continue and relight it so that it will be lit.

And this is a question that arises in other contexts too—for example I brought you the context of circumcision, a circumcision ceremony. In the context of circumcision too they discuss whether the commandment is to circumcise, or whether the commandment is that the person be circumcised. Meaning, the act of circumcision is only the way to ensure that he is circumcised, but really the commandment is not to perform the act of circumcision, but that he be circumcised. For example, there is a Talmudic passage—I didn’t send you to it because it’s a bit long and tangential—but there is a passage in tractate Shabbat 133. The Talmud there discusses whether, when one circumcises a baby and there are shreds of skin that do not invalidate the circumcision—meaning there are bits of skin such that, if they were not removed, the circumcision is still valid. But it is preferable to remove those too. The circumcision is more aesthetically complete if everything is removed. Now suppose someone circumcised and there remained shreds that do not invalidate the circumcision. In the Talmud it says that one does not return to them. On the Sabbath. Not always. What? I can’t hear. On the Sabbath or always? I’m getting to that now—that’s the question. Now, the plain meaning of the Talmud seems to be that it speaks about the Sabbath, because on the Sabbath, after all, you have already done the circumcision. Performing circumcision overrides the Sabbath; it is a prohibition but it overrides the Sabbath. But here, after you have already fulfilled your obligation, cutting the non-invalidating shreds is not part of the essential act of circumcision; it is only an enhancement. You do not desecrate the Sabbath for an enhancement. But on a weekday, according to this, of course one would also return to the non-invalidating shreds, because it is an enhancement—cut those too so that it will be more complete. And that is indeed what the Tur writes. But Maimonides writes that regarding shreds that do not invalidate the circumcision, one does not return to them—period. He does not say one does not return to them on the Sabbath; he says one does not return to them at all. And the question is what the idea behind that is.

Here both the Beit HaLevi and his grandson the Brisker Rav—Brisk, that is. The Beit HaLevi is the father of Rabbi Chaim Brisker, and the Brisker Rav is Rabbi Chaim Brisker’s son, the grandson of the Beit HaLevi. Both of them explain this dispute in a similar way. They tie it to the question whether one can do an enhancement of the commandment after I have finished performing the commandment, or whether the enhancement must accompany the actual performance of the commandment itself. It could be completion and not enhancement. Can you hear? It could be completion and not enhancement. No, it’s enhancement because the commandment is complete. Fine, okay, it isn’t needed, it isn’t indispensable; it’s only to beautify. Now the question is whether after I have finished the act of circumcision I can still do a completion in order to add enhancement, or whether once I have finished the act of circumcision, that’s it. I performed the commandment; it cannot be enhanced after it has already been performed. Okay? So that’s the question. Now one of them—I no longer remember which one explains it how—one of them says that this is the dispute between Maimonides and the Tur. The Tur claims that the enhancement can be done after you have finished the commandment. Therefore, if you finished the circumcision and suddenly saw that shreds remained, then you really do have to return because there is enhancement of the commandment. On the Sabbath, don’t return, because enhancement of the commandment does not justify desecrating the Sabbath. But on a weekday, certainly return; you need to beautify the commandment. Maimonides argues that even on a weekday you do not return. Why? Because after the commandment is finished, it is no longer enhancement. Therefore even on a weekday there is no point in cutting; more than that, it is even forbidden to cut, because that is wounding. If there is no commandment, why would you wound that baby if there is no commandment at all? Therefore do not return even on a weekday. So the dispute between them is over the laws of beautifying a commandment: can beautifying a commandment be done after finishing the commandment, or must the beautification accompany the actual performance of the commandment itself?

Now of course this formulation assumes: what is the commandment? To circumcise, and not that he be circumcised, right? Because if the commandment is that he be circumcised, then obviously after I finished circumcising, it is worthwhile to cut those non-invalidating shreds, because I am beautifying his being circumcised. That is not after the commandment ended; the commandment is that he be circumcised, so there is certainly room to beautify it even after I finished the cutting, because the commandment still continues as long as the person is circumcised. So I want the commandment to exist in a more beautiful way. Therefore it is clear that the previous explanation assumes the commandment is to do the act of circumcision and not to be circumcised. Now the other one—the grandfather or the grandson, again, I don’t remember which—explains it the opposite way. He says that according to all opinions you cannot beautify after fulfillment of the commandment. The dispute between Maimonides and the Tur is over what the commandment is. Is the commandment to circumcise, in which case there is nothing to beautify after you already circumcised? Or is the commandment to be circumcised, in which case one can beautify it afterward as well, because after all you are still in the time of fulfilling the commandment. The commandment is to be circumcised.

According to the story you brought about King David, then for King David it is “to be circumcised.” Seemingly, that the commandment is to be circumcised. Yes. As you know, it’s hard to bring proofs from midrash. A midrash can say, “look, I am surrounded by commandments that were already performed.” That doesn’t necessarily mean I am currently performing the commandment. Midrashim can be set aside; that isn’t a strong proof. If someone bought a lulav—if someone bought a lulav or ritual fringes and then saw something more beautiful, a prettier lulav or ritual fringes—then seemingly he doesn’t need to buy a new one. That’s it; he already performed the commandment. Here we get the middle link. Between the Beit HaLevi and the Brisker Rav stands Rabbi Chaim Brisker, the son of one and father of the other. And he discusses this question. A well-known teaching in the name of Rabbi Chaim: what happens when you have two etrogs? One is valid but not beautiful; the other is beautiful but there is doubt regarding its validity. Let’s say, for example, I don’t know whether it is grafted, and regarding a grafted one you don’t know whether a grafted etrog is valid or not, but it is very beautiful. Meaning, you can see that it is nice. What should you do now? You want to perform the commandment in a more beautiful way. Rabbi Chaim says: seemingly, take the valid etrog first, and afterward take the beautiful etrog and thereby beautify the commandment. He says no—do the opposite. Why? Because if you do it that way, the moment you took the valid etrog you have already fulfilled the commandment. You can no longer beautify it afterward with the beautiful etrog. Therefore what should be done is the opposite: first take the etrog whose validity is doubtful but which is beautiful, and then take the valid etrog just in case the first one was invalid, so that you are sure you fulfilled your obligation. Then, if the first one was valid, you performed a beautiful commandment, and if it was not valid, at least you performed a valid commandment. Okay? That is what he claims.

But why does that not concern us? Actually, this discussion already begins with the Beit HaLevi; Rabbi Chaim just continues it. But why does it not concern us? It does not concern us. Because you perform the commandment anew each day. What? Because the commandment is fulfilled afresh each time. Yes, but the moment you took the etrog, you already fulfilled your obligation. When you take a beautiful etrog, you did not beautify the first etrog. You took another etrog that is beautiful. In what sense does that serve as beautification of a commandment already fulfilled? Here, according to all opinions, you cannot beautify after fulfillment of the commandment. It is not connected to the dispute we spoke of before, between Maimonides and the Tur. After all, you already performed the commandment with the valid etrog. Now you are taking another etrog that is beautiful—what does that help? You are not beautifying the first etrog. The first etrog you took was valid but not beautiful, and that’s that. Now you want to perform the commandment again? You can’t perform the commandment again; it has already been performed. Therefore here, according to all opinions, it is impossible to do this afterward. According to all opinions except mine. Meaning, in my opinion it is possible to do it afterward, but that requires a separate lecture. I don’t want to get into it; that’s another discussion.

For example, there is a very interesting Ra’avad. It says in the Talmud at the beginning of chapter 2 of tractate Kiddushin that “it is a greater commandment for a person to do it himself than through his agent.” When a person betroths a woman, it is preferable that he himself do it rather than through an agent, even though through an agent the betrothal is perfectly valid. The Ra’avad asks: what if someone betrothed through an agent, and afterward the woman comes to him or he comes to her, it doesn’t matter—they meet. The Ra’avad says that he should betroth her again himself. Now what does it mean “betroth her again himself”? Because “it is a greater commandment for a person to do it himself than through his agent” is a more beautiful fulfillment. What do you mean? She is already betrothed to him. The agent already betrothed her. How can he betroth her again when she is already betrothed? That parallels Rabbi Chaim’s etrog, right? After all, when I took the valid etrog, I already fulfilled my obligation; I performed the commandment. Now I want to take a beautiful etrog and beautify the commandment. I can’t; I already took one, already fulfilled the obligation, the commandment is already done. According to all opinions that does not apply. But we see… Wait, so here there is no beautification? Wait, in this case there is no beautification? So I’m saying: seemingly according to his answer—if you stop a Torah scholar on the street and ask him, he’ll tell you such a thing doesn’t make sense. Very few people know this responsum of the Ra’avad; it appears in the Rivash in several places. And I have an explanation for why it is correct. That’s why I said I think one can even take the beautiful etrog after taking the valid etrog. But that’s just an anecdote; let’s return to our subject.

What am I trying to say from here? What I basically want to claim is that regarding circumcision too there is the same discussion: is the commandment to circumcise, or is the commandment that he be circumcised? Here, of course, there is no room to discuss the questions of baking and conditioning and all the things we discussed before, because clearly the moment you circumcise, he also becomes circumcised. There is no time gap here where we have to wait until the person becomes circumcised, as in baking, as in lighting the Hanukkah lamp where one has to wait half an hour. Therefore all those other formulations are irrelevant here. Here it is just the pure question: is the commandment on the act of circumcision, or on the result of being circumcised? Those are the two possibilities that arise here. And in that sense, the beautification does not make sense after… If the beautification does not make sense after the commandment of circumcision, then one really cannot do the beautification afterward. Okay?

So apparently… By the way, the Brisker Rav—where does he bring this? The grandson. Where does he bring this discussion? In Maimonides’ laws of Hanukkah. He brings this discussion in the laws of Hanukkah, because there in the laws of Hanukkah he discusses the same situation: after you already lit candles and suddenly you want to light more candles in order to be of the “most meticulous of the meticulous.” Impossible, he says. Because you already lit one candle, and a quarter of an hour later remembered that really you had not beautified the commandment. You want to light more candles now in order to be of the “most meticulous of the meticulous”? No, you lost the opportunity. Because once you fulfilled the commandment, the commandment has already been fulfilled. You cannot now beautify it after it has already been fulfilled. That of course assumes that the commandment is to light and not that it remain lit. Right? And indeed that is what the Shulchan Arukh rules: that lighting performs the commandment, and therefore if it went out one need not relight it. What did we say the Shulchan Arukh understands? That “lighting performs the commandment” means that the act of lighting is the commandment. Therefore from this it indeed follows that if it went out one need not relight it, because you finished the commandment. It is not even conditional on its actually remaining lit. What is still required? It is required that at the moment you light it—at the moment you light it—the amount of oil be enough for half an hour of burning. That, yes. But that is a condition in the act of lighting. It does not need to burn in practice for half an hour. If you remember, by the way, also regarding the definition of the labor of baking I wanted to claim—in one of the formulations—that if I put the bread in the oven in such a way that it is certain to bake within half an hour, then even if in the end it did not become baked… baked, I get stoned. That is what I wanted to claim in Rashi’s view, if you remember. After all, Rashi says that even if there is a prohibition to remove the bread, he is liable to stoning, even though my not removing the bread is because of the prohibition, so seemingly I am under duress. Why am I liable to stoning? That is what Tosafot asks. And Tosafot indeed says one is not liable to stoning. I wanted to claim that according to Rashi, even if he removed the bread he would still be liable to stoning. Not only if he did not remove the bread because of duress, but even if he actually removed it and the bread did not bake, it could still be that he is liable to stoning. Why? Because in the end, when he put the bread in the oven, when he stuck it in the oven, he performed an act that in principle should lead to baked bread. And that is enough, that’s it.

Here is my study partner, just a second. Here is my study partner appearing. What I said there in Rashi is that if the sticking of the bread is done in such a way that the bread will remain and bake, then the sticking itself is the prohibition. The bread does not need actually to bake. What is needed is that the sticking be of a kind that allows the bread to bake. Then in such a case, even if I remove the bread and do not allow it to bake, it does not matter, because the moment I stuck the bread in, I performed an action that could lead to baking. And that itself is the prohibition. This parallels what we are discussing here. Because what are we saying here? When I light the lamp, I have performed an action of commandment. So why does there have to be enough oil for half an hour? After all, it doesn’t need actually to burn for half an hour. Even if it goes out after ten minutes, I fulfilled my obligation. But there still must be an amount of oil for half an hour. Why? Because there needs to be a lighting of such a kind that it allows the lamp to burn for half an hour. Only such a lighting is an act of lighting that is a commandment. The lamp does not actually need to burn. And this is not a condition that the lamp actually burn; rather, that the act of lighting be an act that allows it to burn for half an hour, because otherwise it is not a meaningful lighting. And the same with the labor of baking by sticking. Everything we saw there comes up here too, literally one-to-one.

I have a question. As I was thinking about this topic, it suddenly struck me that it is really connected to the topic we are discussing. I have a question: they don’t raise here at all the issue of publicizing the miracle, right? Right. Why? But if—with all due respect—if I’m not mistaken, the whole issue of placing it is publicizing the miracle. Meaning that if the lamp is not lit, then the miracle is not publicized? Yes. I need to perform an action that publicizes the miracle. It does not need to be that the miracle is actually publicized in practice. I need to perform an action capable of publicizing the miracle. If in the end the miracle was not publicized—well, no. That is a very interesting definition, and that is my next step—I’m getting to that. So I have another question, a little bit back. Then how do we… Those who follow the custom that each person lights—it’s not just embellishment, it is “the most meticulous of the meticulous.” After we lit one menorah in the house, then after we fulfilled the commandment, how do we continue embellishing? If this is done within the same continuous sequence, that’s the previous topic we saw, right? With the warnings and the five bald patches. If you perform a continuing action, or even several acts done in sequence under one warning—right, what we saw there? Then for me everything belongs to the first act of lighting. Meaning, if I perform the act of lighting one menorah, and then you light yours, and then the children light theirs, and so on, everything all joins together with the first act of lighting, and that is called a beautified commandment. But if I went on with the rest of my evening, and then suddenly remembered: wait, there is “the most meticulous of the meticulous”; I have to light more menorahs—lost. At least that is what the Brisker Rav argues: lost. Again, not everyone agrees. This is disputed.

So then it comes out that if one son comes home at midnight, he should not light for himself? What? Again? If one of the children comes at midnight. Right. According to this, he would not light for himself with a blessing. What he can do is light, maybe to publicize the miracle; it never hurts to add more. But according to some views it could be that he can even light with a blessing. There are those who say one can embellish even after the act of the commandment. And why does it matter “a lamp for each man and his household”? Is there also an obligation on the individual person? There is a great deal to discuss here. What do you mean? But I recite the blessing on the lighting. What? I didn’t understand. Idit, don’t you recite the blessing on the lighting? Of course I do. We recite the blessing, why not? That’s what I’m asking. Seemingly this is a blessing in vain, because if one person in the house already blessed, then all of us light. If I answered amen, why do I need to bless again? You don’t need to, but you may. You can choose not to intend to fulfill your obligation through his blessing, and then bless yourself. So that’s exactly what I’m asking now: if you have some son who comes at 12 at night, can he light and bless? He can light, but after the commandment has already been fulfilled, what he lights is not even embellishment of the commandment; it is nothing. So there is nothing to bless over. Why? If he decided that he did not fulfill the family’s obligation, then he can bless? Then this is the whole continuum of the lighting. “A lamp for each man and his household”—the household has fulfilled the obligation. As I said, this depends on whether it is an obligation on the house or an obligation on the person within the house. I’m not going into all those definitions right now. But I’m saying: when you light together, say, with your husband and both of you light, then together that is a beautified lighting because you are doing a lamp for each person. Then there is no problem; each of you can bless, because both of you are doing the commandment together. Of course, you can also fulfill the obligation through him and he through you, but if you both want not to fulfill it through the other and instead each bless separately, fine.

The Rabbi compared this to five crafts or five bald patches, which we discussed in the previous lecture, where it happens in sequence. So basically the claim, the question that arises now, is exactly the question Yael raised. There is something very strange here in all this. After all, the idea of the Hanukkah lamp is that we put it in the window for publicizing the miracle and all of that. And in effect the Shulchan Arukh tells us—and again, in the Talmud itself one could still argue, but in the Shulchan Arukh it is written in the clearest possible way—what interests me is that you light; as far as I’m concerned, afterward it need not burn even for one second. You need to light it in a way that could suffice for half an hour. In practice, one second is also enough as far as I’m concerned. Why? Seemingly I would have expected the definition to be that the lamp should be lit. Meaning, the goal is to publicize the miracle. Of course you have to light it, because otherwise there won’t be a lamp that burns. But in the end, the goal is that the lamp should be burning. Like circumcision: you need to circumcise, but the goal is that the baby be circumcised. There they say there is a dispute. But in the Hanukkah lamp I really would have expected the definition to be that the lamp should be burning, not that I should light it. But doesn’t it need to burn for half an hour? One must from the outset have a lamp that burns for half an hour? It says one must from the outset have a lamp that burns for half an hour. No—not that it must. It must be able to burn; enough oil so that it can burn for half an hour. But if it goes out, and even though you can relight it, there is no need at all; you don’t need to relight. And in reality, how did that work? In the past, how did they light Hanukkah lamps? In winter. Obviously the lamps would go out. A person lights at the entrance of the house, to the left of the mezuzah—why wouldn’t the lamps go out? They didn’t have those glass boxes then. Of course they did it in a way that it would not go out, clearly. They did it behind a window, or they did have some sort of glass door, or they did it in a way that it would not go out. Was there glass in the period of the Mishnah? I’m really asking. Even today, this whole glass story doesn’t always hold up, and I think practically—practically, I mean—from the outset, try to make sure it will burn for half an hour. But practically, people know that many times there are these malfunctions, and therefore after the fact, if it did not burn…

What do you mean? Light it again. After all, the goal is that it be lit. By the way, glass is something quite ancient. I don’t know when they started using it, but glass existed a long time ago. I don’t know exactly when. In Roman times it was already a very expensive product; it was only in the homes of the wealthy. Right, I don’t think even for windows. But what difference does that make? It makes no difference at all. It makes a difference because practically a person wasn’t standing there for half an hour relighting the candles every moment in the winter when it was raining, like yesterday for example. A person who lights the lamp in a place where there is wind and the lamp is certain to go out has not fulfilled his obligation. So either way that won’t help him. The lamp needs to burn in such a way that from the outset, if nothing happens, it will burn for half an hour. If you place it somewhere where it definitely won’t burn, you have not fulfilled the obligation. That’s it. What I understood is that this entire discussion here—whether the action of the commandment is called lighting or placing—is to know the law in a case where… to know these laws for other rules. But from the outset, a lamp—so that the act of lighting of the commandment be meaningful—it needs to burn for half an hour. There are kinds of oils with which one does not light because they won’t burn for half an hour, or things like that. But yes, from the outset the commandment is… there are quantities of oil. Quantities of oil so that it burns nicely. There are. But which don’t burn for half an hour. Which don’t draw nicely, yes. So—but from the outset, for the lamp, in order for the commandment of lighting to be meaningful, it needs to burn for half an hour, and that’s all. The answer is no, that’s not correct. Lighting performs the commandment, and if it went out one need not relight it. If it went out, there is no need to relight it. “If it went out, one need not relight it,” because the commandment is to light, but from the outset the lighting should be meaningful. You can decide for yourself that from the outset you want to relight it—that’s fine—but that is not what is written in Jewish law. In Jewish law it says that if it went out one need not relight it; you do not have to relight it. So from the outset one may light and not intentionally extinguish it, but if it went out within two minutes, everything is fine. Yes—but also, if you put it, as I said earlier to Hani, if you put it somewhere where it is definitely going to go out because of wind or something like that, that is also no good. Why? Because it needs to be lit in such a way that the lighting potentially suffices—potentially allows—the lamp to burn for half an hour. But the whole point is only to allow that possibility. It does not need actually to happen.

Because I think the reality was that it was very, very common for it to go out in the middle. Right. To Hani I can only add that I just read on Wikipedia about glass, yes, and it existed already in Abraham’s time, but it was horrendously expensive. Meaning that in the Talmudic period they already tell that a cup of white glass was worth four hundred zuz. So I’m not sure it was in very widespread use. In the Talmud and in Talmudic discussions they simply encompass all the possibilities that could exist. That doesn’t mean they didn’t have glass. It could be they did, but it isn’t relevant to us. I don’t see the relevance of it. One must light in a place where it is expected to burn for half an hour. It doesn’t matter whether they had glass. Let them do it with—I don’t know—whatever you want. But they did it, otherwise they would not have fulfilled the obligation. So the halakhic definition is not connected to that.

Oh, maybe publicizing the miracle is inside the house, for the people there. That’s already after-the-fact situations; that’s a different story. The Talmud writes that because outside there are dangers and things like that, one does the publicizing toward the inside. But even so, one still has to light for a certain amount of time. It’s toward the outside, not the inside. And if a person wants to leave the house and doesn’t want to leave the candles burning, is he allowed to extinguish them before the half hour? Good. If so, then yes. I don’t think so. I’d have to check, but I don’t think that is permitted. Because it’s interesting: if he lit and did the commandment… No, if you extinguish it, that joins to the act, so your act is not an act of lighting for half an hour. It damages your act, because you planned to extinguish it. And that’s like removing the bread. It’s like placing it somewhere where the wind will definitely come and extinguish it. Removing the bread as destruction. Because if you place it somewhere where the wind will definitely come and extinguish it, that too is not called lighting, even though the wind will extinguish it only two minutes later. But already now it is not called lighting. Lighting is an act that allows the lamp to burn for half an hour. It does not need actually to burn, but the lighting must allow that.

Now this really brings me to the idea that I already see I won’t manage to get into at all. Look at it afterward in the summary if you want. This whole issue of lighting the lamp—lighting the lamp in the Temple, I mean, in the menorah. Lighting the lamp in the Temple. What I actually want to explain here is how we got to such a strange definition of the Hanukkah lamp. After all, the point of the lighting is publicizing the miracle—that people should see the flame, remember the miracle and Hanukkah. And basically they tell us: forget it, all you need to do is just the act that enables that, but it doesn’t need to happen in practice. More than that—even if it goes out and I can relight it, what’s the problem? No, there’s no need. Everything is fine. If it went out, leave it like that, everything is fine; you did what you needed to do. They don’t tell me this just after the fact; they say there’s no problem: if it went out, one need not relight it. Why? After all, this is contrary to logic. It seems to me very hard to ignore that there is some very clear message that they want to convey to us through this definition. This definition cannot be accidental. There is something here that is clearly essential.

And I think what they want to tell us is that the Hanukkah lamp is a memorial to the menorah in the Temple, right? Because they lit the menorah in the Temple for eight days, we light Hanukkah lamps for eight days. And the menorah in the Temple has seven branches, while we light a Hanukkah lamp with eight, and that is very confusing, because eight is because of the eight days, not because of the number of branches. But it is a memorial to the lighting of the menorah in the Temple. Now what happens in the Temple with the lighting of the menorah—very strange things happen there too, but they are very similar to what we just saw regarding the Hanukkah lamp. If you look there—perhaps only at the very tip of the matter. “And you shall command the children of Israel, and they shall take to you pure olive oil, crushed for the light, to raise an eternal lamp. In the Tent of Meeting, outside the curtain that is over the testimony, Aaron and his sons shall arrange it from evening until morning before the Lord, an eternal statute for their generations from the children of Israel.” What does “arrange it” mean? And what does “raise an eternal lamp” mean? These are two expressions that appear in the Torah with respect to the lamp. One has to raise the lamp; one has to arrange it. Elsewhere, by the way, there is another expression, and it is called “to prepare well.” “And Aaron shall burn on it aromatic incense every morning; when he prepares well the lamps, he shall burn it.” So there is a dispute among the medieval authorities what “preparing well” is, what “raising” is, and what “arranging” is. For our purposes, “preparing well,” in the simple sense, is cleaning—the cleaning and preparation of the lamp, replacing oil, cleaning the char, preparing the menorah for lighting. Whether this was done in the evening or in the morning is a dispute among medieval authorities. Maimonides includes the lighting itself under “preparing well,” but in the simple literal sense, “preparing well” means cleaning. “Raising” is the lighting. “When he raises the lamps”—so that the flame rises on its own. Raising is the actual lighting. “Preparing well” is the preparation. And what is “arranging”? It could be that “arranging” is a synonym for “preparing well.” There are disputes; I won’t get into that now.

Now what happens here is a very, very strange thing. Lighting the lamp, lighting the menorah in the Temple, is a sacrificial service. A sacrificial service has to be performed by a priest. Right? That is the rule: sacrificial service is performed only by priests. Anything that doesn’t require a priest simply isn’t sacrificial service. Now it turns out that “preparing well” is the commandment that must be done by a priest. The lighting is valid even by a non-priest. Meaning, actually lighting the menorah can also be done by an Israelite; it doesn’t require a priest. Preparing it, cleaning the… And the preparation for the lighting—that is the important service, and that has to be done by the priest. But that’s not strange. I see in it the responsibility. What do you mean? Because the lamp will burn only if the preparation, the “preparing well,” is good. And that is the responsibility for the lighting. Then take a responsible Israelite who will do it properly, but in the end, after all, the goal is the lighting. No, he isn’t “responsible.” The goal is that the menorah should be lit. The preparations are preparations, but in the end the goal is that the menorah be burning. I think the opposite. I really think the opposite. What? Like, I don’t know, I’ll prepare the dough and the bread and the sugar and do everything precisely, and in the end I’ll say, fine, now put it in the oven. True, maybe the action between the preparation and the lighting is the important action. Preparations are preparations; they’re instrumental. But after all, the goal is that it should be lit. But there is great precision in these preparations. If there’s a problem with precision, then get a world expert in lamp preparation. But what does that have to do with a priest? The priest is the world expert. No—the priest is not functioning here as an expert. The priest is functioning here as the one who performs the more important service, not the more precise one. Okay, fine, the one responsible. It isn’t a matter of precision; it’s a matter of responsibility. If the service is an important service, if it has to atone, then that is the role of the priest. If it is only preparation, there can be expert craftsmen for it—like preparing incense and all sorts of things that require expertise, fine, there are experts for that. That has nothing to do with a priest. And the priests didn’t do it? Two different things. No, but the priests prepared the… This whole story is upside down. Basically, the preparation of the lamp is the important thing. It specifically requires a priest; that is the sacrificial service—the preparation, cleaning the lamp, replacing the oil, removing the wicks, and so on. And the lighting, which is seemingly the purpose, the peak—that’s not the important thing. That can be done by anyone, even a non-priest.

Now there is a dispute between Maimonides and the Ra’avad, if you noticed. The Ra’avad says that from the outset even the lighting should be done by a priest; only after the fact is it valid if done by a non-priest. Maimonides says no, no—even from the outset there is no need at all for the priest to light. Let a non-priest do it; as far as he is concerned, maybe even a monkey could do it. It doesn’t matter at all. What matters is only the preparation. If you are already seeing the similarity to the Hanukkah lamp—in effect we see the same phenomenon here too. In the menorah too, in effect, the main purpose or the main commandment placed upon us is the preparation. What will actually happen in the end—let a priest do it, let a non-priest do it, let a monkey do it; let fire descend from heaven—I don’t care. The lighting can even happen on its own. “So that the flame should rise on its own.” Remember the Talmudic passage I brought you? I claim this is not just literary description; it is a halakhic requirement. It is a halakhic requirement, meaning that the rising of the flame is already a result that happens on its own. That is not our service. Our service is to prepare the menorah. After that, let a priest do it, let a non-priest do it, let a monkey do it, let fire descend from heaven. I don’t care. The lighting can happen on its own. But it’s a bit reversed, because with Hanukkah the act of lighting itself is treated as the main act, while in the Temple that is the secondary act. Exactly the opposite. The act itself… I ask myself what the essence of the lighting itself is. Fine. I’m saying: let’s not exhaust this topic all the way. At home there are no distinctions between priests and non-priests; at home we do everything. But I still think there is here the fingerprint of the most fundamental principle, and if you read the summary you’ll see that there are dozens of questions raised by the medieval and later authorities on the issue of preparing the menorah. And once one understands what I’m explaining here—that really the preparation is the service, because the service is the preparation, and what happens at the end, as far as I’m concerned, whether it happens or doesn’t happen, let it happen on its own—it doesn’t matter. Once one understands it that way, all the difficulties disappear on their own. But here it is the opposite: the lighting on Hanukkah is the preparation, while in the Temple the lighting is the conclusion. And I actually think that on Hanukkah they established it this way in order to distinguish it from the Temple menorah, not in order to show that it resembles the Temple menorah, but so that people would understand that there has to be a difference between a Hanukkah lamp and the menorah in the Temple. Why a difference? Even if I accept what you’re saying—and I’m not sure I do—still, it is clear that in both places the emphasis is on the preparation and not on the result, except that the preparation is different. What is the preparation under discussion? The preparation in the menorah is preparing the wicks and cleaning, and the preparation in the Hanukkah lamp is the lighting. I don’t mind; I’m willing to accept that. And therefore it is very strange, very strange, that in both places what is placed upon us is to prepare. And the result is less important.

I understand the common denominator, but it is very hard for me to ignore the difference as well. The difference here cries out. I’m repeating for the third time: I agree, and I’m willing to accept your explanation for the difference. That does not contradict what I’m saying. The difference stands, and the similarity stands. I explained the similarity, and you explained the difference—excellent. But I am now speaking about the dimension of the similarity. And that dimension of similarity cries out. The dimension of similarity says that in both places something completely absurd happens on the face of it. What is required of us are the means, the preparations, and in the end what happens, happens on its own. How can one understand such a thing? Now I won’t get into it because we don’t have much time. What does this say regarding sticking the bread? Does it mean that sticking the bread is not important? No, no. I said here that I’m not drawing conclusions from here to sticking the bread. Okay. I’m saying that just as these possibilities arise here, they also arise regarding sticking the bread. The conclusion does not have to be the same in both places.

Now, what happens here—I think, at least—is that in several places in the words of the sages we see that the menorah basically… I want to ask something for a moment. So basically what you’re saying is that lighting the Hanukkah menorah is part of preparation, part of getting ready? It parallels preparation. It parallels preparation, right. What is the main thing on Hanukkah? That it burns for half an hour, an hour? The main thing is the preparation. That’s what I’m saying. We need to distinguish. What do you mean the main thing is the preparation? No, I want to explain. Look, there is a difference between the distinction of means and end, and the distinction of primary and secondary. We are used to identifying those two distinctions, but they are not necessarily synonymous. Meaning, one can say that preparation is of course the means, and the goal is that it be lit. That is true in both places. But that does not mean the main thing is that it be lit; the main thing is the preparation. Why? And that is what I want to explain here.

The Midrash says in several places—not in the Talmud but in Midrashim—Rabbi Yitzhak said: “One who wishes to become wise should turn south, and one who wishes to become wealthy should turn north. And your sign is: the table was in the north and the menorah in the south.” Meaning, the menorah is located in the south, and the menorah is a sign of wisdom. The menorah is Torah, basically; it is a symbol of Torah. Okay? “One who wishes to become wise should turn south, and one who wishes to become wealthy should turn north.” Meaning, the menorah is a symbol of Torah. And we see that in other places as well. But for our purposes this is enough. What I basically want to claim is the following: when we speak about spiritual matters, and Torah in particular, the preparation is really the main thing placed upon us. In the end, the result rises on its own; the flame rises on its own. Look, for example, here, how the Talmud relates to acquiring wisdom. Rabbi Hanina bar Idi said: “Why are words of Torah compared to water? As it is written, ‘Ho, everyone who thirsts, go to the water’—to tell you: just as water leaves a high place and flows to a low place, so too words of Torah endure only in one whose mind is humble.” And Rabbi Hoshaya said: “Why are words of Torah compared to these three liquids—to water, wine, and milk? As it is written, ‘Ho, everyone who thirsts, go to the water,’ and it is written, ‘Go, buy and eat; go, buy without money and without price, wine and milk’—to tell you: just as these three liquids endure only in the least of vessels, so too words of Torah endure only in one whose mind is humble.” Meaning, we are supposed to prepare ourselves for Torah study by refining our character traits, our soul. More than that, afterward it says: Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa says: “Anyone whose fear of sin precedes his wisdom, his wisdom endures; and anyone whose wisdom precedes his fear of sin, his wisdom does not endure.” And he would say: “Anyone whose deeds are greater than his wisdom, his wisdom endures,” and so on. And what is written there relates to the verse in Isaiah: “And the faith of your times shall be the strength…” “Storehouse,” by the way, literally means a warehouse. “Storehouse” is the place into which one puts the treasure. A storehouse is where one stores grain; it is the granary, okay. “The fear of the Lord is his storehouse.” Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin in the fourth gate of Nefesh HaChaim expands on this and says that fear of Heaven is the storehouse, the warehouse into which Torah enters. If you don’t have the warehouse properly, Torah will not enter. Okay. And here too I brought more places, more sources.

Now what do we actually see here? What we see here—and I think you can see it generally when learning—is that suppose we ask a question in the Talmud, raise a difficulty in the Talmud; we have a contradiction between two places. We try to look for the answer. There is no systematic way to get from the question to the answer. One of the problems in learning or in problem-solving is that it is a creative process. Meaning, if I could create an algorithm that generates answers—give it a question and it generates an answer—then those answers would not be answers. There is something here… Therefore the sages compare Torah to a lost object. Just as with a lost object one acquires it when one’s mind is diverted, so too Torah comes to a person when his mind is diverted. What does that mean? I sit in a topic, raise difficulties, sharpen the definitions well for myself, and so on, and now I’m stuck. I have some contradiction; I don’t know what the connection is between things, or how things can be reconciled, and so on. Suddenly I have an illumination. I suddenly discover—I have some solution, some explanation that can resolve the difficulties, explain the passage, and so on. Where did that explanation come from? Like a lost object found when the mind is diverted. It is not something I can work on systematically and arrive at. It is something that comes to me, falls on me somehow. “The flame rises on its own.” What does that mean? The wisdom that comes to a person is basically given to him like a found object; it comes to him from above. What you can do is the preparation. The preparation is not only preparation in the sense of working on one’s character, which I read earlier, but also intellectual preparation. Meaning: define the question very carefully, formulate well where the contradiction lies, what exactly the problem is, set up the matter properly—and now wait. That’s it. After that you can only wait; there’s nothing more for you to do. From here on, the flame rises on its own. You can only do the preparation. Therefore the path of acquiring wisdom, symbolized by lighting the menorah—and the Hanukkah lamp as a memorial to the menorah—is that we are meant to focus on the preparation. All we can do is only preparation. After that, the flame rises on its own, and the lighting is valid even by a non-priest. It can happen on its own. It is not something in our hands. It is like a found object that comes to a person when his mind is diverted.

I think this is a great lesson also for spirituality in general and for learning in particular: there is something here that is not entirely dependent on us. Rather, we can do the preparation, and what is required of us is to do the best possible preparation. From here on, the flame will rise on its own. If we prepared properly, it will apparently rise; if we did not prepare properly, it will not rise. And I think that is why these definitions are indeed specifically in the context of the menorah and the Hanukkah lamp. Because the menorah is basically Torah, and the way to attain Torah is to prepare properly.

By the way, in passing, I have a very good friend who is not religious at all, and he founded a company. He studied with some Russian who invented a method for systematic inventive thinking. Meaning, if you have some problem and you’re stuck—a difficulty or something like that—he has a systematic way to derive a solution to the problem. This is the twenty-four-million-dollar question, right? If you have a problem, how can one get from the problem to the solution in a systematic way? Usually we understand this as a creative matter; it descends on you from above, either you have it or you don’t. Therefore, in research too—you’re doctoral students, I assume you know this—when you get stuck on a problem and don’t know what to do, okay, we go to the beach, go for a walk, sleep on it, and suddenly I get some idea, something comes to me that solves the problem. That something somehow has to come to me. I can’t produce it—at least in the creative parts of the work. There is no way to do it systematically. Now it turns out that they have one. His name is Altshuller, a Russian Jew. He invented such a method, and my friend built a company around it. It’s called SIT—Systematic Inventive Thinking. The man advises governments around the world and giant companies, from Philips to Intel and IBM and all these giant corporations, which get stuck in dead ends or something like that and seek a solution. They invite him; he runs a workshop for managers and shows them how. To try and solve problems in learning too—in analytical learning, in Talmud study or Jewish law? Interesting question. But on the face of it, the feeling is that there cannot be a closed algorithm for this. Maybe you can mechanize it somewhat more, but a closed algorithm—there won’t be one. There is something here that requires creativity.

And therefore, yes? At the teaching level we tell the student—at the level of creativity, yes? I teach art. We tell them: if you work, it will definitely open the door to the muses. The muses will not come on their own if you don’t work. In other words, start working and then it will be okay. What? Maybe when the cannons are silent, as they say. No, clear. Those are your muses. Fine. So for our purposes, what I want to say is something that, if you remember, when I spoke about the meaning of the labor of carrying as an inferior labor—remember that lecture at the beginning of the year? I spoke about… What I said there was that all the creative actions we do are really uses of means, laws of nature, resources that the Holy One created, that the world places at our disposal. We never truly create something from nothing. In the end we merely use things that are made ready for our use. The idea here is very similar. Meaning, we can prepare things, but in the end we do not produce this ourselves. It is given to us in some way. There is something here that, if we do the preparation properly, maybe it will come. But we can only prepare. We do not have the ability to produce that thing from nothing. Only the Holy One has that. And in that sense I think the menorah and the Hanukkah lamp really point in that direction. When we want to understand how wisdom is acquired, we need to understand that what is placed upon us is preparation. And in order to emphasize that, they even tell us more than that. If it went out, you don’t even need to relight it. “One need not relight it”—leave it. Even though it’s clear that there is a goal that it should burn. But in order to sharpen this point, they tell us: we are not only not demanding this from you, and after the fact it will be valid. No, no—don’t relight it at all. This comes to sharpen for you this point, that what is required of you is the preparation. I think this absurdity is intentionally absurd. It really is absurd. It is absurd because in the end the goal is indeed to publicize the miracle. But nevertheless the sages were willing to give up, to some extent, the presentation of the real goal of publicizing the miracle in order to educate us regarding what the real task placed upon us is. Therefore we say: we waive it for you—don’t relight it. If it went out, don’t relight it.

It’s very strong on Hanukkah, because all of Hanukkah symbolizes this whole thing of redemption and salvations and auspicious powers and all kinds of things, and suddenly to place it in the realm of human effort. The miracle will happen on its own if it needs to happen, but what is the level of effort? Don’t overdo the effort. Fine. So the Hanukkah miracle—this is basically the claim that in the Hanukkah miracle, and again, on this too I could talk a lot, but I won’t get into it here, because I have a not entirely conventional view regarding the question of God’s involvement in the world. “Not entirely conventional” is an understatement. But what I want to say is that this message—that says that this redemption too, or that victory achieved there by the Hasmoneans, ultimately stemmed from the fact that they did the preparations. In the end, they received it, okay? And that is the point. Therefore I think Hanukkah really suits this idea well, beyond the fact that it involves the menorah. Why did they choose specifically this symbol of the menorah and not, I don’t know, just that everyone should build a house or a sukkah on Hanukkah in memory of the rebuilding of the Temple, or the reestablishment of the Temple? They chose specifically the symbol of the menorah and the purification of the menorah because there is really something conceptually related here to this idea, to this perspective on our work in relation to achieving results. Maybe from the kabbalistic side, maybe it’s “preparing the vessels.” What? I didn’t understand. Preparing the vessels. Right. And maybe that also fits the miracle of the cruse of oil.

And in the philosophy of science they distinguish, ever since Reichenbach, between the context of discovery and the context of justification. When we find or propose a scientific theory—I have a hypothesis that there is such-and-such a law of nature—science can test that hypothesis in the laboratory, meaning carry out an experiment and see whether it is confirmed or refuted, okay? But how did I arrive at that hypothesis? How did I arrive at it? There is no scientific way to examine that. It does not happen systematically, and therefore it is not interesting. In the extreme version, as is known, there are a number of theories in the history of science that arose from hallucinations, revelations in the heavens, I don’t know what. Your grandmother appeared to you and told you that there is the law of gravity. Now you come and tell people: listen, my deceased grandmother insists that the law of gravity is GMM over R squared—the force of attraction between two masses. You’ve gotten onto big things. Yes, but we said: dead great people, so it can’t be refuted. The point is that after I say this, the listeners are not supposed to discuss how much my grandmother understood in physics. That should not interest them. Because that is the context of discovery—how I discovered the theory. What interests them, what should interest them, is the context of justification. What does that mean? Let’s check whether it works or not. If it works, what do I care whether it came from your grandmother? If it doesn’t work, then even if it came from Einstein I won’t accept it. That’s not relevant. Suddenly I’m closing a circle here; I didn’t notice that it returns to what we opened with. Should one accept things because the person said them—the Magen Avraham I mentioned at the beginning. Right.

So I’m saying that in the end, why is the context of discovery not interesting? The context of discovery is not interesting because discovering a hypothesis is a creative process. And we have no systematic way either to do it or to criticize it. We have no way to criticize whether you did it right or wrong; it doesn’t matter. I want to criticize the result. Let’s see whether it withstands the laboratory test, the experimental test, or fails the empirical test. That’s all. I do not examine the context of discovery, only the context of justification.

I’ll just conclude—the time is up—with this midrash that I referred you to at the end. I don’t know whether you managed to get to it. We didn’t. A midrash on the Torah portion of Tetzaveh. The Torah portion of Tetzaveh begins with the commandment of the menorah. We read the verses, right? And the Midrash Tanhuma opens the portion of Tetzaveh like this: “Let our master teach us: after how many days is a child circumcised?” It answers: how many days does it take before he is circumcised? “Thus our sages taught: a child is circumcised at eight days. What is the reason? Just as Isaac our father was circumcised. Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai said: come and see that nothing is dearer to a person than his son, and yet he circumcises him. And why all this? Rav Nahman bar Yitzhak said: in order to do the will of his Creator.” What is this doing at the beginning of the Torah portion of Tetzaveh? The Torah portion of Tetzaveh does not touch on circumcision in any way. Circumcision doesn’t appear there. Why is a midrash dealing with circumcision placed at the beginning of Tetzaveh?

The issue is “to be circumcised” and not “to circumcise”? No, so look at the Kli Chemdah there. I sent you the Kli Chemdah. He expands there on this analogy between the lamps and the commandment of circumcision. Here too the issue is discussed in two places: in the commandment of circumcision, is the commandment to circumcise or to be circumcised? And he wants to claim that the commandment is to be circumcised. And he claims by analogy to the menorah that there too the commandment is that it should be lit. In my opinion he is mistaken. I accept the analogy he makes, but in the opposite direction. Just as in the menorah the commandment is to light—the commandment is to prepare, not that it be lit—and on Hanukkah the commandment is to light and not that it be lit, so too in circumcision the commandment is to circumcise and not to be circumcised. There are disputes among medieval authorities about this; he himself brings them there. I can’t get into it here. I already brought Maimonides and the Tur regarding the non-invalidating shreds. But that is, in brief, regarding the midrash.

I just want to say that if one looks at the miracle of the cruse of oil, one of the explanations is that they divided the oil they had into eight days, and every day they lit a little bit, and the miracle was that it burned all day. And perhaps that fits with the idea that on Hanukkah the main thing is the lighting, because in fact in the Temple they did not know it would burn all day, and their only effort was to light it, and then simply the flame rises on its own. And likewise on Hanukkah: we light, and the flame rises on its own. We do the human effort, the preparation, and that’s it. Very nice. I agree completely. Thank you. Excellent. Thank you very much. Happy Hanukkah. Happy holiday.