Chametz as a Historical Prohibition

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, yes. Right. You can see this in several places. Here I brought another example, I think. Ah, no, I didn’t bring it, but there are others. There are other examples regarding stirring, exactly. Regarding stirring. Putting a pot on… right. So there might have been room to say that here too you prepare the leaven with which other things are leavened, just like preparing dye with which threads are dyed, so this itself is leaven. Fine, that’s a bit… the analogy is weak. What do I mean weak? You can refute it pretty easily. Here you’re… this isn’t about preparing leaven. The issue is whether this thing is called leaven with respect to eating. The fact that other things are leavened with it—why does that mean it’s forbidden to eat? What does that have to do with anything? If it’s also unfit for eating, right? That Hagahot Maimoni—the Tosefta that Hagahot Maimoni brings—is on this law in Maimonides. This law in Maimonides where Maimonides says that starter is the thing with which other things are leavened—on that Hagahot Maimoni brings that it is not fit even for a dog’s consumption, and he brings the Tosefta. So if it’s not fit for a dog’s consumption, then why should I care that other things are leavened with it? So to understand this a bit better, yes, let’s formulate it this way. Basically, if I go back to the Talmud in Beitzah, then in the Talmud in Beitzah we see that leaven—starter—its leavening is intense. Meaning, it’s ultra-leaven. It’s even more leaven than ordinary leaven. Okay? That’s certainly true. The question is why that is relevant regarding stringency in prohibitions of eating and benefit. Because usually it doesn’t work that way. That Maimonides did not answer. All Maimonides explained was only why starter is certainly more leaven than ordinary leaven. But he didn’t answer the question: fine, it’s more leaven, but it isn’t fit to eat. So why, according to Maimonides, is the fact that it is more sour than ordinary leaven enough to explain that it too is forbidden for eating? So you understand that this is really just a reflection of what we saw in the Talmud in Beitzah? Suppose the Talmud in Beitzah is Maimonides’ source. Okay? Even though it’s seemingly Beit Shammai, Beit Hillel also agreed to this on one side of the need-for-both-verses discussion. That “its leavening is intense” is a parameter of stringency. If only starter had been written, I would not have known ordinary leaven, because starter’s leavening is intense, so maybe only that was prohibited. And that already appears in Beit Hillel, not only in Beit Shammai. So Maimonides takes that into Jewish law as well, and that’s how he explains the prohibition of starter. All right? Now we have to understand why. Why is the fact that its leavening is intense enough, and you ignore the fact that it is not fit for eating or benefit? If you tell me simply because the Torah wrote it, then if you say we know it simply because the Torah wrote it, then you don’t even need to write that its leavening is intense. Why write that it leavens others—sorry. The Torah simply wrote starter as well, and that’s it, everything is fine. He doesn’t suffice with the fact that the Torah wrote starter. We know the Torah wrote starter. And why not? Because from the verses themselves, as I said, you could also have learned otherwise. You could have learned that destruction was stated regarding starter, but not the prohibition of eating and benefit. Okay? Therefore Maimonides does look for some explanation and does not suffice with the fact that it appears in the verses. But if you’re already looking for an explanation, then the whole explanation you gave is only that it’s more severe—but what about the fact that it isn’t fit for eating? Okay? Look, there is a Talmud in Pesachim; a dispute is brought there between Chizkiyah and Rabbi Abbahu. Yes, a very, very fundamental dispute regarding prohibitions of eating—a very important general principle. Prohibitions of benefit. Prohibitions of eating and benefit, the relation between prohibitions of eating and benefit. Chizkiyah said: From where do we know that leaven on Passover is forbidden for benefit? As it says, “Leaven shall not be eaten”—there shall be no permission of eating from it. Right? Because it is written in passive language, not “you shall not eat leaven,” not “you shall not eat leaven,” but “leaven shall not be eaten,” so from here they derive. Rashi explains—yes—that it is a prohibition of benefit, because if you sell it then in effect you caused it to be eaten in some way, so the benefit you derived from it is also forbidden. Fine, let’s leave aside for now how this is learned from “shall not be eaten,” why that means it is forbidden for benefit, but that is what Rashi explains in Chizkiyah. Chizkiyah says that because it is written in passive language, “shall not be eaten,” therefore there is also a prohibition of benefit. Otherwise it would have been only a prohibition of eating, that’s all, because the Torah wrote “do not eat leaven.” Okay? The reason is that the Merciful One wrote “leaven shall not be eaten”; had it not written “shall not be eaten,” I would have said that it implies a prohibition of eating, but does not imply a prohibition of benefit. Right? That’s what I would have thought, and because it says “shall not be eaten” in passive language, then yes. If it had just said “you shall not eat” or “do not eat,” I would have understood that it is only a prohibition of eating. The Talmud says: and this disagrees with Rabbi Abbahu. Why? For Rabbi Abbahu said: Everywhere it says “shall not be eaten,” “do not eat,” “you shall not eat,” it implies both a prohibition of eating and a prohibition of benefit, unless Scripture explicitly specifies otherwise, as it specified regarding carcass meat. As it was taught: “You shall not eat any carcass; to the stranger within your gates you may give it, that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner,” etc. Why does the Torah write regarding carcass meat, yes, “You shall not eat any carcass,” and then add, “to the stranger within your gates you may give it, that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner”? Why is that added? Because without it, says Rabbi Abbahu, I would have understood that if it is forbidden for eating then it is also forbidden for benefit, so how could I sell it and benefit from the money I receive? Therefore the Torah here went out of its way to say there is no problem selling it even though it is forbidden for eating. Rabbi Abbahu learns from here that if the Torah does not say such a thing, then when it writes a prohibition of eating, that includes a prohibition of benefit as well. Only where Scripture explicitly states that there is no prohibition of benefit, as with carcass meat. Okay? So Rabbi Abbahu’s view for our purposes is that if it says “do not eat,” “you shall not eat,” then whatever it is, every prohibition of eating automatically includes a prohibition of benefit. You don’t need an additional source to prohibit something for benefit; if a prohibition of eating is written, that includes a prohibition of benefit. Chizkiyah does not accept that, right? Because Chizkiyah says that only because it is written in passive language—“leaven shall not be eaten”—do I understand that there is also a prohibition of benefit. Meaning, if it had said “you shall not eat,” not in passive language, then there would only be a prohibition of eating and not a prohibition of benefit. That is against Rabbi Abbahu. Okay, a dispute, fine, a dispute of Amoraim—Chizkiyah and Rabbi Abbahu disagree with one another. Okay? Fine, in Jewish law everyone rules like Rabbi Abbahu, including Maimonides. Look here in chapter 8 of Forbidden Foods: Everywhere it says in the Torah “do not eat,” “you shall not eat,” “they shall not be eaten,” this implies both a prohibition of eating and a prohibition of benefit, unless Scripture specifies otherwise, as it specified regarding carcass meat, as it says, “to the stranger within your gates you may give it, that he may eat it,” and regarding forbidden fat, where it says, “it may be used for any labor.” Yes, every place where the Torah wrote that, then the prohibition of benefit does not exist; but if the Torah prohibited eating and added nothing else, then it implies both a prohibition of eating and a prohibition of benefit. Okay? That is what Maimonides writes. It is clear that he rules like Rabbi Abbahu. Okay? By the way, look here: for example creeping creatures, swarming things, blood, a limb from a living animal, and the sciatic nerve—all of these are permitted for benefit by tradition. On that there is a whole discussion among the later authorities, and among the Geonim against Maimonides; the sciatic nerve, seemingly, ought to be forbidden for benefit according to Rabbi Abbahu—the calculations in the passage in Pesachim.

[Speaker A] When Maimonides says “by tradition,” what does he mean?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There’s some article by Rabbi Rabinovitch on everything written as “by tradition.” I no longer remember his conclusion, but in the simple understanding, I think the intention is some kind of Jewish law given to Moses at Sinai, or what Maimonides calls accepted interpretations. Accepted interpretations means it’s not Jewish law given to Moses at Sinai in the sense of some totally novel law. I don’t know, like Rabbi… the water libation is Jewish law given to Moses at Sinai according to one opinion. Rather, the intention is that we learned it as some interpretive rule received from Sinai, that one prohibition of eating implies one prohibition of benefit in such-and-such a case. Or sorry—that these things are permitted for benefit, right. Fine, now then, Maimonides rules like Rabbi Abbahu. Already here, let’s jump back for a moment to the Maimonides we saw above before I continue, and look at something difficult. Leaven on Passover is forbidden for benefit. Why is it forbidden for benefit? What would we have expected him to say? That every prohibition of eating is also forbidden for benefit—Rabbi Abbahu. But he says no, he brings Chizkiyah: as it says, “Leaven shall not be eaten”—there shall be no permission of eating from it. That is Chizkiyah. But Maimonides rules in Jewish law like Rabbi Abbahu. This is not only a dispute about interpretive formulation, because the Kesef Mishneh, who asks this, says: fine, this is just interpretive formulation; he brought what somehow fits the wording better. There is such a rule in Maimonides, by the way, that Maimonides is not bound to the source that in the end the Talmud concluded was the source; if there is a verse that says it in a more meaningful way, he will bring that. And elsewhere, interpretive formulations—it doesn’t matter where you derive the Jewish law from, he understands, right? So what difference does it make where you learn it from? He chooses the verse that expresses it better, even though perhaps there are difficulties and because of that in the end they learn it from elsewhere—but that is how the Kesef Mishneh resolves it here. He says that apparently if we had some source that said it more clearly, then let’s bring that, even though that source is not the actual Jewish law source. That’s what he claims. I’ll suggest a different explanation later, but yes, it’s a difficulty. If you rule like Rabbi Abbahu, then why are you bringing Chizkiyah’s source here? To understand this matter, let’s take a look here at the commentary on the Mishnah to tractate Keritot. In the yeshivot this is known as Maimonides’ “wonderful point.” He says: “And in these words of ours there is a wonderful point”—whenever I remember the wonderful point, I always think about the difference between generations. After all, if someone said such a thing in a lecture today—you’ll read it in a second—but if someone said such a thing in a lecture today, well, okay, fine, you hear three of those a day. Fine? Maimonides, who came up with this conceptual idea—the wonderful point—he gets excited about it as if I don’t know what. You can see the difference: the medieval authorities (Rishonim) did not work analytically the way we do. These analytical distinctions really excited them. Today we’re so used to it, every kid does it. Okay? But among the medieval authorities—not only them, also in the Talmud—I once saw this in the Talmud regarding “this one benefits and that one loses nothing.” The Talmud begins there: Rami bar Chama says… Rav Chisda says to Rami bar Chama: weren’t you with us in the evening? You weren’t with us in the evening? There were wonderful things in the study hall. What were the wonderful things? The inquiry into “this one benefits and that one loses nothing.” What is so wonderful about that inquiry more than any other passage? Because the Talmud there makes a move that is very uncharacteristic; there the Talmud looks like a text of Rabbi Chaim. It says there: “this one benefits and that one loses nothing,” yes—someone lives in another’s courtyard without his knowledge: does he have to pay rent or not? The Talmud says: if this one benefits and that one loses, then certainly he is liable. If this one does not benefit and that one does not lose, then certainly he is exempt. If this one benefits and that one loses nothing—what is the law? What does that question really mean? It means: is the obligating factor the benefit, or is the obligating factor the loss? So if this one benefits and that one loses, it doesn’t matter—he is liable either way. If this one does not benefit and that one does not lose, it also doesn’t matter—in any case he is exempt. Where will the practical difference be? The practical implication, yes—where will the practical difference be? In a case where this one benefits and that one loses nothing, or where that one loses and this one does not benefit; there is a dispute between the Rif and Tosafot there. So this is really the kind of conceptual inquiry of the later authorities: is it a law about benefit or a law about loss? The practical difference is when there is benefit and no loss—really the kind of move the later authorities make. That is not typical in the Talmud. The Talmud later, by the way, does conceptualize, because usually the Talmud speaks about cases: one who lives in another’s courtyard without his knowledge, does he have to pay rent or not—that is a question about a case. But usually the medieval and later authorities do the conceptualizing. Sometimes it appears in the Talmud, but relatively rarely. And there the Talmud states it as a general principle: what is the law in “this one benefits and that one loses nothing”? That is not a statement about a case; it is a statement about a principle—“this one benefits and that one loses nothing” is a general principle. And there the Talmud does a kind of conceptualization. And that too is a move of the later authorities. The Talmud talks about a case: this case resembles that one, that case resembles the other, yes—similar, not similar. That is what is called casuistic thinking. In British law, it is accepted that the law is built on cases—it is casuistic, yes. It is based on cases, not principles. In German law, say, continental legal systems, there it is more positivist, constitutional. The root there is positivist. What does that mean? That there are principles, and the cases emerge from the principles by deduction. The cases are particulars of the principles. And in British law, no: there are cases, they make analogy, therefore it is called casuistic. Now the Talmud is casuistic. The Talmud talks about this case, similar to that case, and an objection from that case. Formulations of general, theoretical, meta-halakhic principles are relatively rare in the Talmud. There are some; it’s not entirely absent. There’s “a piece becomes like carcass meat,” and there are principles in the Talmud here and there. But it’s relatively rare. Usually they talk about cases, and that’s the rule. In the Talmud, “that’s the rule” doesn’t appear all that much. In Bava Kamma 6a the Talmud asks: “That’s the rule”—what does it come to include? It’s really funny. After for once you actually did the job properly and gave me the rule instead of bringing me several cases—wait, “that’s the rule,” what does it come to include? Why do we need to bring it? It’s absurd. You brought me the case; ask about the cases why they’re needed, not the rule. No—the Talmud, as if it’s obvious, says no, the rule—we’re not busy with rules. Yes, in Kiddushin the Talmud says: one does not derive from general rules, even in a place where “except for” is stated. What does that mean? It means that even where there is a rule, we still don’t take it too seriously. That’s the rule, but it’s not always true. Okay? And even a rule written in the most precise possible way: every positive commandment dependent on time, women are exempt, except for A, B, C, and D. Fine—and what about E? So there’s also E; why make such a fuss about everything? The point is that even when you formulate a rule with a closed list of exceptions, there will be another exception. Meaning, the Talmud doesn’t like rules. It doesn’t take rules seriously, and I think quite rightly. I think casuistry is much more sophisticated than positivism, even though it sounds more primitive, or I don’t know, less intellectually refined. Fine, but that’s another discussion. In any event, here too Maimonides has a wonderful point. What is it? “And in these words of ours there is a wonderful point, clear and illuminating, because it is a key to other matters, beyond the precision of the analysis that it contains.” You understand why he’s excited? There’s precision of analysis here. There’s a move of Rabbi Chaim here. Who said Maimonides doesn’t understand Maimonides? Yes, those jokes about Rabbi Chaim—what Frank understands in Maimonides, as they say. “And it is this: it is known that meat cooked in milk is forbidden for benefit, while forbidden fat, for example, is permitted for benefit.” Okay? And if one cooked the forbidden fat—chelev is a type of fat, yes, a kind of fat that is forbidden. Okay? The fat is forbidden for eating. And if one cooked the forbidden fat in milk, that is seemingly meat cooked in milk. But the fat is already forbidden meat. Okay? Why should the prohibition of meat cooked in milk not take effect on the prohibition of forbidden fat? And the same applies to carcass meat, since it is an added prohibition. As we said here regarding consecrated fat, and we made one liable for misuse of sanctified property because a prohibition of benefit was added to it. What is he saying? There is a rule that one prohibition cannot take effect on another prohibition. Now, if the second prohibition adds something beyond the first prohibition—it is also a prohibition of benefit, while the first is only a prohibition of eating—then the second prohibition does take effect on the first. Then if you eat it, you violate both. If the second prohibition adds nothing to the first prohibition, then one prohibition cannot take effect on another. If you ate the thing, you violated the first prohibition, but not the second, because the second did not take effect—it’s already occupied, yes, there’s no room for the prohibition to land. But if you are broader, then you can indeed wrap around it; you can land on it as an added prohibition, an inclusive prohibition, or one that comes simultaneously. There are three exceptions to this rule that one prohibition cannot take effect on another. So Maimonides says: when I cook forbidden fat in milk, there is first of all the prohibition of forbidden fat, which was already on it before it got mixed into the milk. Okay? The prohibition of forbidden fat exists. That is the first prohibition, the prohibition of forbidden fat. The prohibition of meat cooked in milk is the second prohibition. Now you cooked it in milk, so now a second prohibition has been added to it. Now when you eat that piece of forbidden fat, how many prohibitions have you violated? You’ve violated the prohibition of forbidden fat, that is obvious. The question is whether you also violated the prohibition of meat cooked in milk. Maimonides says no. One prohibition cannot take effect on another. You violate only the prohibition of forbidden fat, but not meat cooked in milk. Yes, say pork cooked in milk—then no, there is no prohibition of meat cooked in milk. If you ate it, you violated the prohibition of pork, but not the prohibition of meat cooked in milk. Same thing with forbidden fat. So Maimonides says: but why? The prohibition of meat cooked in milk includes a prohibition of benefit too, doesn’t it? “Do not cook a kid in its mother’s milk” appears three times: eating, benefit, and cooking. Okay? So it includes a prohibition of benefit. If so, this is an added prohibition. An added prohibition takes effect on another prohibition. So here it should have been that if I cooked forbidden fat in milk, I would violate both. And the answer is that meat cooked in milk is forbidden for benefit only because Scripture prohibited its eating, according to the rule we explained—that anything prohibited for eating is also prohibited for benefit unless Scripture specifies otherwise. There is not one verse forbidding its eating and another verse forbidding benefit from it; rather, they are one and the same matter, the prohibition of meat cooked in milk. What is he saying? Rabbi Abbahu. Exactly—he brings Rabbi Abbahu, right? Rabbi Abbahu says that the prohibition of benefit is not a separate prohibition; rather, wherever there is a prohibition of eating, that includes within it a prohibition of benefit. Okay? Therefore, says Maimonides, if there had been a verse about a prohibition of eating and an additional verse about a prohibition of benefit, then the second prohibition would have taken effect on the first; that would be called an added prohibition. But if there is one verse that forbids eating, and I understand that everything forbidden for eating also includes a prohibition of benefit, that will not be called an added prohibition, says Maimonides. Why not? “And since we say one prohibition cannot take effect on another, therefore the prohibition of meat cooked in milk does not take effect on the prohibition of carcass meat, and it therefore will not be forbidden for benefit.” And the practical implication is that this forbidden fat does not become forbidden for benefit, because forbidden fat itself is permitted for benefit, forbidden only for eating. Meat cooked in milk is also forbidden for benefit. So it will not be forbidden for benefit; rather, it will remain permitted for benefit, and one who eats it is flogged for carcass meat—and the prohibition of meat cooked in milk falls away completely, since it did not take effect. Fine. And afterward he asks a question about consecrated items. What is he really saying? He is saying that in an ordinary prohibition of eating, from which we also derive the prohibition of benefit, in practice it remains a prohibition of eating. The prohibition of benefit is not an addition; rather, this is what is called a prohibition of eating. A prohibition of eating simply means a prohibition of eating and benefit; that is called a prohibition of eating. Therefore, when I cook forbidden fat in milk, in effect there is a first prohibition—forbidden fat—which is a prohibition of eating; the prohibition of meat cooked in milk is also a prohibition of eating, and therefore it does not take effect—one prohibition cannot take effect on another. If it had taken effect, then it would also have included a prohibition of benefit, because regarding forbidden fat it is written that there is no prohibition of benefit, only a prohibition of eating. Regarding meat cooked in milk it is not written explicitly that there is no prohibition of benefit, but all that comes after the prohibition of eating has taken effect. Meaning, if the prohibition of eating of meat cooked in milk had taken effect here, then of course I would also have forbidden it for benefit. But when I discuss whether it takes effect or not, I look at it as a prohibition of eating, not as a prohibition of benefit. The prohibition of benefit branches off afterward, after there is already a prohibition of eating here. And if there is a prohibition of eating that comes to take effect on another prohibition of eating, one prohibition cannot take effect on another. Therefore Maimonides says yes, it’s that kind of conceptual distinction. That is his wonderful point. Okay? Now, what is the significance of this? Things get a bit more complicated here. There is Sefer HaChinukh in commandment 187. Commandment 187 actually also appears in Maimonides regarding meat cooked in milk. Ah, here I actually bring Maimonides; the Chinukh is copied from the Chinukh, but I’m bringing it here from Maimonides, 187. That He warned us against eating meat cooked in milk, and this too is His statement, “Do not cook a kid in its mother’s milk,” the second time, meaning a prohibition of eating. Beyond cooking, there is also a prohibition of eating. And in the Talmud in Chullin they said: for meat cooked in milk one is flogged for its cooking and flogged for its eating. And in the Talmud in Makkot they said: one who cooks the sciatic nerve in milk on a Jewish holiday and eats it is flogged five times. He is flogged for eating the sciatic nerve, and flogged for cooking the sciatic nerve, and flogged for cooking meat in milk, and flogged for eating meat in milk, and flogged for kindling a fire. And there they say—fine, all those discussions. “And here it is fitting for me to explain a great principle whose mention did not precede me.” Again he gets excited. Meaning, this is a great principle and no one came before me with this idea. And that is that His statement, may He be exalted, “Do not cook a kid in its mother’s milk,” is repeated in the Torah three times. And the masters of interpretation, the Sages, said that each prohibition is for a different matter. They said: one for the prohibition of eating, one for the prohibition of benefit, and one for the prohibition of cooking. And the questioner will ask: for what reason did you count the prohibition of eating it and the prohibition of cooking it as two commandments, but you do not count the prohibition of benefiting from it as a third commandment? Maimonides, in his enumeration of the commandments, counts only two commandments: the prohibition of cooking and the prohibition of eating. Where is the prohibition of benefit? So he says: let the questioner know that the prohibition of benefit should not be counted as a commandment in itself, because it and the prohibition of eating are one matter, since eating is one kind of benefit. Fine? What does that mean? It is one kind of benefit. Eating is a particular kind of benefit—yes, to eat. And His statement, may He be exalted, regarding something that it shall not be eaten, is merely one example among kinds of benefit, and the intention is that one should not benefit from it, neither by eating nor in any other way. Meaning, do not benefit in any way, neither by eating nor by another kind of benefit. So here Maimonides is giving us the meaning of Rabbi Abbahu’s words. Rabbi Abbahu says that when we prohibit something for eating, that includes within it a prohibition of benefit. Why really? Because eating is only an example. In truth the Torah is saying to me: do not benefit. Only instead of saying “do not benefit,” it mentions the most common form of benefit, the benefit of eating, but it means that only as an example. Yes. It’s like “if a man’s ox gores the ox of another.” What about a dog that bites? The intention is: if my property damages someone, I have to pay. The Torah often uses an example to teach the principle. Again, by the way—casuistry. Meaning, you do not write the general principle; rather, you bring an example, and we are supposed to understand the general principle behind the example. Okay?

[Speaker A] Right, because here there’s an example of meat cooked in milk, and then the general principle is benefit, and from that there is also a prohibition of eating.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Meat cooked in milk, or generally? Generally, the Torah gives an example. In meat cooked in milk you’re right, because with meat cooked in milk there is also a verse about benefit separately from eating, since it says three times “Do not cook a kid in its mother’s milk.” In a moment he’ll talk about that.

[Speaker A] Even according to Rabbi Abbahu, who says one is for benefit and one is for eating?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s not one verse for benefit and one for eating; rather, every prohibition of eating includes both a prohibition of eating and a prohibition of benefit. We’re talking about a single verse. There’s a verse that prohibits eating, and Rabbi Abbahu says: if there’s a verse that prohibits eating, know that it also prohibits deriving benefit from it. Okay? Why? Because when they tell you it’s forbidden to eat, what they mean is: don’t derive benefit. In other words, eating is just an example of benefit. The intent is to say: don’t get any benefit from it at all.

Now, meat cooked in milk is more problematic, because then why does the Torah need the third verse? If it prohibited eating, I would say benefit is included too. So why is there a third verse here? We’ll soon see more, but this is the most important sentence in Maimonides from what I just read. Maimonides explains Rabbi Abbahu. He says this isn’t just because there’s some analogy between eating and benefit, or something like that. He simply says: when they tell you not to eat, that’s only an example; what they mean is don’t derive benefit. Eating is just the common example of benefit, so that’s the example they use. But really they’re telling you: don’t derive benefit. That’s the meaning of the matter.

And what’s the idea here? It’s as if this thing is repulsive; stay away from it, don’t do anything with it. Eating is just the example. But generally, when they say a prohibition of eating and a prohibition of benefit, the meaning is that this thing is repulsive. In other words, what they’re saying here, what Rabbi Abbahu is saying, is that when they tell you there’s a prohibition of eating, it’s not simply because the act of eating is forbidden to you. If that were the case, then the act of eating is forbidden, but acts of benefit are other acts. No—this is a prohibition in the object itself. The object is repulsive; stay away from it, don’t use it, don’t benefit from it, don’t use it, don’t do anything. Eating is only an example. The focus is on the object, not on the person. And therefore Rabbi Abbahu says that once there is a prohibition of eating, that also means benefit is prohibited. This object just isn’t supposed to be in your environment. Don’t use it, don’t benefit from it, stay away from it.

That’s all when the object is a repulsive object. Okay? If there were, say, a prohibition where the act of eating itself was forbidden to me—the thing itself is fine, but for some reason the Torah wanted to forbid me from eating it—then that’s a prohibition on the act, not on the object. There there’s no reason to assume that if eating is prohibited then benefit will also be prohibited. There’s no connection. There’s an act of eating; there’s an act of benefiting. If the problematic thing is the result—that in the end you derived some benefit from the thing—then eating is just an example. But really the intent is any kind of benefit. But if it’s about the act of eating, then there’s no reason to expand that into a prohibition of benefit. Only when the problem is in the object, when the object is repulsive, does every eating prohibition also imply a prohibition of benefit.

Okay. What does Maimonides say? “And the sages, peace be upon them, said: every place where it says ‘you shall not eat,’ ‘you shall not eat,’ or ‘it shall not be eaten,’ in all such cases both a prohibition of eating and a prohibition of benefit are implied with one voice, unless Scripture spells it out for you, as it spelled it out regarding a carcass, where it clarified that deriving use from it is permitted, as it says: ‘To the stranger within your gates you may give it, and he may eat it.’” And according to this principle, it is not proper to count the prohibition of eating and the prohibition of benefit as two commandments. Because it’s the same prohibition; it’s a prohibition of benefit, of which eating is only an example.

And if we were to count them as two commandments regarding meat cooked in milk, then likewise with leaven, with orlah, and with mixed seeds in a vineyard, each of these should have four commandments, with the prohibition of benefit as a commandment in its own right. But since in those cases he did not count anything beyond the prohibition stated regarding eating alone, and included within that is the prohibition of benefit as we have established, so too with meat cooked in milk. Just as in all those places, so too with meat cooked in milk I count eating, with benefit of course included in the prohibition of eating. Or say it the other way around: the prohibition is really a prohibition of benefit, not a prohibition of eating; eating is just the example. It’s just that when I count it as a prohibition of eating, the meaning is that it is forbidden both for eating and for benefit.

And one question remains from this alone—and here I am on point—which is: someone might say, since the prohibition of benefit follows from the prohibition of eating, as the sages explained, why then did Scripture need a third prohibition regarding meat cooked in milk, in order to prohibit benefit from it, as we explained? So if indeed Rabbi Abbahu—and we rule like Rabbi Abbahu—that every place where Scripture writes a prohibition of eating includes a prohibition of benefit, then why did meat cooked in milk need a third verse to teach benefit? Teach eating, and benefit follows automatically.

Maimonides says as follows: the answer is that this was necessary because regarding meat cooked in milk the Torah did not say “do not eat of it,” from which both eating and benefit would have been prohibited. What does it say? “You shall not cook a kid in its mother’s milk.” The verse does not explicitly mention eating. We learn, because of the repetition, that one verse is about cooking, the second is about eating—but it does not say “do not eat.” So there, you would have thought that the prohibition is a prohibition on the act of eating, and therefore you would not have extended it to benefit. Then the third verse comes and says that benefit is also prohibited.

And that itself can be understood in two ways: does the third verse teach that yes, the prohibition of eating is indeed a prohibition on the act of eating, but in addition there is also a prohibition of benefit—a second thing—and therefore you need two verses? Or no: the third verse, which says there is a prohibition of benefit, reveals to you that the prohibition of eating is also not a prohibition on the act of eating, but a prohibition on deriving benefit from the thing, of which eating is only an example. You just needed the third verse because without it I would not have known that this eating prohibition is of that sort; I would have thought it was just a prohibition on the act of eating and not on the benefit derived through eating. From the fact that he did not count the prohibition of benefit separately, that proves the second possibility. Right? Maimonides understands it like the second possibility, because otherwise he would be difficult to understand. Right, Maimonides understands it like the second possibility. Maimonides understands that once there is the third verse, it comes back and reveals to me that the prohibition of meat cooked in milk is really like all the Torah’s prohibitions: eating is just an example of benefit, and another verse was only needed so we’d know that.

Okay, but that’s all. So that’s what mainly matters for our purposes. Now I want to return to our argument. We’ve learned, then, that a prohibition of eating is only an example—according to Rabbi Abbahu, whom we follow in Jewish law—an example, one type of benefit among others. It’s really a prohibition of benefit, with eating serving only as the example. Okay. I said: when is that? When the prohibition of eating is based on the idea that the thing is repulsive. The Torah wants you to stay away from it, not derive benefit from it, and eating is just the example.

But there can also be prohibitions where the eating prohibition is a prohibition on the act, on the act of eating, not on deriving benefit in the form of eating. As we would have thought happens with meat cooked in milk; that’s why a third verse was needed to teach that no, according to Maimonides. Okay. But I might see a verse that prohibits eating and understand that the problem is not that this is a repulsive object; what the Torah wants is that I not perform the act of eating. It’s not that it has a problem with the benefit I derive from the thing. If I understand it that way, then I will not expand the prohibition of eating and turn it into a prohibition of benefit as well. Right? That’s clear.

If so, now you can understand everything I’ve been asking up to now. The claim I want to make is that the Talmud understands that the prohibition of leaven exists only seven days a year. I started with that. Therefore it’s not plausible to say this is like all those derivations about a repulsive object that you have to stay away from, and so on. No. So what is it? I want to claim that the prohibition of leaven is a memorial to the Exodus from Egypt, a historical prohibition, to remember the Exodus from Egypt—just as our ancestors, in the Torah itself, not my invention. The Torah says: since our ancestors’ dough did not have time to rise, they ate matzah and not leaven. We, in later generations, as part of remembering the Exodus from Egypt, the reenactment that we perform, yes, of the Exodus from Egypt, we too refrain from eating leaven.

That means there is nothing defective about leaven itself, and that’s why it’s only seven days. There is no problem with leaven. Leaven is not a repulsive thing. Rather, our ancestors’ dough happened—or maybe not happened, but in any case—didn’t have time to rise, and they ate matzah and not leaven. To remember that—this is the foundation of the prohibition of leaven. Now if that’s really so, then look how everything falls into place. If that’s the case, leaven is not a repulsive thing at all. So what is the prohibition on eating leaven? It is a prohibition on the act of eating leaven, not on deriving benefit from leaven. Right? Because leaven itself is not a repulsive thing. Right, it’s not like pork or whatever, or other things that you have to keep away from because they are repulsive. No, not leaven. Leaven is simply part of reenacting the Exodus during those seven days. And therefore it’s only those seven days and not the rest of the year. There’s no point in distancing yourself from leaven the rest of the year because there’s nothing wrong with it. During those seven days we distance ourselves, not because there is something wrong with leaven, but because we want to reenact what happened at the Exodus. That’s all.

If that is so, then with the prohibition of leaven you cannot say that if Scripture writes a prohibition of eating, then there is also a prohibition of benefit. Because leaven is not something that the Torah forbids me due to its repulsiveness, so that I not derive benefit from it. Therefore, says Maimonides, although I generally rule like Rabbi Abbahu, with regard to leaven I cite Chizkiyah. I need an additional source that prohibits benefit from leaven, beyond the prohibition of eating. And therefore he brings Chizkiyah: “it shall not be eaten”—since it is written in the passive, that also teaches a prohibition of benefit. But this is not contrary to meat cooked in milk, where after there is a source prohibiting benefit, Maimonides says that this reveals to me that the prohibition of eating too is really just distancing oneself from a repulsive thing. I would not have known that if there were no verse prohibiting benefit. But with leaven, the initial assumption remains standing: the prohibition on eating is a prohibition on the act of eating. Besides that, there is also a prohibition of benefit that was introduced separately. But those really are, apparently, two different things.

Now the big question of why Maimonides does not count eating and benefit together—that’s more complicated. But in the enumeration of the commandments in that place we’ll see the practical implication. That’s only… So what… You can actually show this throughout the whole passage in Pesachim. We once learned tractate Pesachim here. It’s a sugya of about two pages. Every segment in that Talmudic passage is difficult for Maimonides—not this Maimonides specifically, but in every segment of the Talmud there, Maimonides rules the opposite of what appears in the Talmud. In the passage about Chizkiyah and Rabbi Abbahu? Yes. There is that dispute that runs through many cases over two pages. Okay? And later authorities twist themselves in knots and don’t know what to do with this Maimonides. I claim that Maimonides argues that the passage there was not accepted as practical Jewish law.

Chizkiyah and Rabbi Abbahu are talking about the prohibition of leaven. I can’t say what I said if I follow the straightforward sense of that Talmudic passage. I said that the dispute between Chizkiyah and Rabbi Abbahu concerns prohibitions of eating in general. But with leaven, there even Chizkiyah—and Rabbi Abbahu too agrees—that leaven needs a source for a prohibition of benefit, because you cannot learn the prohibition of benefit from the prohibition of eating. And there they are talking about leaven, and Rabbi Abbahu says it there about that. I claim that Maimonides understands that this Talmudic passage is not the law. That passage understood Rabbi Abbahu that way and applied it to leaven. But that is not correct. How does Maimonides know this? It may be that his source is the Talmudic passage in tractate Beitzah.

Here’s another practical implication of this conception of the prohibition of leaven: the practical implication is that if indeed this is a prohibition on an act… What is forbidden? Leaven is not problematic in itself. What is forbidden is to perform the act of eating on something called leaven. Right? That is basically the definition. Now if it’s sourdough starter—something even more leavened, more intensely fermented—then obviously I am forbidden to do that too, even though it is not fit for eating. “Not fit for eating” is not relevant to this kind of prohibition. Because if the prohibition were a prohibition on deriving benefit from the thing, then if it is not fit for eating there is no benefit here. You need to stay away from benefiting from the thing. If it is not fit for eating, people do not enjoy it; it is not fit even for a dog’s food. Right? So what difference does it make?

But if you tell me that the prohibition is on the act of eating something called leaven, it’s a historical prohibition—whatever was called leaven then, that is what you may not eat—then if leaven is forbidden to eat, sourdough starter is all the more so forbidden to eat, because sourdough starter certainly is called leaven. And that is the dispute between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel in the Talmud. Therefore when the Torah prohibits sourdough starter—I asked whether before the Torah wrote it or after the Torah wrote it—why indeed does the Torah prohibit sourdough starter as well, even though it is not fit for eating? Because here the Torah is telling me exactly this: by forbidding sourdough starter, what did it tell me? That the prohibition on eating leaven is a prohibition on the act of eating; it is not that leaven is some repulsive thing. Therefore if leaven is forbidden, then sourdough starter too will be forbidden, because our ancestors also did not eat sourdough starter; that too is leaven. Okay?

Now this is not relevant to the question whether it is fit for eating, because we are not talking here about the pleasure in the thing. By the way, according to what I’m claiming, I asked earlier: after all, even regarding leaven there is the matter of eating not in its normal way, and something not fit even for a dog’s food—moldy bread and the like—even with leaven this is basically permitted, and that’s strange. My claim is that there are some places where yes, and some places where no, and it’s hard to organize which are yes and which are no. My claim is that the criterion is this: if this thing is not considered an act of eating at all because that is not how one eats it, something like that, or if you didn’t eat it in its normal manner, something like that, then even with leaven it would be permitted. Because what is prohibited is an act of eating performed on leaven. So in all the places where you can say that no act of eating was done, that will be permitted. But if an act of eating was done, only the thing eaten was not fit for eating, that doesn’t help—it will still be forbidden.

I’m saying that this is what distinguishes, for example, moldy bread. The claim there is that it is not food at all; it is not food. Now with sourdough starter, it is food, because sourdough starter is found in every matzah, in every bread that you eat. True, you don’t eat it by itself, but it is food; it causes others to rise. So because of that you cannot say it isn’t food. It is food, just not fit to be eaten on its own—that’s the point. If it is food and it is considered leaven, it is forbidden to eat it. If this thing is not food at all, then when you ate it you did not perform an act of eating, and therefore it would be permitted. That too would be permitted even with leaven.

And therefore Maimonides brings Chizkiyah’s derivation, “it shall not be eaten.” That is why Maimonides, at the end of law 2, when he explains why sourdough starter is forbidden, says: because its fermentation is strong and it is used to cause other things to ferment. Why is that an explanation? I asked that. So what if its fermentation is strong? Fine—but it is not fit for eating. Maimonides isn’t bothered by that at all. On the contrary, he tells you: if its fermentation is stronger, then it is even more leaven than ordinary leaven, so obviously it is forbidden to eat, because it is more leaven, so obviously it is more forbidden. The question whether it is fit or not fit for eating is irrelevant. If it were not considered leaven at all, like moldy bread, if it were not food at all, then when I ate it that would not be an act of eating—not because it is unfit and I got no benefit from leaven, but because the act you performed is not an act of eating.

Maimonides says: what do you mean? This is food in every sense. They put it into every bread, everywhere; this is what ferments other things. So you cannot say it is not food. “Not fit for eating” means it’s not tasty, but it is food, it is a food ingredient found in all sorts of places. Once you eat it, there is a prohibition on performing the act of eating on something that is leaven, and that is forbidden.

That is why Maimonides brings Chizkiyah. That is why Maimonides is satisfied with the reasoning for the prohibition of benefit, that it is leaven and it causes other things to ferment, and does not need to address whether it is fit or unfit for eating. And third, that is why Maimonides splits the prohibition of eating and the prohibition of benefit into law 1 and law 2—they are two different prohibitions. If the prohibition of benefit were simply the same thing as the prohibition of eating—if the eating prohibition itself were really a prohibition of benefit, with eating just one type of benefit—then Maimonides should have written: it is forbidden to eat and benefit from leaven, and that’s all. But no—he writes: it is forbidden to eat, and spells everything out in law 1; then in law 2, know that it is also forbidden to derive benefit. What’s the novelty? Isn’t every eating prohibition also a benefit prohibition? No! Because of “it shall not be eaten,” like Chizkiyah, I have a separate source that prohibits benefit; it is not learned from the eating prohibition. It is a separate prohibition.

And therefore there are three things in Maimonides: the reasoning at the end of law 2, the split between the two laws, and the need for Chizkiyah’s derivation. It really says these things. And of course it also explains to me why the Torah prohibits sourdough starter, or why even according to Beit Shammai, even if the Torah had not written it, I would have known on my own that if leaven is forbidden then sourdough starter is certainly forbidden, because sourdough starter is more intensely leavened. Right, it’s not fit for eating, but that is not interesting here; in the context of leaven, being unfit for eating is irrelevant.

Now look. Wait—I understood the order of the laws, and I understood Chizkiyah’s derivation, but the matter of sourdough starter I could have understood in the opposite way. I could have understood that if this is a prohibition in the object itself, like the other prohibitions, then this is even more an object-prohibition… No. A prohibition in the object itself, in the context of prohibitions of eating and benefit, means that you are forbidden to derive benefit from the object. But there is no benefit—it’s not fit for eating. Benefit in the sense of pleasure? Yes. That’s what benefit means. Rabbi Yohanan and Reish Lakish dispute whether it’s the pleasure of the throat or the pleasure of the stomach; in other words, prohibitions of benefit are about deriving pleasure, certainly. But how would you classify this—as a person-based prohibition or an object-based prohibition? No, so that’s why I say: what are called object-based prohibitions—someone asked me what the difference is between object-based prohibitions and person-based prohibitions—it’s a bit like here. The thing as such is the object, and the person is the phenomenon, how I see the thing. And what’s the difference? After all, clearly there are no prohibitions on objects; prohibitions are always on people, right? The whole question is whether the basis for the prohibition imposed on the person is rooted in the object itself or in the person’s own condition. But it still wouldn’t be forbidden. Why not? Because that’s exactly the point: here there has to be a source in the object itself, and if the object really is of that sort, then the person is forbidden to eat it. But it’s not just on the person, full stop. There is a basis; it starts in the world itself. If it were totally in the person, then yes, maybe eating a glass cup would also be something from which benefit is forbidden.

With an object-based prohibition, it’s not irrelevant whether the person gets pleasure. This is a prohibition of eating and benefit, of deriving pleasure from the thing. That is the prohibition—a result-oriented prohibition, you might say. It is a prohibition on the result, deriving pleasure from the thing, boom, there you have it. Another type of eating prohibition is a prohibition on the act, not on the result that I derived pleasure, but on performing the act of eating. That action is simply forbidden, period. It doesn’t matter what. Leaven, so long as it is called leaven, doesn’t need to be fit for eating; it needs to be called leaven. So leaven is more object-centered. Right, the distinction isn’t exactly between person and object, I agree. Fine, but the focus is more on performing an act, and not on deriving pleasure from the thing—performing an act on something called leaven. Okay?

And with leaven we know that leaven is forbidden in a way you don’t find elsewhere. Right, and at the end of the article I also talk about that, and about mixtures, and about the fact that leaven is forbidden even in the smallest amount, but I won’t have time to get there, though you can read it there. It’s not forbidden in the smallest amount by itself; there is a minimum measure for the prohibition of leaven. It is forbidden in the smallest amount in a mixture. Fine, and the laws of mixtures with leaven are different. Not that you take one grain of leaven and you’ve violated the full prohibition—you haven’t violated the full prohibition. There is the law of partial measure, and that exists throughout the Torah, and in that leaven is not unique. I’ll get to that in a moment.

What I really want to claim is that the prohibition of leaven is a prohibition whose basis is historical. It’s not in the thing itself, but simply a historical prohibition, a memorial to a historical event, and therefore its parameters are different. Can you think of another example of a historical prohibition? The sciatic nerve. Right. “Therefore the children of Israel shall not eat the sciatic nerve” because of what happened to our forefather Jacob. Regarding the sciatic nerve, Maimonides writes: it is forbidden to eat but permitted for benefit. We read that Maimonides above; I commented on it. People ask about him: that goes against the Talmud in Pesachim there on page 21. The Talmud there says that according to Rabbi Abbahu, since the sciatic nerve is forbidden to eat, it is automatically also forbidden for benefit. So how does Maimonides rule that it is forbidden to eat and permitted for benefit?

The answer is the same answer. The sciatic nerve is a historical prohibition. There is nothing repulsive about the sciatic nerve. Therefore it also doesn’t matter that it is not fit for eating, because its taste is like wood. The Talmud says there: it’s like wood, like eating wood. So then what? Exactly like sourdough starter—notice, it’s really parallel. Because there too it is a historical prohibition. The problem is not deriving benefit from the sciatic nerve. The problem is performing an act of eating upon the sciatic nerve. That’s it. But if that is so, unlike leaven where I have a source—“it shall not be eaten” in passive form—which also prohibits benefit even though the basic prohibition is on the action and not on deriving benefit, there is in addition a prohibition of benefit. But regarding the sciatic nerve there is no additional verse. And from the eating prohibition itself you cannot derive a prohibition of benefit, because it is a prohibition on the act of eating, not on deriving benefit through eating. Okay? Therefore there Maimonides says: it is a prohibition of eating without a prohibition of benefit, because it is a historical prohibition.

And everyone asks on him that this goes against the Talmud. Because that same Talmud, there, does not recognize the uniqueness of a historical prohibition. The passage in Pesachim does not go in that direction. As a matter of fact, it brings both Rabbi Abbahu and Chizkiyah even regarding leaven, so with the sciatic nerve too it would be the same. You can see many other components of that there in the passage, but these are two examples. And therefore I think that there too this resolves Maimonides in exactly the same way.

One last thing: there is the law of partial measure. Maimonides in law 7 says as follows: “One who eats any amount of leaven itself on Passover—this is forbidden by Torah law, as it says, ‘Leaven shall not be eaten.’ Even so, he is liable to karet or to bring an offering only if he ate the proper measure, which is an olive’s bulk. And one who intentionally eats less than an olive’s bulk is given disciplinary lashes.” So the Kesef Mishneh asks on that: this is difficult for me—why do I need a verse specifically for leaven on Passover? After all, with every prohibition in the Torah we hold that a partial measure is forbidden by Torah law. It’s the dispute between Rabbi Yohanan and Reish Lakish in Yoma: every prohibition whose measure is an olive’s bulk—if you ate a quarter olive, half an olive, less than the minimum measure—you violated a Torah prohibition according to Rabbi Yohanan; according to Reish Lakish it’s rabbinic. We rule like Rabbi Yohanan. It’s a Torah prohibition, though you are not flogged. For lashes you need an olive’s bulk, but the Torah prohibition exists even for less than an olive’s bulk. Later authorities discuss whether this is a new prohibition or the same prohibition just without punishment, but the prohibition exists. So the Kesef Mishneh asks: then why does Maimonides bring ‘shall not be eaten’ as a special source to prohibit a partial measure? There is a law of partial measure in all Torah prohibitions.

Now we already know how one can answer this, right? Let’s return to his approach. Why is partial measure forbidden? Rabbi Shimon Shkop explains: the Talmud gives two reasons. One is from the verse “all fat and all blood,” which includes even the smallest amount. And the second is a reason from logic: because it is fit to be combined. What does that mean? Rabbi Shimon explains like this: suppose you eat half an olive’s bulk of pork. Why must that be a Torah prohibition according to Rabbi Yohanan? Because if you eat another such half-olive, then you will violate a Torah prohibition and be flogged. So the only difference is quantitative, right? If so, it cannot be that half an olive lacks the quality of the prohibition. The measure is missing, so for punishment you won’t be punished, because punishment requires a minimal intensity of prohibition. But the quality of the prohibition exists in every particle. How can half plus half create something that is not present in either half separately? If each half by itself does not contain the problematic quality of pork, then when you stick two half-olives together and make one full olive, does it suddenly become problematic pork? How does that miracle happen? Obviously pork is problematic even in half an olive. For punishment, you need to be a sufficiently large offender to incur punishment, and that begins from an olive’s bulk onward. But obviously the quality of the prohibition, the problematic element, exists even in half an olive, even in a quarter olive. That is the logic of “fit to be combined.” Since you can combine half and half and then a prohibition emerges, that means each component contains the quality of the prohibition. The only thing lacking is quantity.

Okay? All of that makes sense if we are talking about a prohibition on deriving benefit from the object, about something in the quality of the object that is problematic—questions of quantity, fit to combine, not fit to combine. But with leaven, where the prohibition is a prohibition on an act, you could say: someone who eats less than an olive’s bulk—this is not eating, and that’s why you are not flogged for half an olive. The problem exists, and you should stay away; a partial measure may still be forbidden by Torah law. But the act of eating exists only when you eat an olive’s bulk. Otherwise you’re eating bacteria, crumbs, nothing. It’s not an act of eating. And with leaven, if it’s not an act of eating, then nothing remains. It won’t just be “there is a prohibition but no lashes”; it won’t be a prohibition at all, because all there is with leaven is a prohibition on the act of eating. There is no problem of deriving benefit from leaven, where even with half an olive in the end you still derived some benefit. Okay? Here there is no such issue. The whole logic of “fit to be combined” does not exist here.

Maimonides says: I have another source, “it shall not be eaten,” which comes to include any amount, that even a partial measure is forbidden with leaven. Maimonides is consistent with his own approach also in the context of partial measure: the prohibition of leaven is an exceptional prohibition; the ordinary rules do not apply to it.

And there is something very interesting here. The Mishneh LaMelekh brings there on this Kesef Mishneh: “And I saw that Rabbi Maharanach, in responsum no. 51, was troubled by this question of our master, may his memory be blessed, and answered that the prohibition of leaven is not similar to forbidden fat, from which they learned that a partial measure is forbidden, ‘all fat, all blood,’ etc. Because forbidden fat is always prohibited and never had a time of permission, unlike leaven, which is permitted before Passover; therefore a verse was needed specifically with leaven to prohibit a partial measure.” What is he saying? That with leaven it is forbidden only on Passover, so it did have a time when it was permitted, whereas forbidden fat never has a time when it is permitted; forbidden fat is always forbidden. Okay? So what? Therefore from forbidden fat, which has the law of partial measure, you cannot learn it for leaven on Passover. Why should it make a difference whether it once had a time of permission or did not? This is exactly like what I said earlier: if it had a time when it was permitted, what does that mean? It means that the object itself is not problematic. After all, before Passover the object is permitted to eat, right? There is no problem in leaven itself. There is a prohibition on the act of eating leaven during those seven days. What does that have to do with partial measure?

Partial measure is said in a case where the object is problematic, and therefore since you can combine half and half and then a prohibition arises, that means each component contains the quality of the prohibition. The only thing lacking is quantity. Okay? All of that makes sense when we’re talking about a prohibition on deriving benefit from the object, about something in the quality of the object that is problematic—quantities, fit to combine, not fit to combine. But with leaven, where the prohibition is a prohibition on an act, you could say: one who eats less than an olive’s bulk—that’s not eating, and therefore you are not flogged for half an olive. The problem exists, you should stay away, a partial measure is forbidden by Torah law—but the act of eating is only when you eat an olive’s bulk. Otherwise you’re eating bacteria, crumbs, nothing. It’s not an act of eating. And with leaven, if it’s not an act of eating, then nothing remains. It won’t just be a prohibition without lashes; it won’t be a prohibition at all, because everything with leaven is only a prohibition on the act of eating. There is no issue of deriving benefit from the leaven, where even with half an olive in the end you derived some benefit. Okay? Here there is no such issue. The whole logic of “fit to be combined” does not exist here. Maimonides says: I have another source, “it shall not be eaten,” which comes to include any amount, that even a partial measure is forbidden with leaven. Maimonides is consistent with his own approach also in the context of partial measure: the prohibition of leaven is an exceptional prohibition; the normal rules do not apply to it.

And there is something very interesting here. The Mishneh LaMelekh brings there on this Kesef Mishneh, “And I saw that Rabbi Maharanach, in responsum no. 51, was troubled by this question of our master, may his memory be blessed, and answered that the prohibition of leaven is not similar to forbidden fat, from which they learned that a partial measure is forbidden, ‘all fat, all blood,’ etc. Because forbidden fat is always prohibited and never had a time of permission, unlike leaven, which is permitted before Passover; therefore a verse was needed specifically with leaven to prohibit a partial measure.” What is he saying? That leaven is forbidden only on Passover, so it had a time of permission, whereas forbidden fat never had a time of permission; forbidden fat is always forbidden. Okay? So what? So therefore, from forbidden fat, where there is the law of partial measure, you cannot learn it to leaven on Passover. Why does it matter whether it had a time of permission or not? And this is like what I said before: if it had a time of permission, what does that mean? It means the object itself is not problematic. Before Passover, after all, the object is permitted to eat, right? There is no problem in leaven itself. There is a prohibition on the act of eating leaven during these seven days. What does that have to do with partial measure? Partial measure is said specifically where the object is problematic, so if even in half an olive the problematic quality is there—otherwise how, in a full olive, does it suddenly… Clearly the problematic nature of the object exists even in half an olive. But all that applies to prohibitions that are problematic in themselves, like forbidden fat. With leaven on Passover, however, the prohibition is a prohibition of eating—and the proof is, a prohibition on the act of eating. And the proof is that before and after Passover there is no problem at all eating leaven. That is exactly what he means by saying it has a time when it is permitted.

I want to ask this: why? Why? Because then clearly he meant it as a kind of general paradigm—from forbidden fat you learn to the whole Torah, and with leaven you can’t learn it from that paradigm. But what does that leniency mean? In the end you still need an explanation. It’s a leniency, and therefore what? I’m saying: it’s a leniency for that reason. You’re right, but that only explains why this is easier. I’ll ask you a harder question. If it were really like that, I have proof against you. They ask against this Maharalbach—Maharalbach, there, brings this—and they ask against him: to what does the dispute between Rabbi Yohanan and Reish Lakish about partial measure apply? In Yoma. Yes, Yom Kippur, right? Well? Yom Kippur certainly has a time when it is permitted. He says that on Passover, since leaven has a time when it is permitted, the law of partial measure doesn’t apply; you can’t learn it from forbidden fat. Dear God, the entire sugya about partial measure talks about eating on Yom Kippur. Eating on Yom Kippur is permitted all the rest of the year, right? So it has a time when it is permitted. So from the very place you came—what kind of distinction is that? It’s the opposite of the whole issue the Talmud is dealing with. How can he say such a thing?

According to what I’m saying, it’s simple. First of all, you see that having a time of permission is not itself a leniency. According to me it’s simple. There it is an eating prohibition on… Exactly—on Yom Kippur you are required to afflict yourself. Your prohibition there is a prohibition on deriving benefit from the thing, right? Not because the thing is repulsive. But you are forbidden to derive benefit from the thing only for that day. Therefore there the law of partial measure applies, because half the benefit is still benefit. It may not be a sufficient quantity, but there is benefit. But with leaven, the fact that it has a time of permission shows that this is a prohibition on an act; it is not about deriving benefit at all. So why should the law of partial measure apply? Partial measure would not apply here—except because there is the verse “all fat.” Fine.

The sciatic nerve—is it a prohibition of eating or a prohibition of benefit? A prohibition on the act of eating. A historical prohibition. A historical prohibition by definition is a prohibition on the act of eating; there is nothing wrong with the object itself. If the angel had not touched Jacob’s sciatic nerve, there would have been no reason at all to refrain from eating it. We just need to remember what happened there. Meat cooked in milk, by contrast, is apparently an essential prohibition, yes, a prohibition in the thing itself. At least that’s how Maimonides understands it. One might have said that because there are three different verses, the verse about eating teaches that it is a prohibition on the act of eating, because after all meat by itself we eat, milk by itself is also food. Why should their combination suddenly become something intrinsically repulsive? Fine, one can say the combination creates something—I don’t know. But one might have said no, and that in fact the eating prohibition is a prohibition on the act of eating, and there is an additional verse teaching a prohibition of benefit. Then in principle I should have had to count that as two prohibitions, a prohibition of eating and a prohibition of benefit, from two different verses.

Maimonides learned that once there is a verse prohibiting benefit, that reveals that the verse prohibiting eating is itself really a prohibition on deriving benefit. In other words, it sends us back to reinterpret the verse that prohibits eating. One could have said otherwise. Fine. That is a dispute in the sacred literature. Yes, no problem… Right, but you need a reason. The Talmud there in Pesachim goes prohibition by prohibition. And every prohibition where there is a prohibition of eating but not of benefit, the Talmud asks: why not? According to Rabbi Abbahu, it should also be prohibited for benefit. And then it brings some source or derivation from which it comes out that nevertheless benefit is permitted. You need a source. Without a source it would be prohibited for benefit.

No, I claim that Maimonides ruled like Rabbi Abbahu, but not regarding historical prohibitions like leaven and the sciatic nerve, because there even Rabbi Abbahu does not disagree. Rabbi Abbahu also agrees with Chizkiyah there. The Talmud—no. The Talmud there certainly does not go that way. In any case Maimonides is difficult from that Talmudic passage. That has nothing to do with me. In any case he consistently goes against that Talmudic passage. So I say that Maimonides apparently understood from the Talmudic passage in Beitzah, which says that sourdough starter has strong fermentation and therefore clearly this is not a prohibition on deriving benefit from the thing, that the passage in Pesachim is not the law. The passage in Pesachim understands that the dispute of Rabbi Abbahu and Chizkiyah deals also with leaven and the sciatic nerve. And Maimonides says: not true. They have a dispute about the general category of Torah prohibitions, but it is not correct to apply it to leaven and the sciatic nerve. There, it doesn’t apply. That goes against the Talmud in Pesachim, and apparently he understood the dispute between Chizkiyah and Rabbi Abbahu differently.

Okay. Thank you very much. Have a kosher, happy, and amusing Passover. Yes, yes, this week we finish this week. What? Sunday. We continue our custom of learning on the Sabbath before Passover the matter of “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.” This Sabbath we call Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Sabbath. Why do we call it Shabbat HaGadol? First of all, why does this Sabbath have a special name at all? We have several Sabbaths during the year that have names: Shabbat Shirah, Shabbat Teshuvah, Shabbat Chazon, Shabbat Nachamu, Shabbat HaGadol. All those Sabbaths get their names from the haftarah: Shabbat Shirah from the Song of Deborah, Shabbat Chazon from the vision of Isaiah, Shabbat Nachamu from “Comfort, comfort My people,” Shabbat Teshuvah from “Return, O Israel.” The only Sabbath whose name is not connected to the haftarah but perhaps to the Haggadah, perhaps to a historical event, is Shabbat HaGadol. Or maybe to the haftarah? Let’s see.

The haftarah of Shabbat HaGadol is “Then shall the offering of Judah and Jerusalem be pleasing to the Lord.” How does it end? “Behold, I am sending you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and awesome day of the Lord.” It says “great” there, so maybe that’s why it’s called Shabbat HaGadol. Although that word appears almost at the end of the haftarah. But the Tur brings a completely different reason. The Tur writes in siman 430 in the name of the midrash: why is it called Shabbat HaGadol? Because a great miracle occurred on it. When was that? On the tenth day of the month of Nisan, which that year fell on the Sabbath, every Israelite took a lamb for the Passover offering. The Egyptians saw this and asked them: what are you doing with this flock? And they answered them: this is for the Passover offering, which we were commanded to slaughter for God. And the Egyptians gnashed their teeth because they were slaughtering their god, yet they were unable to say anything to them. And because of that miracle they established that it be called Shabbat HaGadol. That’s what the Tur brings.

In other words, the great miracle of Shabbat HaGadol was the Egyptians’ silence. The Egyptians see the Jewish people taking their god—for the lamb was the idolatry of Egypt. They take the lamb, tie it to the bedposts, and prepare to slaughter it. And the Egyptians ask: what are you doing? And the Jews answer them: we are going to slaughter your idol. And they do nothing. They remain silent. That is the great miracle.

Rabbi Chizkiyah da Silva, the Pri Chadash, asks a very strong question. He says: why is it called Shabbat HaGadol? Call it the Great Tenth. After all, the miracle happened on the tenth of Nisan. That year the tenth of Nisan happened to fall on the Sabbath. But the miracle is connected to the date, not to the day of the week. Just as Passover is always on the fifteenth of Nisan, and Sukkot on the fifteenth of Tishrei, and Yom Kippur on the tenth of Tishrei. Why here was it established by the day of the week and not by the date? If the miracle happened on the tenth of Nisan, then every year on the tenth of Nisan we should celebrate that miracle. Why do we celebrate it on the Sabbath before Passover?

The Pri Chadash gives a wonderful answer. He says: the Jewish people knew that the Holy One, blessed be He, was about to take them out of Egypt. They knew that the final plague, the plague of the firstborn, would be what broke Pharaoh. And they knew that the plague of the firstborn would happen at midnight of the fifteenth of Nisan. But they did not know exactly when the fifteenth of Nisan would be, because sanctifying the month had been entrusted to them. But they knew one thing: they were about to leave. They wanted to do something that would express their faith in God. The Holy One commands them: “On the tenth of this month, they shall each take for themselves a lamb by ancestral house, a lamb for a household.” Why on the tenth of the month? So they would have time to prepare. And they take this lamb and watch over it for four days. And they do this publicly.

Says the Pri Chadash: the miracle was not that the Egyptians were silent. The miracle was that the Jews dared. The miracle was that a nation of slaves, which for so many years had been under the boots of the Egyptians, suddenly rose up and did something that completely contradicted Egyptian culture. They took the god of the Egyptians and prepared to slaughter it. That requires utterly extraordinary courage. And that courage came from faith. They believed that the Holy One would save them. And therefore, says the Pri Chadash, it is called Shabbat HaGadol because on that Sabbath the Jewish people became great. Until then they were small. They were humiliated slaves. On that Sabbath they acted like free people. They stood proudly before the Egyptians and said to them: we are not afraid of you. We are slaughtering your god because God commanded us. That is the greatness of the Jewish people. And therefore it is called Shabbat HaGadol.

In other words, the name Shabbat HaGadol does not come to describe some external miracle that happened, but an internal process that the Jewish people underwent. They transformed from a nation of slaves into a nation of free people. And this happened on the Sabbath. Now let’s see how this connects to the Passover Haggadah. In the Haggadah we say: “We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.” What does “we were slaves” mean? After all, we are no longer slaves. Rather, in every generation a person must see himself as if he had gone out from Egypt. What does “as if he had gone out” mean? To go out from one’s own Egypt. Each of us has an Egypt. We have habits, fears, limitations that we place on ourselves. Shabbat HaGadol is the time to get up and say: I am no longer enslaved to my impulses; I am no longer enslaved to my fears. I am going to do something great. I am going to take the god of my own Egypt—those things that I think control me—and slaughter them. And that is what makes us great.

And therefore this Sabbath is the true preparation for Passover. Without that greatness, without that courage, you cannot really leave Egypt. If we remain with the mentality of a slave, then even if physically we are outside Egypt, we are still slaves. To truly be free people, we need the spirit of Shabbat HaGadol.

Now, there is another point. It says in the midrash that on that day when they took the lamb, the Egyptians gathered around them. And they asked them: what is this? They said to them: this is a Passover sacrifice to God. And the Egyptians wanted to attack them. And the Holy One cast terror and fear upon them. It says, “And the dread of God was upon the cities.” In other words, the miracle was double. There was a miracle within the Jewish people—their courage. And there was a miracle among the Egyptians—their fear. And the combination of both together is what created the greatness.

And when we speak of greatness, we are speaking of something beyond nature. A slave who rebels against his master is usually punished. Here, the slaves rebel against the masters and the masters remain silent. That is something completely unnatural. And that is what symbolizes the Exodus from Egypt. The Exodus from Egypt was not a natural revolutionary process. It was an open miracle. And it began on Shabbat HaGadol.

Therefore, when we prepare for Passover, we are not only cleaning the house. We need to clean the heart. We need to find within ourselves those powers of Shabbat HaGadol, to say: I can change. I don’t have to remain where I am. I can do great things. I can overcome every obstacle. And that is the central point that we learn from this Sabbath.

There is another interesting interpretation by the Sefat Emet. The Sefat Emet says: why is it called Shabbat HaGadol? Because all the Sabbaths of the entire year receive their power from this Sabbath. This is the great Sabbath from which all the other Sabbaths draw nourishment. Why? Because on this Sabbath the Jewish people accepted upon themselves the first commandment as a community, the commandment of taking the lamb. And that is what sanctified the Jewish people. And the holiness of the Sabbath depends on the holiness of Israel. As we say in the prayer: “Who sanctifies the Sabbath,” and on the festivals, “Who sanctifies Israel and the times.” The Sabbath itself is holy on its own from the six days of creation. But our ability to connect to that holiness depends on our deeds. And on the first Shabbat HaGadol in Egypt, the Jewish people showed that they were worthy of that holiness. And therefore it is called Shabbat HaGadol.

Okay, so we’ll end with that point. May we truly merit to feel this greatness on the coming Sabbath, and to arrive at Passover when we are truly free people. A kosher and happy Passover to everyone.