Do Not Fear Anyone

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[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. And that’s what I said in the first rationale of the Rashba. And then he brings another rationale; the question is what that rationale is doing. That rationale basically says: besides that, know that everything I said before isn’t really necessary at all, because in fact even when there is danger, and even if you have no way to protect yourself from it, or you have no doubt that the danger is real, you still may not give in. Because otherwise there would be no justice anywhere; anyone could threaten. I’m not sure that’s true. Because he says there’s no person who can’t cause harm. Fine, but is there no person who won’t murder? Don’t give in to empty threats, or don’t give in to weak threats. The question is whether the Rashba is prepared to stand behind that even in the case of a murder threat. It’s not clear to me. Even if the second rationale doesn’t continue the first one but argues with it, I don’t know how far it goes. Because “there’s no person who can’t cause harm” does not clearly mean that every person will threaten murder. True, there’s no person who can’t cause you some kind of trouble or another. Okay, but in a case of murder, who knows—maybe there there is in fact an exemption. But the Torah didn’t distinguish between this and that. Once it says, “do not be intimidated,” it didn’t distinguish between one and the other. So it’s as if he stated some general rule that… But the Torah’s “do not be intimidated”—that’s only as far as the Sifrei infers it. The Sifrei says that one should not say, “I am afraid of so-and-so lest he kill my son.” That is not written in the Torah. Maybe “do not be intimidated by any man” applies only at a level of threats that is not within reasonable bounds, but not where it is certain, and not where it is a definite threat to life. There maybe not. And there is a hint or support for this from the fact that we are used to saying that among the severe prohibitions there are only three offenses about which it is said: one must be killed rather than transgress. Otherwise, if you were right and we learned this from the Torah, then you should always count four severe offenses and not three: also “do not be intimidated by any man,” because there too it would be “be killed rather than transgress.”

Okay, so that is the inference in the Rashba. And it really raises the question how far these threats go, up to what level of threats one may not give in. In the Radbaz, on this ruling of Maimonides, where he rules this law, he explains that this is exactly the difference between an appointed judge and an unappointed judge. An appointed judge simply gets the protection of the public. So he doesn’t have to fear threats, because the police will protect him, the public will protect him; that is, he has some kind of standing, everything is done in public view, it’s not some private thing you’re doing in your house. And therefore the threats are not significant with respect to an appointed judge. That’s how he explains the difference between an appointed judge and an unappointed judge, which is very interesting. Because earlier we understood the difference differently. An appointed judge—it’s his job; not because it’s less dangerous for him. It’s his job—how can you withdraw from your job? That’s why they appointed you. So the Radbaz says no. Since the Radbaz understands the case as involving even death threats, and death threats apparently are not something he finds it reasonable to obligate even an appointed judge to face, he says no: an appointed judge we obligate to judge even in the face of death threats because, from the standpoint of an appointed judge, that threat is not serious. The public will protect him. Okay? But that implies, of course, that where the public is not strong enough, or there is no cooperation from the police, or from the king, and so on, wherever one may be, then it may well be that one is indeed permitted to withdraw. The Radbaz basically makes it depend on some… on some very specific circumstances. And once again, he somewhat empties “do not be intimidated” of content. He is basically saying: where there is a real threat, you may withdraw; only know that if you are an appointed judge, this is not serious—they will protect you. There is no significant concern here, or at least no significant concern. And therefore you are not supposed to withdraw.

Well, if that is so, then it is already hard to understand why we need the verse “do not be intimidated by any man.” It’s obvious: if there is no threat hanging over you, and there is a commandment to judge justly—“judge your fellow justly”—and that’s what you’re being paid to do, then why do we need a verse at all? What does the verse teach? Well, again, one can draw some sort of line here, and say: there is some concern after all, but a small concern; as long as you are still protected by the public, you are forbidden to take it into account. And for that you need the verse, because without it, maybe even in a doubtful case of slight concern you would have been allowed to withdraw.

The interesting point is that everyone—or at least almost everyone I saw among the halakhic decisors—really finds all kinds of explanations like these for why the threat is not serious, at least in matters of life. Because if the threat to life is serious, then you can withdraw. Meaning, even when you are appointed you can withdraw. There are a few exceptions. The Tumim, for example, says that even in a definite life-threatening situation, there is no permission to withdraw from the case. Even if he knows which way the law leans, and certainly if he is appointed, of course, then he has no right to withdraw from the case, even in a definite mortal danger. He is the most extreme one I found.

By the way, if I remind you of what we saw earlier in Rashi—we saw in Rashi, remember, I brought Rashi’s explanation: what is this threat from the litigant? This threat from the litigant who pursues the judge in order to reverse the ruling. So there is no danger to the judge; he will only force him to reverse the ruling. He is not taking revenge on him or doing something to him because of the ruling; rather, he is trying to threaten him so that he will reverse the ruling. In Maimonides it is talking about revenge. Now, that may be a difference. Because indeed Rashi explains that it is only a threat in order to make him reverse the ruling, implying that where he threatens you with revenge—say, that he’ll kill you—then maybe you are allowed to withdraw. For exactly the same reason I spoke about just now: because this is not something that stands against saving life—it is, sorry, because it is set aside for the sake of saving life. But in Maimonides it seems otherwise: even when the threat is revenge—if you rule against me then I will kill your son—even so, you are forbidden to withdraw from the case. And indeed, as I said, in the Tumim and also in the Bach it seems that this is only in a doubtful danger; in the Tumim it appears to be even in definite danger.

So we need to understand that even the wording of the Tumim—even the wording of the Tumim—is really problematic. Why? Because the wording… the wording of the Bach. The Bach says this is a doubtful danger. If you remember the topic in tractate Yoma, the topic there discusses how saving life overrides the Sabbath. From where do we know that saving life overrides the Sabbath? It brings all kinds of sources. It rejects all the sources one after another, and finally remains with “and live by them, and not die by them.” How does it reject the sources? Most of them it rejects with this rationale: that that source teaches that definite danger to life overrides the Sabbath, but doubtful danger to life cannot be learned from there. Fine—maybe doubtful danger to life really does not override the Sabbath? Maybe indeed only definite danger to life overrides the Sabbath? Why does the Talmud assume that if definite danger to life overrides the Sabbath, then doubtful danger does too? And if there is a source that teaches me only the definite case, then apparently it is not a sufficient source; we need to look for another source. The Talmud assumes as self-evident that anything set aside for saving life is also set aside for doubtful danger to life. There is no difference between definite danger to life and doubtful danger to life. If so, I ask the same question here. According to the Tumim this is difficult altogether. How can it be that a judge must give up his life in order to judge? This is not one of the three severe prohibitions. And actually, even according to the Bach, who says this is only in doubtful danger to life and not in definite danger to life, the same question still stands, because even doubtful danger to life overrides all prohibitions except the three severe ones. There is no difference between doubt and certainty. So even according to the Bach it still needs explanation: why is there something exceptional here? And more than that: if it is already exceptional here, then what is the difference between doubt and certainty? Then say that even in definite danger to life one must give up his life, and also in doubt. Why stop only at doubt? Either way, the Bach’s position is unclear.

So I want to suggest the following explanation. And here I am now leaving the halakhic sources and want to talk a bit about the meaning of these things. There are several halakhic sources in which we see that when we look at a person and he is Jewish, we see him as though he is wearing two hats: a private hat and a collective hat.

Take an example: Maimonides in the laws of repentance. Maimonides says that every year on Rosh Hashanah each person is judged—whether righteous, intermediate, wicked, and so on. And after that the city is judged, and after that the country is judged, and after that the whole world is judged. And several commentators ask about Maimonides: after each and every person has been judged as an individual person, what is left to judge in the city? The fate of all the city’s inhabitants has already been decided. So what remains now to judge about the fate of the city, of the country, of the whole world? It is all just the sum total of the destinies of the individual people. How can several independent judgments take place beyond the standing of the individual person: on the level of the city, on the level of the country, on the level of the entire world?

So the simple explanation is that a person is judged in both of his hats. He is judged as an individual person—how, as an individual person, he stands before the Holy One, blessed be He. Beyond that, the city too is judged—how it stands before the Holy One, blessed be He. Now what is the city? The city is the collection of people who make it up. Of course, the people of the city are judged in terms of how they function as a city, or as a country, or as humanity as a whole—yes, the entire world. What, there can sometimes be a situation where a person is found liable in judgment as an individual, but acquitted in judgment as part of the public. The public is functioning excellently, and your obligations to the public you are fulfilling very well. Maybe because the law is built properly, the governmental system enforces it—not important—but bottom line, you are functioning, and the whole public is functioning properly, so on the public plane you come out acquitted in judgment, you come out righteous. On the private plane you come out liable. There can be a situation where many people behave improperly on the private plane, and yet the collective still behaves correctly. There can be an opposite case: the collective behaves incorrectly, but every person on the personal plane is a good person, and when he is judged personally he comes out righteous. Therefore, the person must be judged; he must be judged in the circle of the city, in the circle of the country, in the circle of the whole world, and each and every circle is a judgment in itself, of whether you are fulfilling your duty as an organ within the urban collective, within the collective of the country, and within the all-human collective. Besides that, how you function as an individual person.

That means that one views the person, as opposed, say, to the individualistic conception that sees the person as something completely independent and the collective as something meant to serve him, and if you want on the metaphysical plane as some kind of fiction—a fictive social force, society. And in truth all that really exists is a collection of people. Society is not an existing entity; it is a legal definition, like a corporation or something like that, some kind of fictive legal definition. In contrast, there is a fascist conception that sees the collective as what truly exists, or as primary, and the individuals are only organs within the collective. Two opposed conceptions, which have metaphysical expressions, and there are those who see also on the metaphysical level only the collective as something that really exists, while the individuals are only organs in the collective. Among the Sages one can see the ministering angel of Edom, yes, the angel of some nation, which is an expression of the existence of the collective as an independent entity. Okay? And there is an individualistic conception that says what really exists, on the metaphysical plane, is human beings. Society has no standing and no existing entity. It is a legal, moral, social, cultural definition, but it is not an entity, okay? So of course this also has expressions in non-metaphysical conceptions—how we relate, what is primary and what is secondary, whether the main thing is to serve society or on the contrary society should serve the individual person.

It seems to me that in the halakhic context one can see in quite a few places that the conception is a two-headed conception, or bipolar if you like. Meaning, a conception in which every person has two hats: he is both an organ in the collective and also an individual person, and he is judged on each of those aspects separately.

Now what I want to argue is that this is really what underlies this law, of “do not be intimidated by any man.” Maybe I’ll bring as an example—you probably know the story about the Mitla Pass, right? With Raful, that after they parachuted into the Mitla there was an Egyptian ambush there, and they didn’t manage to locate them well enough. So Raful asked for a volunteer, and Yehuda Kender volunteered there—Yehuda Kender, right?—and he drove in a jeep so that the Egyptians would shoot at him and by that expose their position. Okay? That is a suicide mission. Now he was indeed wounded, and after two or three months he died; he was very badly wounded, and it is a wonder he didn’t die there. He asked for a volunteer. And indeed in accepted military ethics, suicide missions cannot be assigned by command. Missions that are certain death cannot be assigned by command. What you can do is ask for a volunteer. Even where it is needed—those soldiers there were in tangible danger to all of them, a real danger—still, if you send someone to die, it is only voluntarily. Only if he is willing. You cannot order him to do it. How is that different from going out to war? Going out to war is life-threatening for every fighter, and there it is obvious that it is possible to order a soldier to fight and to endanger his life. So that is the difference between doubt and certainty. In war there is doubt: you enter a life-threatening situation, maybe you’ll die and maybe not. For doubtful danger you can be ordered. A mission that is certain danger to life cannot be ordered. That is only by volunteering. Why? What is the difference?

It seems to me that what lies behind this is that same dualistic conception I described earlier. My obligation to endanger my life for the public, or the right of the public to demand of me that I endanger my life for it—and I am part of it too, of course—derives from seeing me as an organ in the public collective. As an organ in the public collective—remember the fascist conception? The organ basically is, as the communists called it from the other side of the coin—yes, but in the end they connect—the grease on the wheels of the revolution. The individual person who dies—that doesn’t matter; the main thing is that the revolution continues. Meaning, the individual person is a servant of the collective. And in that sense, that is really the basis for the collective’s claim upon the individual person to endanger his life for the collective. Of course, one must remember that he endangers his life also for himself, because he too is part of the collective. If the collective does not go out to fight, we will all die. So there are also considerations here of what we might call necessity or cost-benefit. But that is the basis for the possibility of commanding a person to endanger his life.

But one cannot command him to sacrifice his life when it is certain. Why not? Because he also has an individual hat. He is not entirely just an organ of the collective and nothing more. We cannot, we are not willing to accept such a fascist conception, which says that the individual person does not exist; he is only an organ in the collective. He is not subordinated to the needs of the collective. In that conception, of course you can send a person also on a suicide mission, yes—like an anthill, some conception in which this whole collection basically functions as one organism. Okay, and therefore it does not matter if some die; it is like cutting off a hand to save the body, or sacrificing an organ to save the body. In the halakhic conception—and this is my claim—that is only half the picture, one side of the picture. On one side you are an organ in the collective, but there is a second side from whose perspective you are an individual person with independent standing. And one cannot bend you completely to the needs of the collective. And therefore one cannot demand that you certainly die for the collective. What one can do is demand that you take a risk, because after all you are also part of the collective, and each person contributes his part and risks himself in turn so that we can all continue to live.

And therefore I think that is what lies behind the Bach’s conception. Because what are we really talking about here? We are talking here about a judge. A judge is a soldier. Because if the judge does not insist, and does not issue a ruling, and does not decide, and there is no effective judicial system, society will immediately fall apart. Society cannot exist without an effective judicial system. Just look at what happens in Haredi society, where it is accepted that one may not go to secular courts, may not go to law courts, not only there but there they insist on it more—that one may not go to the state’s courts. The legal functioning of Haredi society is in a catastrophic state. Catastrophic. Because there is no effective judicial system there. Of course they do not have the authority to compel; there are social sanctions and so on, but no authority to compel. A judicial system cannot work unless there is effective authority at its side. And unless we know that it can, that it has the power, that it can punish, that it won’t let things go. A judicial system that is not effective is the disintegration of society. And therefore the judge is required even to enter a life-threatening risk to his son in order to issue the ruling. But, says the Bach, only a doubtful danger to life, not a certain one. Why? For after all, everywhere, if definite danger to life overrides Jewish law, then doubtful danger to life also overrides Jewish law, as with desecrating the Sabbath. He says no—there is a difference. Why? Because the whole point is not overriding Jewish law. The point is that this is not at all a matter of a prohibition being overridden by danger to life. Rather, the prohibition ensures that there will not be danger to life. When society falls apart, first of all, that can lead to danger to life. Because a society without an effective legal state, without effective legal governance, also has danger to life. Rampage will begin, violence will happen here—this can deteriorate into danger to life too; it is not so hard to imagine. But beyond that, Jewish law sees something else. The very disintegration of the social fabric, of the functioning of human society, is itself considered danger to life. Not because someone will actually die—even if no one dies. It is itself considered danger to life.

And therefore the judge, if he does not judge, himself causes a state of danger to life. And therefore he is required to enter doubtful danger to life, but not certain danger to life. Because the danger to life of the public overrides his danger to life. But if he is required only to enter doubtful danger to life, and by that he prevents the public’s danger to life—which he himself is also part of—that is exactly the same thing as in the process-ethics example I described earlier. So he is required to enter doubtful danger to life, but not certain danger to life. In the Tumim—not everyone agrees that it is certain danger to life, but if so, it may be that he said that because of public danger to life perhaps even certain danger to life is required of him. I don’t know; I’m not sure the Tumim goes that far there. But at least regarding the Bach’s view, it seems to me that this is the compelling explanation.

And more than that: from this it is also clear why this is not counted as another one of the three severe prohibitions. Because this is not really one of the three severe prohibitions. There is no obligation here on me to give up my life. Because if there were an obligation on me to give up my life, and this were one of the three severe prohibitions, then even in certain danger to life I would have had to judge. Why in certain danger to life does he not have to judge? Because here this is not derived from the laws of the three severe prohibitions that override saving life. It is derived from the fact that if you do not do it, there will be danger to life. It is not because of the severity of the prohibition; rather, there is an outcome here that is danger to life on both sides. But this overrides—not, this is not one of the three prohibitions that because of their severity override danger to life. Rather, it simply overrides danger to life because if you do not do it there will be danger to life for the public as a whole. So it should not be counted in the list of the three severe prohibitions. And therefore there is also a difference between doubt and certainty.

This has quite a few broad halakhic implications, much broader than this particular case of the judge. For example, this is a fact that can be explained in various ways, but the fact is that in the police there are very few religious policemen who observe the Sabbath. Very few. There are some, and by the way now there are already more, all kinds of projects trying to bring religious people into the police, but that was because there was a feeling that there weren’t any. Why aren’t there? Because the police desecrate the Sabbath even for situations that are not danger to life. The police drive around also for traffic policing, the police also drive when they are called because of noise at night in some home—if they call the police on Friday night, the police will come. That is not danger to life; no one is going to die there. So religious people distance themselves from such Sabbath desecration where there is no danger to life. By the way, in hospitals too they desecrate the Sabbath for things that are not danger to life. All the time. At every step. But there, for some reason, religious people are not deterred; there is some leniency there—or I don’t know exactly, one can also make distinctions in that case. In my opinion that case too is more or less like what I am explaining here.

My claim is that in the police it is permitted to desecrate the Sabbath even for things that are not danger to life. A religious person need not recoil from serving in the police, even if he is called because of noise on Sabbath night. Why? Because if it is clear that in the State of Israel—say the entire State of Israel were run according to the conditions of Jewish law—there would be no Sabbath Gentiles, no secular people doing the work as policemen, then the policemen would have to be religious. What would happen then? On Sabbath night everyone could do whatever he wants, as long as he doesn’t murder. It would be permitted to steal, permitted to make noise, permitted to do whatever one wants. The world would become ownerless chaos. Do you know what would happen as a result? Within a short time there would be no Jewish settlement in the Land. There would be no Jewish society anywhere. Only in a place where there are Gentile policemen to maintain order. In other words, society would fall apart. What does that mean? It means that this is danger to life. Not danger to life in the sense that someone will die—nobody will die. It is danger to life in the sense that when society falls apart, that itself is called danger to life. Why? Because if I see the collective as an independently existing entity, then when the collective breaks apart, disintegrates, ceases to exist—and all the individuals are still breathing, everything is fine, their health is reasonably okay—but the collective has died, the collective body has died. And if I see the collective as an existing entity like the individual person, then the death of the collective too is considered danger to life.

That is what I said about “do not be intimidated by any man,” right? That the judge can judge monetary cases even though they threaten him with murder. Not can—must judge monetary cases even though they threaten him with murder. Why? Because if there will not be effective monetary law, the state—the society—falls apart. No one will die, but society falls apart, and when society falls apart that is danger to life. Therefore the judge must enter danger to life in order to judge. Likewise the policeman: he is permitted to desecrate the Sabbath in order to answer a call about noise. And therefore a religious person can serve in the police. These are very far-reaching leniencies. I said this—how many halakhic decisors would agree to tell you such a thing? But in my view it is correct, and it is learned from here, “do not be intimidated by any man.”

And I brought the famous example of Yeshayahu Leibowitz, who said that in a state no one in Jewish law discussed the question of how the Foreign Ministry should function on the Sabbath. A foreign ministry in a modern state cannot be totally paralyzed on the Sabbath. Not because of danger to life, because someone will die, but because of international relations, other states—you cannot function; there has to be some phone in the country so that if someone in the world is looking for us, there is someone to call. It cannot be that the whole business is closed one day a week. I am not an expert in foreign service, that is not my field, but I assume he was right. Meaning, there are certain things in which you must have some kind of response to places around the world, to other countries, to places around the world, even if it is not danger to life. A state cannot be completely closed one day a week. What is the basis for permitting such a thing? Leibowitz doesn’t say. He only says it can’t be otherwise; Jewish law does not deal with it because Jewish law did not deal with the condition of a modern state. But now that it does need to deal with the condition of a modern state, on what basis can one construct a permission for such a thing? So I think, among other things, on the basis I just mentioned. The basis I just mentioned means that a functioning society or a functioning state is like danger to life. Meaning, if a state does not function or a society does not function, that means it will fall apart. That means things cannot be done there. If things cannot be done there, it will not endure. If it will not endure, that is considered danger to life, and therefore it justifies desecrating the Sabbath on the public plane. I think that is what underlies this law of “do not be intimidated by any man.”

And therefore I think there is no need to reach all the rationales I brought in the name of the later authorities for why the appointed judge has to judge even if he does not know which way the law leans and has no right to withdraw. Maimonides says because they protect him—and if they do not protect him, at least in a doubtful case, I am not speaking of certainty, at least in a doubtful case—even if they do not protect him, he still has to endanger himself and judge the case. And someone who is not willing to take that risk should not put himself forward to be a judge. He has to take that risk; there is no choice. He is a soldier, just as a soldier takes a risk. And therefore all these interpretations—that he is protected, or that it is this, or this, or that this is not danger to life but only a threat to money—there are all kinds of discussions among the later authorities on this matter; I think it is not correct. Not correct. We are dealing here at least with doubtful danger to life, if not certain danger to life, and the judge must stand like a rock. He must issue the ruling and not fear anything. Because if you do not do so, that is danger to life for the public. It’s just that nobody will die. Not in capital cases. In a state where capital law is not conducted, monetary law is not conducted properly, nobody will live there. Nobody will remain living there. Anyone can rob me and steal from me and not return it, and I have no way, no way to get my money back. Am I crazy? I won’t stay living here. The state will fall apart, society will fall apart—that is danger to life. Not because someone will end up dying, again, but because the very disintegration of society is danger to life.

There are, by the way, additional expressions of this in Jewish law. Let’s finish with that. There are additional expressions in Jewish law. Jewish law, for example, speaks in the laws of charity about a situation where—say, charity money is left over. Say money was collected for a certain need, and now we are discussing what to do with it. Okay? For example, in the Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chayim 153, he discusses the question of funds collected for a certain purpose where there is a surplus after the project is completed. What do you do? These are also matters that later authorities address: money was collected for some sick person, for an expensive transplant or something like that, and the sick person died. Money remains—what do you do with it? First of all, to return it to the donors—that was already long ago, or we don’t know who the donors are, for various reasons. Can it be transferred to a similar purpose? According to Israeli law, at least as far as I know—I’m not a lawyer, but that’s what I once heard—you can transfer it to a similar purpose. From the standpoint of Jewish law, it says in the Shulchan Arukh: transfer it to public needs. What are public needs? Public needs do not mean specifically Torah teachers or rabbis or sacred functionaries or building a synagogue. Public needs also means repairing roads. Repairing roads, the prosaic roads so that the public can function. We see in many areas of Jewish law that public needs are considered a legitimate destination for charity. Why? Fine, imagine the road won’t be in proper condition. So what? Let’s not speak of something involving danger to life. Without danger to life. It’s just inconvenient to travel on. Okay? Or a basketball court for the public. Fine—a public need. That is a legitimate use for charity. And there are decisors who say that even from tithing money one can give to public needs. Why? After all, that is only for charity, for the poor, for the needy. Here too, if you are contributing to the functioning of the public, that is essentially considered a commandment need. And if the public ceases to function, that really is considered like danger to life, when the public falls apart. And the public has a certain standing that rises one degree above the individual person. The ordinary, mundane needs of the public are considered commandment needs. The disintegration of the public is considered danger to life from a halakhic standpoint.

And one can bring this from many, many more sources. They talk about public needs on the Sabbath, in various other places. For example, a town near the border—one goes out to defend it even on the Sabbath. The Magen Avraham brings that one goes out even if it is about money matters, straw and stubble. Even if exactly so—even matters of straw and stubble. Even monetary matters, one goes out for them on the Sabbath; one desecrates the Sabbath. Why? Some want to explain that in the end it will lead to danger to life. I don’t think that’s why. Rather, it is because you cannot leave a person unprotected in his property. Unprotected on the Sabbath. On the Sabbath anyone can steal from him whatever he wants, because nobody can desecrate the Sabbath in order to save him. All the thieves can do whatever they want on the Sabbath. There is no such thing. Because then you are dismantling your society. You cannot govern that way. In a condition that endangers the fabric, the social functioning, that is danger to life. And for that one desecrates the Sabbath. And all the later authorities who discuss the Magen Avraham there look for excuses and raise objections to him. To me it is the same thing. In many places one can show that this principle is a real existing principle.

And just in closing, I only want to distinguish between this principle and something that is apparently similar to it, but may not be the same thing. The Talmud says that a live coal of metal in the public domain may be extinguished on the Sabbath. There is a dispute among the medieval authorities (Rishonim); most of them say this is according to rabbinic prohibitions. This is not a direct danger to life. There is a glowing coal in the public domain; there is some sort of danger to life, but nothing direct. So with a rabbinic prohibition one is allowed to do it, but not with a Torah prohibition. But the view of the Geonim is that even a Torah prohibition is allowed. And the question is why. One can say danger to life, but it may be much more than that. There is some distant concern for danger to life here, but the very fact means that the public road cannot be used normally. And because of that, the public cannot function. If you add to that also the remote concern of danger to life, that is enough to permit a Torah prohibition.

And let me give you perhaps another example where you see this more strongly, and why it is not exactly similar to what I told you now. Someone once showed me a ruling of Rabbi Eliyahu—Rabbi Mordechai Eliyahu. An officer in the army came to him. The military rule is that in order to unload a weapon after guard duty at night, one has to shine a flashlight into the chamber in order to see that there is no bullet left in the chamber. It is not enough to stick in a finger; you have to shine a flashlight to see. The officer asked him: what does one do on the Sabbath? The officer unloads the weapons for the soldiers coming off duty, and the question is whether he is allowed to turn on the flashlight. The risk in this matter is negligible. The risk that a bullet really remained, after you put your finger in—what is the risk that you missed a bullet? Zero. For such a thing there is no chance that one permits desecrating the Sabbath. But Rabbi Eliyahu told him: yes, turn on the flashlight. Why? Because there are another ten thousand like you, or a hundred thousand soldiers and officers who need to unload weapons. So even if the risk is, say, one in a hundred thousand—and I as a private person, with a one-in-a-hundred-thousand risk here, obviously I cannot desecrate the Sabbath for such a risk. I take higher risks than that all the time. Every day. I just go drive a car. Going to drive a car is itself a risk. Is it permitted to do that? It’s permitted. The state tells me: taking risks. So obviously there is no permission to desecrate the Sabbath for such a risk. But if the risk is, say, one in a hundred thousand, and there are a hundred thousand soldiers, then one of them—the expected number of casualties is one soldier, right? One soldier will be hurt. And that is danger to life. When you issue a directive to the public, even a small risk can be significant.

Now notice: this is a different principle from the principle I spoke about here. It is not the same thing. Because here when I say ordinary danger to life, it is simply true that the risk is small, but you need to multiply it by the number of cases, and then in the end it comes out that there is a substantial chance that at least one soldier will die, and for that one certainly desecrates the Sabbath. I am talking about something else. I am talking about desecrating the Sabbath when the public does not function, not as a large multiplication of a probability, where I multiply the probability by the number of people and the public is a lot of people. I am not talking about that at all. I am talking about the question of what the status is of the disintegration of the public. Not that someone will die through a small risk and there are many people, so in practice there is a high chance that at least one person will die. That is a statistical calculation. It is not because of the importance of the public as against the individual. It is a permission such that just as one permits for an individual, one permits for the public, because at the end of the day in that public one person will die. That is an ordinary permission. It has nothing to do with what I am talking about here.

That is usually what the halakhic decisors bring. They say: why is the police allowed to work on the Sabbath? Because it may also involve danger to life, and maybe even the risk is small, but there are many calls to the police on the Sabbath, and one of them could be danger to life. Therefore it is permitted to desecrate the Sabbath. Or in a hospital, the same thing: you take the temperature of patients who are not in danger. True, but if you do not do this procedure regularly, there will be one patient whose temperature you won’t take, and in the end because of that he will die. Therefore they permit it. All those permissions are not built on what I spoke about today. Those permissions are built on the statistical measure. Altogether they say: multiply the small risk by the number of people. I am talking about something else. I am talking about a permission based on the very fact that the public is harmed being danger to life—not because the public has many people in it. That is not the point. In principle it could even be a public of ten people. A kibbutz. Fine? That too could be the case. That is danger to life of the kibbutz. Meaning—well, it’s hard to draw the line—but on the principled level it could have been there too. It is not because of the large number of people. Rather, because this organism is going to break apart. And when an organism breaks apart, that is danger to life.

Okay, let’s stop here. Does anyone want a question?

The question is where the boundary of the slippery slope is. If you say this, then the sergeant major will come and say that a Friday night party is also part of resilience, otherwise the company will fall apart or whatever—so where do you set the slippery slope in the principled situation? I have common sense. Common sense says that without a Friday night party the company will not fall apart. Have the party on Saturday night. But since it is not a sharp line, then there is a great concern that, especially when there is a large public in whom there is no fear of God in their hearts, where the boundary will be. Those are concerns, and that is another issue, and they need to be taken into account. But first of all one has to know what is correct. After that we will discuss the concerns. So first I discuss the claim—what the law says in its pure form. Now, slippery slopes and all kinds of things like that—one should take them into account, though not exaggerate. I don’t like slippery-slope arguments. Slippery-slope arguments usually subordinate the certain present to the doubtful future. You now do something that is certainly not right because in the future there may perhaps be something not right. So let us focus on the present. Of course it is not always like that; there is room for such considerations, but one should be careful with slippery-slope arguments, and in any case not mix them up with arguments about the core law. There are arguments about the core law—what is right—and after that one has to discuss the slippery slope and the concerns and what to do with them.

Exactly right. Okay. Anyone else? Thank you very much, more power to you. Thank you very much, more power to you. Thank you very much, more power to you.

[Speaker B] All the best, goodbye, good night.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Good night, thank you very much. I want to say something about Kenderor—that I knew him when he went out to war, and his wife was the nurse of our village for many years. Of blessed memory. Someone worthy of admiration. Yes. He was from Nir Oz, and we were in Kfar Pines, and that’s how we knew him. Yes. I’m guessing she was an older sister—you’re telling me something. Okay. Fine. Okay, goodbye, good night. Good night. And he was from Neor, and we were in Kfar Pines, and that’s how we knew him. Yes. I’m originally from Afula, so that rings a bell. Okay. Fine. Okay. Bye, all the best. Bye, all the best. Negative for corona—what an amazing phrase, negative for corona, there are no viruses here. Well, my dear friends, with God’s help this evening we will study from the holy book Netivot Shalom, the Torah portion of Terumah. Our portion deals with the building of the Tabernacle: “And let them take for Me an offering, from every man whose heart moves him.” And we have already spoken about this several times, that all these portions—Terumah, Tetzaveh, Ki Tisa, Vayakhel, Pekudei—are portions all dealing with the matter of building the Tabernacle. And we need to understand what the meaning of the Tabernacle is for us today. After all, ostensibly we have no Tabernacle, and we also have no Temple, so what is our spiritual task in these portions? About this, Netivot Shalom writes a very great principle.