Is Halakha Pluralistic? A Look at Halakhic Truth – Rabbi Michael Abraham

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so the title is: Is Jewish law pluralistic? A look at halakhic truth. Another concept is also going to come in here—tolerance—and I’ll try to sharpen a bit the difference between pluralism and tolerance for the sake of the discussion as well. Usually, with topics of this kind, the standard way of handling them is to bring sources. This one wrote that Jewish law is pluralistic, that one wrote that there is one halakhic truth, and so on. And naturally I always somehow feel that two things are missing: first, conceptual analysis; and second, reference to halakhic sources—not extra-halakhic sources, sources that I call halakhic journalism. Meaning, people who talk about Jewish law—what I think, what should be done, what Jewish law looks like. I think it is much more convenient and much more correct to form an impression from the actual conduct of Jewish law itself, simply to see how it understands itself and not how people look at it from the outside—even if those people are halakhic scholars, but still from the outside. And I can bring examples—I won’t do it here—but I can bring examples of a halakhic scholar who says certain things in the journalistic parts of his writing, and then when you check how he actually works in practice, you see a different picture. So in my view, actual practice is the best measure.

Okay, so I’m starting with the well-known Talmud in tractate Eruvin 13a—everything is familiar there: Rabbi Abba said in the name of Shmuel: שלוש שנים נחלקו בית שמאי ובית הלל, הללו אומרים הלכה כמותנו והללו אומרים הלכה כמותנו. יצאה בת קול ואמרה: אלו ואלו דברי אלוהים חיים הן והלכה כבית הלל (“For three years Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel disagreed; these said, ‘The law is like us,’ and those said, ‘The law is like us.’ A heavenly voice went forth and said: ‘These and those are the words of the living God, but the law follows Beit Hillel’”). Right? So they weren’t able to settle the dispute until, with no other choice, a heavenly voice came from heaven and decided in favor of Beit Hillel. But before ruling in favor of Beit Hillel, it said another sentence that seems a bit obscure: “These and those are the words of the living God.” And only afterward does it say, “but the law follows Beit Hillel.” So there’s a tension here between those two statements. On the one hand, both are the words of the living God; both are right. On the other hand, the law follows Beit Hillel, so Beit Hillel is right. The question is how to reconcile the two parts of the heavenly voice’s statement.

I don’t think this needs much introduction, but I’ll say it anyway: this is not a story, not a factual report. Right? It’s aggadah. It’s an aggadic text whose purpose is to convey ideas; we don’t need to treat it as though these things literally happened there. By the way, precisely because it is aggadah, it is much more meaningful to study it carefully. If it were just a report of what happened, then you report the facts as they were. But if you construct the facts, then you have to ask why you constructed them this way and not another way—apparently you wanted to tell us something. Okay?

After that the Talmud asks—up to this point these are the words of the heavenly voice. Now the Talmud asks: וכי מאחר שאלו ואלו דברי אלוהים חיים, מפני מה זכו בית הלל לקבוע הלכה כמותן? (“Since these and those are the words of the living God, why did Beit Hillel merit that the law be established in accordance with them?”) What does that mean? It’s asking: wait a second—if you tell me they’re both right, then what is the meaning of saying that the law follows Beit Hillel? The Talmud answers: מפני שנוחין ועלובים היו ושונים דבריהם ודברי בית שמאי ולא עוד אלא שמקדימים דברי בית שמאי לדבריהם (“Because they were agreeable and humble, and they would teach both their own words and the words of Beit Shammai, and not only that, but they would mention the words of Beit Shammai before their own”). So what is this—good behavior, fine. Beit Hillel behaved very nicely, listened politely to the words of Beit Shammai, even put the words of Beit Shammai before their own, and therefore they received a prize: the law would follow them. How do we know that they behaved so nicely and politely? Then an incident is brought—not important for the moment in detail—they were there with the sukkah and all that, and they wanted to hear what Beit Shammai would say and then they said what they said. It’s just a story meant to illustrate the conduct of Beit Hillel.

Okay, but for our purposes what matters is the first section. This Talmudic passage can be read in two ways: it can be read in a monistic way and in a pluralistic way. What does that mean? I’ll first define the terms. Monism is the view that there is one halakhic truth. Pluralism is the view that there are many halakhic truths, or at least that there can be several halakhic truths. Of course that doesn’t mean that every question will have several truths, but there can be several truths. Okay? On the other hand, monism can also be interpreted accordingly. One could say: fine, I claim there is halakhic truth, but that doesn’t mean there are no questions in which perhaps there are two correct answers. So of course we need to decide where to draw the line between monism and pluralism. For now I’ll present it in an extreme form in order to avoid the gray area. Right? Black and white. Pluralism says there is no halakhic truth—that is, all halakhic answers are equally legitimate. Monism says that every halakhic question has one answer. As I said before, neither one really exists in exactly this form, but for the sake of the principled discussion it’s convenient for me to present these two extreme positions.

Now let’s try to read the Talmud according to the pluralistic reading. In the pluralistic reading, there are basically three components here that we have to understand. First, the statement “these and those are the words of the living God”—in what sense are they both right? Second, if so, why does the law follow Beit Hillel, if both are right? And third, the reasoning—that the law followed Beit Hillel because they behaved nicely and were polite and so on. According to pluralism, according to the pluralistic reading, that reasoning seems very natural, right? Basically there is no halakhic truth, and then you ask: fine, so why did you decide in favor of Beit Hillel if both are right? Good—let’s gain an educational and moral benefit. They behave nicely; let’s give them a prize that the law should follow them—not because they’re right. Okay, so according to the pluralistic reading, the third part is understandable. The first part is also understandable: “these and those are the words of the living God,” okay, because there’s no right and wrong; both are right. What needs explanation is the middle part: what does it mean that the law follows Beit Hillel? Okay? But according to the reasoning we saw, there’s no problem. Why? Because that reasoning says that “the law follows Beit Hillel” is not a determination that they are right, but rather that we had to determine something so there would be some binding uniform standard, legal certainty if you like, whatever. How did we determine it? On educational grounds, not because they are right. And then the monistic reading—the pluralistic reading, sorry—works reasonably well with the whole flow. Okay?

[Speaker B] At some point I got the impression regarding the law that, basically—I learned that the law follows Beit Hillel because they were lenient, and the law follows Beit Shammai…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There is no—there is absolutely no source for that. No source at all. Interesting. Lenient and strict—and more than that, there isn’t even a clear source that Beit Hillel were really lenient. Factually, that does come out in a great many cases—not all, there are cases where it doesn’t. But nowhere is any privilege attached to that which they supposedly received, no policy as far as I know, at least as far as I’m familiar.

Now, that’s on one side. Now I’ll bring Rabbi Yosef Karo, the author of the Shulchan Arukh, who has a book called Kelalei HaGemara, Rules of the Talmud. There he deals with meta-halakhic rules, or halakhic rules, and he says this: “I am astonished—if the law was not in accordance with their words, would the law really have been established according to them just because of their many good character traits?” Meaning, if the truth is not with them, then what—just because they have good character traits you rule like them? So what’s the subtext for him? Monistic, right? Meaning, obviously when you issue a halakhic ruling, that means that this is the truth. Right? So now he says: fine, then we need to read the Talmud in a monistic way. So let’s read it through Rabbi Yosef Karo’s glasses, yes, through monistic glasses. First of all, I need to understand what “these and those are the words of the living God” means. Okay? Second, “the law follows Beit Hillel” is understandable—because they are right. The third thing we need to understand is the reasoning. Right? The reasoning says: why was the law ruled like them? Because they behaved nicely. That is exactly what Rabbi Yosef Karo asks: so what if they behaved nicely? The question is: what is the truth? Why should it matter who behaves nicely? And his assumption throughout, of course, is monistic. Meaning, obviously when we rule the law like Beit Hillel, it’s because they are right, not for other reasons. Okay? So now we need to understand what “these and those are the words of the living God” means, and what the reasoning means. Those are the two problems out of the three parts—both are problematic if you read the Talmud through monistic glasses.

So let’s try to understand first the… ah, he has an answer. Let’s read the answer. “And it is possible that this is what it means to say”—that is, perhaps this is what the Talmud intended to say—um…

[Speaker B] Sorry, the part that’s emphasized, yes?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “Why did they merit always to direct themselves to the truth, such that because they were in the truth the law was established according to them.” Meaning: how did they merit to hit upon the truth? Because of their good character traits. But in the final analysis, that’s only an indicator. Why was the law ruled like them? Because the truth is with them. The fact that they behaved nicely only gave them some kind of divine assistance or something like that so that they would be more likely to arrive at the truth, but in the end we rule like them because they are right, because that is the truth.

In more rationalistic terms, I’d say it’s not divine assistance but a real criterion. Meaning, if you put your opponent’s words before your own before you form your own position—instead of immediately jumping to say what you think—you listen well, you consider; maybe he’s right, maybe he has part of the issue. Right, I assume this is somehow connected to the book, right? Yes. So if so, it fits well. And what I basically want to say is that if you really listen to your opponent, there is a greater chance that you’ll reach the right decision. This isn’t just manners. Meaning, the whole truth isn’t with you. That is, even if in the end you’re right, he will sharpen you, he’ll show you another aspect. And sometimes it may even be that you aren’t right—take that into account too. Therefore listening to the other side is not just politeness and good manners; it’s a cognitive tool. Meaning, it’s a tool that helps you arrive at the correct result—a more correct result. So I’m not speaking here on mystical levels, that because they behave nicely God helps them; rather, because they behave this way they will hit the truth more accurately, they are more likely to arrive at the truth.

Okay, so we’ve basically understood two of the three stages. We understood why the law follows Beit Hillel—because they are right. And we understood the reasoning: why are they right? Because they conduct themselves properly. Their methodology is an attentive methodology, and therefore that is a guarantee that they will arrive—again, not for certain—but if you need to establish the law like one of them, I would establish it like Beit Hillel. That doesn’t mean—it’s no guarantee that they’re always right, but it’s closer than…

[Speaker C] the other side.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What still needs explaining is why this is sweeping.

[Speaker C] If you say—you could say, okay, but it’s also possible that sometimes these are right and sometimes those are right; but if you have the ability to assess that the method of these includes, for argument’s sake, the other side and takes it into account, then you can say they thought through all the factors.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, but I think to say that about all cases is extreme. In the real world, obviously Beit Shammai also listened a bit, and Beit Hillel listened more. It’s possible that in the real world Beit Hillel took Beit Shammai into account and still reached a different conclusion—but they still might not have been right. That can happen too, meaning despite the fact that you listened. So I’m saying it’s not deterministic, but if you have to choose one of them, then it makes more sense to put your chips on Beit Hillel. They are more likely to get closer to the truth than Beit Shammai.

What remains for us to understand is the meaning of “these and those are the words of the living God.” According to the monistic interpretation, we understood “the law follows Beit Hillel,” we understood the reasoning, but then what does it mean that both are right? Like the judge’s wife: he said “you’re right,” “and he’s also right,” “and you’re also right.” Right? What does it mean that everyone is right? If you’re a monist, then Beit Hillel were right, therefore the law follows them; so what is the meaning of the statement “these and those”?

[Speaker D] And here the point is—the method, it’s connected to the third reason, to the third part—that part of the procedure for reaching the correct thing is to hear these words too, and that’s the only way to get to…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I completely agree, but I’ll go one step further. So look, there is a passage in the Talmud, in Gittin 6b, and it’s the only place in the literature of the Sages other than the passage in Eruvin that we saw where the phrase “these and those are the words of the living God” appears. It’s a very famous phrase, very popular, but in fact it appears only in two places. One place is what we saw above, and this is the second place. There they discuss the episode of the concubine at Gibeah—not important, a horrifying passage, but the details don’t matter for our purposes. זינחה עליו פילגשו (“His concubine became angry with him”). Rabbi Evyatar said: זבוב מצא לה (“He found a fly in her food”). Rabbi Yonatan said: נימא מצא לה (“He found a hair in her food”). They had some dispute over exactly what happened there. Okay? Why did he get angry with her—what did he find there?

And Rabbi Evyatar met Elijah. Right? Rabbi Evyatar, one of the two disputants, met Elijah the prophet—ran into him on the street. He said to him: מאי קעביד קודשא בריך הוא? (“What is the Holy One, blessed be He, doing now?”) Elijah came down from heaven, and he asks him: “Tell me, what are they doing up there now?” He said to him: עסיק בפילגש בגבעה (“He is occupied with the concubine at Gibeah”). He’s dealing right now with the issue of the concubine at Gibeah. Unbelievable. Exactly the topic you were discussing. “Ah, interesting,” says Rabbi Evyatar, ומאי קאמר? (“And what is He saying?”) Let’s hear what the Holy One says and solve our problems. Elijah then quotes the Holy One, yes? He says to him: אביתר בני כך הוא אומר, יונתן בני כך הוא אומר (“My son Evyatar says this, and My son Yonatan says that”). The judge’s wife, right? Meaning, “My son Evyatar says this, My son Yonatan says that.” He doesn’t state His own position. He said to him: חס ושלום, ומי איכא ספיקא קמי שמיא? (“Heaven forbid—is there doubt before Heaven?”) Is the Holy One in doubt? Doesn’t He know what happened? The Holy One knows everything—how could that be? He said to him: אלו ואלו דברי אלוהים חיים הן (“These and those are the words of the living God”). They’re both right.

And now look—here there is an explanation, which there wasn’t in Eruvin. What is the meaning—not a justification but an explanation. What is the meaning of “these and those are the words of the living God”? Look: זבוב מצא ולא הקפיד, נימא מצא והקפיד (“He found a fly and was not particular about it; he found a hair and was particular about it”). Right? The dispute was whether he found a fly or a hair. Okay? He found something in her dish, or whatever, that he didn’t like. And the question is whether it was the fly or the hair. If you ask me why that matters—I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. For them it mattered. Okay?

Now what does that actually mean? You can read it in several ways, but the simple reading says this: basically, he found both a fly and a hair. Factually, both of you are right. Right? We see both a fly and a hair—both of you are partially right. Meaning, each of you grasped part of the picture. Okay? The full picture is the combination of both of you. Now one could say like this: he found a fly and didn’t get upset, and then the hair upset him, meaning the hair was what finally broke him. I think one could say more than that. The accumulation of the fly and the hair together is what led to the explosion. Meaning, in the end not only are you both factually right—you are also substantively right. Also substantively, what led to the explosion was both the hair and the fly, meaning the accumulation of both.

Now if that really is so—and I think that is the plain reading of the Talmud—what does it say about the concept “these and those are the words of the living God”? It basically says that “these and those are the words of the living God” means that each side grasps some part of the truth. A real part—also as to the bottom line, each has a certain justice in his words. In the end we need to make a decision. Now the question is, in the final analysis—is the rival wife’s daughter permitted or forbidden? That dispute—yes, between Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, or any dispute whatever. In the end you need to make a decision. How do you make it? You weigh, as we saw before—you weigh the possibilities raised by these sides and those sides, assign them some kind of weight, build some general picture, and in the end arrive at a bottom line. You need to decide what is stronger, what is more dominant, what weighs more—but everyone is right. That sounds a bit too pluralistic for my taste.

[Speaker E] Oop, I’m already…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’m getting to that—that’s a good question. I’m getting there right now. I called it here, yes, harmonism. Harmonism—nice. What does harmonism mean? Harmonism basically says—this is actually a kind of monism. Monism says there is one truth, one halakhic truth or not necessarily halakhic—but harmonism says there is one truth. But that truth has many facets. And this has nothing to do with pluralism in any way, because it does not mean that both sides are equally right and there is no truth. No—the truth is one and unique, with none besides it: that he found a fly and did not mind it, and then the hair came and then he did mind it. Meaning, this truth, which is the combination of the different facets, is the one monistic truth that exists.

Think, for example, of the well-known elephant analogy: if I look at an elephant from the side, I say an elephant is something with two legs fairly far apart, one eye, and that’s it—that’s my description of an elephant. Someone else looks at the elephant from the front and says this elephant has two eyes and its two legs are very close together. Who is right?

[Speaker B] That’s the blind men parable. What?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] The blind men parable. Yes, okay, there are different versions, yes, I know it.

[Speaker B] Six of them, and each one describes…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] his own touch, yes, right. It appears in all sorts of places, I don’t know what the original source was, but it appears in all sorts of places, and what it basically says is that everyone is right from the angle from which he sees the issue. But when you want to know what the issue really says, the Holy One looks at the issue and really says, “My son Yonatan says this and My son Evyatar says that.” Because the truth that the Holy One grasps—and apparently only He can grasp the truth from all the angles at once—is the truth that is the combination of all the perspectives of people from all sides.

Now one second—of course in the end there is a bottom line. Meaning, in Jewish law you ultimately have to decide. Okay? The law is this way or that way, but the arguments in every direction are valid arguments. You don’t decide that these arguments are valid and those arguments are invalid. All the arguments are valid. What you decide is which arguments prevail or which arguments carry more weight. And actually—and this is true also of our debates today. In the overwhelming majority of our debates, it isn’t the case that one side is talking nonsense and the other side is absolutely right. Usually, all the reasons both sides raise are true—all of them are true. The question is what weight you assign to each reason and which one prevails over the other. And I think this is a key to a huge number of arguments we know from our own world.

Meaning, if you really listen carefully to someone who says the opposite of what you say, and you try for a moment to step into his shoes, you’ll see that he’s right—completely right. And when he steps into your shoes, he’ll see that you’re right—completely right. But this isn’t pluralism; it just means that each of you is looking from a certain point of view. But on the issue itself, it’s worth looking from all points of view, and in the end you need to decide which point of view is more important. You ask yourself whether the elephant runs fast or slow. Okay? I’m just making this up right now. Yes, so if its legs are close together it runs slowly; if its legs are farther apart it runs faster, right? It can run faster. Now I assume that for the question of speed, the side view is better, because it has two legs far apart and will use them, the two front ones will do… doesn’t matter, I’m just improvising the example. You understand? But as to the question whether it runs fast or slow, one of them is right. But that’s not because one of them showed an incorrect picture. Both showed a correct picture, just a partial one. You need to make the decision when you see all the angles and weigh all the angles, and you need to decide which one is relevant.

[Speaker B] Like a court ruling. Right. I want to challenge you. Okay. I’ll start from where the singer—well, he aimed exactly at what I wanted to say. In ’48 there was a district court judge who said, “I heard side A, I heard side B, they both seem right to me, I’m unable to decide.” Okay. It reached the Supreme Court, and they told him: sir, you’re getting a salary, decide. So how do you decide? The burden of proof is on the one making the claim. This equals that, I don’t know—you brought all these arguments either way, rule this way or that way—the burden of proof is on the claimant. Here there is no claimant because there is no plaintiff and defendant; there is just Jewish law. So take the hard case, not the easy one. In the hard case, you heard both sides, and they are completely equal. Forget good behavior or not good behavior—completely equal.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Equal, equal, yes. So the answer is that it functions exactly like “the burden of proof is on the claimant.” In Jewish law there is a whole field called the laws of doubt, and that is a field in Jewish law—a field much broader, by the way, than any system I know, philosophically and conceptually super-sophisticated. This whole field of the laws of doubt is extremely sophisticated in Jewish law. And exactly all these kinds of cases are decided in ways like “the burden of proof is on the claimant.” But that’s true in halakhic questions too, not only in legal ones—in every area. There are rules: passive non-action is preferable, a Torah-level doubt is decided stringently, a rabbinic-level doubt leniently.

[Speaker B] Presumptions. What? Presumptions. Yes, presumption rules—if it’s equal, then a presumption.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, and that is the halakhic truth for that situation. Okay? What? Hermetic? There are places—I have a hobby of collecting places where it isn’t hermetic. I could bring you a few examples, but we won’t get into it because it would take us a long time.

[Speaker F] It is relevant to what you’re saying in terms of the fact that you need to assess the weight of each thing, so the question is whether that can even be done.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. Right. So there the truth would be something like perhaps passive non-action is preferable, perhaps I don’t know what. It may be that in the end it is hermetic, but you need to get more into the issue. There are priorities in the yeshiva regarding all sorts of such cases.

So look, I’ll give you a few examples from Talmudic sources that basically say this quite explicitly. Rav Yehudah said in the name of Rav—in the Talmud in Sanhedrin: אין מושיבין בסנהדרין אלא מי שיודע לטהר את השרץ מן התורה (“One appoints to the Sanhedrin only someone who knows how to declare a creeping thing pure on the basis of the Torah”). Now the Torah says explicitly that the creeping thing is impure. This is a Purim rabbi, right? He’s now going to bring arguments for how to declare a creeping thing pure, but we know—the fact is that the creeping thing is impure. So then it says there—Rav said, “I could argue and declare it pure,” and then Rav brings some a fortiori argument—I didn’t bring it here—various considerations: let me show you reasons how I can declare the creeping thing pure. Now we know the creeping thing is impure; there’s no dispute about it; it’s written in the Torah. So Tosafot there asks—Tosafot, medieval commentators from France—“who knows how to declare a creeping thing pure,” etc., and Rabbeinu Tam finds it difficult: what use is the sharpness of empty dialectics to declare pure a creeping thing that the Torah made impure? The Torah made it impure—why am I testing him on empty pilpul? Why do I need that?

On that, the Maharal—I didn’t bring it here because I don’t know exactly where the source is; people always quote it, I didn’t find it—the Maharal basically says that these are not empty dialectics. There are real and correct reasons to declare the creeping thing pure, and when the Torah says that the creeping thing is impure, it takes into account the arguments for impurity and for purity, weighs them, and in the end arrives at the bottom line that the creeping thing is impure. But in order to sit on the Sanhedrin—“one appoints to the Sanhedrin only…” —you must be someone who knows how to weigh carefully even the other arguments, even though they seem not to be the law. Because in other contexts they may suddenly become significant—in somewhat different cases. Therefore this is a very important skill for someone who sits on the Sanhedrin, just as we saw above with Beit Hillel. Listen carefully to what the one who disagrees with you says, because what he says is usually true. In the end you’ll reach a decision; it doesn’t mean you have to agree and remain pale and transparent and opinionless. But listen carefully to what everyone says before you form your decision. Without that, you won’t enter the Sanhedrin. We test you on the ability to prove something that on the face of it is clearly not true. It’s stated explicitly in the Torah.

There are similar examples elsewhere. In the Talmud in Eruvin on that very page, by the way: Rabbi Abbahu said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: “Rabbi Meir had a student, and Sumchus was his name, who would state regarding every matter of impurity forty-eight reasons for impurity, and regarding every matter of purity forty-eight reasons for purity.” Up to this point that actually sounds very much not like this, right? Meaning, if something is impure, all the reasons should go in one direction. Right? If something is pure, all the reasons go in the opposite direction. And then it was taught: “There was a veteran student in Yavneh who would declare the creeping thing pure with one hundred and fifty reasons.” Then Ravina comes and once again raises arguments to declare it pure. Meaning, this pushes back against the notion that all forty-eight reasons need to support the bottom line.

Maybe I’ll give you an example—I added several examples in this context because I think it’s very important, and currently very important. Once I was riding a bus—I was at the Weizmann Institute then, on a postdoc—and through the window I saw a car with a sticker saying: “Rabin has no mandate to return the Golan.” Rabin period. One of those Rabin-era stickers. I thought to myself: is the owner of this car a left-wing person or a right-wing person? And I answered myself that I couldn’t know. Why? Because the statement can be interpreted in two ways, on two planes.

One plane is the moral plane—political morality. You committed yourself before the election to a certain agenda, and then you came to the conclusion that you were mistaken. Legitimate—go back to the public. Meaning, you were elected on the basis of a certain agenda; go back and say I changed my mind, put yourself up for reelection. You are not allowed to act differently from what you promised, as a matter of political morality. Okay? By the way, there is a substantial side to that. You can’t go back to elections every time. Meaning, there are two substantial sides to the issue of political morality.

Besides that there is the issue itself: are you in favor of returning the Golan or not in favor of returning the Golan? In terms of security, diplomacy, religion—whatever you want. Deep internal fault lines, right? Now on the face of it there is no connection between those two questions. Therefore we would expect there to be four groups, right? Those who say morally it’s legitimate but I’m against it; morally it’s legitimate and I’m in favor; morally it’s not legitimate and I’m against; morally it’s not legitimate and I’m in favor. How many groups were there in practice in the population? Of course, two. Everyone who thought it wasn’t morally right, everyone who thought it was forbidden to do it, also thought it wasn’t morally right. And those who were in favor of doing it, of course, said there was no moral problem with it. That means we are not being intellectually honest. It means that all forty-eight reasons are being recruited in favor of the goal I want, the place I want to reach. In a real discussion, there should be a discussion that says: look, the moral question we’ll discuss separately, and the substantive issue separately. And I say: in both areas, in both issues, there are substantial arguments on both sides—both in the moral question and in the substantive question. And I can present real, significant sides there. Perfectly fine.

[Speaker B] There was once—actually right here—a judge, though usually one doesn’t ask if he’s a judge, but I once did an arbitration. I heard the sides, extremely complex arguments from historical disciplines. Now I have to decide. What do I do? Before I look at precedent and statutes and arguments, first of all what do I think is fair, right, just? And then I start recruiting the arguments in favor of what I think is fair, right, and just. If I can’t make it work, I’ll decide according to the law. But first you mark the target, because you’re human.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Rabbi Soloveitchik says this about halakhic decisors too.

[Speaker B] First of all, you recruit the arguments—it’s human, it’s human. Otherwise it wouldn’t be genuine. Right, sometimes the law says, despite the fact that I think…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] that you have to make very, very sure that your search for arguments is honest, that you’re not captive. Now this is more of a privilege of an arbitrator than of a judge, because an arbitrator…

[Speaker C] Judges do that… yes.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But for an arbitrator it’s more legitimate, I think.

[Speaker C] But then maybe theoretically nobody really checked what the views were regarding… everyone knew what the views were regarding the substantive issue of whether to return it or not, but nobody asked them whether they thought Rabin had no mandate.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, but I heard the discourse. I heard the discourse. There were only two groups in the population, not four. Unequivocally there were two groups. Meaning, those who were in favor politically, diplomatically, security-wise, also said it was moral. And those who were against said it was immoral too. And every argument today is the same way.

Once I wrote in Makor Rishon a response on the question of conversion. The question split into Religious Zionist rabbis versus Haredi rabbis. I said, look, let me think for a second: there are thirteen independent questions I need to answer before I form a position. Right? Simple combinatorics says how many groups there ought to be in the population? Two to the thirteenth power, something like 8,000. Okay? How many groups were there? Two. Those who answered yes to all thirteen questions, and those who answered no to all thirteen. Because the whole question is where you want to get to in the end. Meaning, our discussions are biased discussions. We need to be aware of that—and that is what the Talmud here is saying. Meaning, that person who says that all forty-eight reasons go in the same direction as the conclusion I ultimately favor—he is a bad judge. He is a bad judge, a biased judge. And the same on the other side. Therefore that veteran student in Yavneh is the alternative the Talmud proposes. I have one hundred and fifty reasons to declare the creeping thing pure. He should sit in Yavneh—Yavneh had the Sanhedrin. He should sit on the Sanhedrin because he knows how to declare the creeping thing pure. And that doesn’t mean he’s producing empty pilpul. He takes seriously the reasons in this direction and that direction, and in the end arrives at the bottom line. Fine. That’s what you need to do, okay?

Now what does that actually mean? That when I speak about “these and those are the words of the living God”—I’m now returning—our question was how to interpret the statement “these and those are the words of the living God” according to the monistic reading. Now the answer is obvious. “These and those are the words of the living God” means that when Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel speak, neither of them is saying nonsense. Neither is saying nonsense. Torah scholars, people with great halakhic knowledge, experience, and a great school with many sages—what, they’re all mistaken and talking nonsense? There is no such thing. It almost never happens, okay? Therefore it is obvious that “these and those are the words of the living God” means that all one hundred and fifty reasons brought by Beit Shammai are valid, and all one hundred and fifty reasons brought by Beit Hillel are valid too. Now in the end the law follows Beit Hillel because they are right. That is the monistic reading. But in what are they right? Not that their reasons are valid and the others’ reasons are invalid, but in the weighing. In the proportion they give in the overall balancing, Beit Hillel are right and Beit Shammai are not. Because they seriously weigh the reasons in each direction and only then make a decision.

That, I think at least, is the monistic reading of the Talmud: “these and those” means all the reasons that the sides raise are valid. “The law follows Beit Hillel” because they are right as to the balancing. Why? Because they have good character traits, in that they seriously consider opposing positions and only afterward formulate a view. Therefore they are right—not because it’s a reward for good behavior, but that is why they are right. That is the monistic reading of the Talmud.

What this basically means is that when you look—now I’m moving one more step; that was the first part. Now I want to move to the issue of tolerance. We haven’t discussed it yet; until now it was monism versus pluralism. Now, in a monistic outlook there is often a tendency not to be tolerant. I have my own position—the one and only correct one, of course—so I’m not tolerant of other positions. Beit Shammai were basically classic monists. But Beit Hillel were monists too, as I said before. Right? But they did make room for Beit Shammai; they seriously weighed their words. There are also statements that Beit Shammai could continue to practice according to their own view even after the law was ruled like Beit Hillel. There was real tolerance there. The question is whether that tolerance reflects pluralism.

And here I want again to do a short conceptual analysis. I want to say this. Suppose there is a halakhic dispute, or not necessarily halakhic, political—any dispute, okay? And we speak about tolerance. So suppose group A holds A, group B holds B. A and B contradict each other, yes? Group B holds B. Now what does it mean that group A is tolerant toward group B? It basically means, say at minimum, that I won’t coerce you. Even though I’m, say, the majority or I have the power, I won’t coerce you. Okay, I’m tolerant. Now the question is: why don’t I coerce you?

I once had a very interesting discussion with people from Midreshet Sde Boker. There was an argument there with an interesting story. Well, if I get to it maybe I’ll tell it afterward. That’s where the penny dropped for me on this issue, in the argument with them. Now the question is: why exactly am I not coercing you? The obvious immediate explanation says: because I’m a pluralist—everyone has his own truth, you’re right, I’m right, everyone is right, the judge is right, everyone is right. Okay? But you need to understand that if I’m a pluralist, then the fact that I don’t coerce you isn’t tolerance. Because I don’t coerce you—why would I coerce you? You’re as right as I am. That’s not something worthy of appreciation. Right?

Let me phrase it differently. Pluralism belongs to the philosophical-epistemic plane—the question of how many truths there are. If you are a pluralist, you think there is more than one truth. If you are a monist, you think there is one truth. Tolerance belongs to a completely different semantic field. Tolerance belongs to the moral semantic field. Being tolerant is a moral virtue; that’s how we usually think of it. Being a pluralist is not a moral virtue. If you are a pluralist, that’s your worldview, fine. If you are a monist, that’s your worldview. But there is no moral virtue in holding this worldview rather than another one. Right? So what is this moral virtue called tolerance?

[Speaker B] Accepting the other, respecting the other’s opinion even though you think it’s wrong.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly. So first of all I need to understand that I can’t be a pluralist if I’m tolerant. Because if I’m a pluralist, then I don’t deserve moral credit for my tolerance. I’m no better than you, so why would I coerce you? If I coerced you I’d just be wicked—it’s not that I deserve moral credit for being tolerant. So I say okay, then I’m not a pluralist, I’m a monist.

Notice: I’m now listing the conditions required in order for someone to be called tolerant. First condition: he must not be a pluralist. A bit surprising, but that’s a condition—he cannot be a pluralist if I want to describe him as tolerant. The next condition—I continue asking him now, “okay, then what?” This was the conversation I had with them there in Sde Boker; all of this came up there. The next condition says: fine, if I’m a monist, I think I’m right and you’re wrong—so why really shouldn’t I coerce you? Various explanations may come up. One explanation is: I won’t succeed anyway; you won’t listen to me; I don’t have the energy. That isn’t tolerance. You don’t coerce because it’s just a waste of time—you won’t succeed. Right? You don’t deserve credit for that either. So such an explanation cannot ground a claim to moral credit for this kind of attitude.

Okay, so at this point he cannot be a pluralist, and apparently he also has to be able to succeed, to have the power to succeed—because otherwise the fact that he doesn’t intervene means nothing. Let’s go on. Yes, but if I succeed, later you’ll come to power and do it to me. Right? So that’s why I don’t do it. I also would not regard that as tolerance. In the end that’s your own interest—you fear retaliation, and that’s why you don’t do it. You’re simply looking one step ahead. In the final analysis, you deserve no moral credit for that; you’re just calculating your interests. Right? Good. So we’ve now added another element: he must not be a pluralist, he must have the power to coerce, and he must not be afraid of retaliation—or at least that must not be the reason he refrains from coercing. Okay?

Third thing: he says, “Listen, what you’re doing doesn’t cause any harm anyway, so what do I care?” Okay? That’s why I don’t intervene. Again, that’s not tolerance, right? If there’s no price, why should I intervene? Let him do the nonsense he wants—what do I care what he does? Right? So that isn’t tolerance either. Meaning, we’ve now added yet another condition. So the conditions for being tolerant—you already see where this is going—the conditions for being tolerant require all the conditions that would actually lead me to coerce. And if nevertheless I don’t coerce, then I’m tolerant.

But then the question comes up: if all the conditions tell me to coerce, then why not coerce? Is a tolerant person just an idiot? All the arguments tell you yes, coerce—and you’re a monist, the truth is with you, his path is harmful, you have the power to change it, you have the power to coerce him, you aren’t afraid of retaliation, and indifference toward him isn’t some great virtue either, right? Meaning, you’re not indifferent to him—you care about him. All this is true. So then, coerce. Nevertheless, despite the fact that all this is true, I still do not coerce. And only then am I tolerant. Then the question becomes: why? Is tolerance stupidity?

And here I come to what Ron said earlier. Tolerance—the difference between the explanation I’m now proposing and all the earlier explanations is that the earlier explanations are interest-based calculations. I should coerce or not coerce because I have some self-interested consideration one way or another. But if my explanation is a value-based explanation, not a self-interested one, then I deserve credit. You can agree or disagree, but my consideration is a value judgment. Okay? And basically I say this: although you are mistaken, and although I have the power to coerce you, and although I am right, and I am not afraid of you, and I care about you—all of that is true—still I do not coerce you. Why not? Because I respect your autonomy. Respecting your autonomy is a value-based consideration, not a self-interested consideration about what will happen to me or whether it’s worth it or whether it’s a waste of time or things like that. Once the consideration is a value-based one, you can ground tolerance on it, because tolerance belongs to the moral sphere of value, as we said, not to the epistemic sphere.

Therefore pluralism and tolerance are not merely not synonyms; in a certain sense they are opposite concepts. If you are a pluralist, you cannot be tolerant. Only if you are not a pluralist can you be tolerant. Not that you necessarily will be tolerant, but that’s a necessary condition, though not a sufficient one. Meaning, you can be tolerant if you are not a pluralist.

[Speaker C] In one of the clearest places I’ve seen where people really analyze the whole issue in ethics, it all comes down to a matter of proportion, because here basically you have one thing outweighing another; it’s all completely relational.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s my next sentence. Excellent.

[Speaker C] I just heard it again, sorry—what? Never mind.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I’ll say it again. That’s my next sentence. On the face of it, tolerance and pluralism look phenomenologically similar. In both cases I don’t intervene and I don’t coerce you and so on, but the motivations are opposite. Here it’s a philosophical motivation—I’m a pluralist, so you’re as right as I am. Here it’s a moral, value-based motivation. Okay? But in practice it looks very similar. Bottom line, I allow you to act; I don’t coerce you. Still, there are differences. And those differences are on two planes.

On one plane, there is the plane of openness. If I am a monist but tolerant—that is, tolerant monism versus pluralism. Tolerant monism is someone from whom I would expect openness. Precisely from him, not from the pluralist. Because the pluralist basically says everyone is right, so there’s no special insight here—why do I need to listen to him? It won’t help me. There is no truth toward which I am striving; I’m not a monist. Right? Everyone is equally right. So I wouldn’t expect him to be open at all. He may be polite, but this won’t move him toward truth, because he doesn’t think one can move toward truth.

By contrast, if you are a monist, then there is a point in listening to someone who disagrees with you—not because he’s as right as you are; on the contrary, precisely because he disagrees with you and you may learn something from him, or maybe you’re mistaken, or maybe he’ll refine your position, all the things we said earlier. You need to hear the other one hundred and fifty reasons in addition to your own one hundred and fifty reasons in order to make a better decision yourself. Therefore one consequence of the difference between pluralism and tolerant monism is openness. Tolerant monism is supposed to be open. A pluralist, less so.

[Speaker G] So the world in which one respects autonomy is the one in which every individual…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s the tolerant monist.

[Speaker G] But why does he need to… he can just respect autonomy…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. He can. But as a monist, I’m saying he can also be open.

[Speaker G] He can be, yes, right,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] he can also respect without being open. Absolutely.

[Speaker B] I want to sharpen this from another angle. Can I? You want to? Yes, yes. Let’s try this. Doesn’t this remind you very much of that saying of Voltaire? Remember? “I disagree with every word you say, but I am prepared to die in order to allow you to say it.” Now, isn’t there perhaps another angle here in addition to the ones you’re mentioning—namely, I’m a monist and I’m convinced that I’m right, and I have a majority and I can prevent you from speaking—but there are rights. And morally I will allow you to speak. But perhaps there’s another element too: despite being so sure that I’m right, there’s a one-percent chance that I’m wrong, and therefore from that logical angle, not necessarily the moral one, maybe I’m mistaken despite my confidence, so I’ll allow you to speak.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s Uri’s point from earlier. Basically Uri said that when you allow me to express myself, it can come from several planes. I’m first of all a monist, but the fact that I allow you to express yourself can come from several planes. One plane is because I can learn from you—that’s the one-percent chance that I’m mistaken. The second plane—even if not—I can still be tolerant because I respect your autonomy or your right to express yourself, which is a more moral plane; the other one is indeed an epistemic and less moral plane. Absolutely. There can be several shades within this monism.

[Speaker B] And that’s an important difference, because it raises the question whether you come from a moral place or a logical one.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, fine. I’m saying both possibilities exist. There are people of this type and people of that type. And there are people who have both reasons.

Now the sentence that Erez said earlier—just one second—that sentence points to yet another consequence. There is another consequence that distinguishes tolerant monism from pluralism. And that consequence is the radius. The pluralist in principle—a pluralist as I defined him—has no radius. You say okay, everyone says what he says; if he is consistent with his own views, then he is consistent with his views exactly as I am with mine. There is no radius where I stop. Again, if danger threatens me I will defend myself, but apart from danger there should not be some line beyond which I stop being a pluralist. Again, there are types who do, but the pluralist I described earlier is basically a pluralist with no line. That’s what you said before.

But tolerant monism is always a question of tension. There is automatically some tension built in here between two considerations. One consideration is that I have all the reasons to coerce—you are mistaken, and your mistake is harmful, whether to you or to others, so I have good reasons to coerce, including moral ones. But on the other hand I also have the moral value of respecting your autonomy. So I’m in tension. Therefore in such a situation there can arise a radius of tolerance. Meaning, up to that point I will be tolerant; beyond that point I won’t. If someone wants to become addicted—if my son wants to become addicted to drugs—even if I am tolerant, perhaps that’s where I stop. I’ll say no, the price is too great. Okay? That makes sense if you are within the conceptual framework of tolerant monism. If you are within the conceptual framework of pluralism, then he is as right as you are. There is no way to determine who is right and who is not right. So you are just interfering in his life. Okay?

So the radius—let’s speak a bit more about this radius, what determines it. I’ll say it in two sentences. What determines it, it seems to me—and one could expand on all this, I’m just trying to sketch the outline here—first, the harms or severe costs on the two sides. When the price is very, very heavy, then with all due respect to tolerance I won’t allow it. Okay? Because there are prices I’m not willing to pay. Everyone will draw the line where he draws it, but such a line can exist in a world of tolerant monism.

And beyond the costs, there is also the question of how much I really respect your decision. If you reached the decision in a charlatan way, not seriously, then I will respect that decision less. Once a group came to us in Yeruham around the Kinneret Covenant and asked me to speak with them. From the Hartman Institute. They asked me to speak with them. I said to them: look, I would never sign that covenant in my life. Because this covenant is a covenant of understanding between religious and secular Jews. I told them: look, I’m willing to sign any covenant with anyone if someone sits with me, hears all my arguments, I hear all his arguments, and in the end, after we seriously weigh them, we arrive at different conclusions. I’ll respect him completely. Perfectly clear. But if you want permission not to examine things and still have me respect your position—I don’t respect that.

Now nobody is asking me—it’s not as though I’m here giving people permission to think what they think. But if you want recognition from me, you won’t get it. Meaning, I’m not prepared to recognize someone who doesn’t do the work. There is a price to tolerance. Meaning, if you make the effort and arrive at a different conclusion from mine, no problem, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t have a monopoly on truth, and I respect your right to think differently from me, and I also think that you may be right. I’m not certain of anything. All that is true. But if, as a little child, you decide that relativity theory is wrong, I won’t respect that. It’s not serious. Study the subject, invest the thought, listen to what people say. If in the end you reach the conclusion that no, fine—your voice should be heard. Everything is fine. But I won’t grant respect to such a position.

By contrast, pluralism says everyone is equally right, which means I have nothing to respect or not respect. So this too is an expression of the tension that accompanies tolerant monism—there is always tension here. Okay? So let’s summarize for a second. Basically what I’m saying is that we have three types. One type is the pure pluralist—of course I’m speaking here in very archetypal terms. One type is the pure pluralist. The second type is the monist, which divides into two subtypes: the tolerant monist and the intolerant monist. A monist can also be intolerant, and monism is a necessary condition for tolerance but not a sufficient one. Okay? Meaning, a pluralist cannot be tolerant, but a monist does not have to be tolerant. He can be tolerant, but he doesn’t have to be. Okay?

Now the interesting question is: let’s return to Jewish law. Which of these three conceptions or conceptual frameworks characterizes Jewish law? Pluralism, tolerant monism, or intolerant monism? Earlier I gave two readings—tolerant monism and pluralism. Is there a way to decide between the two? Both of them can read the Talmud, as we saw before.

[Speaker H] It seems from what you said that it does sound like tolerant monism, because in the end they did say it follows Beit Hillel, meaning they did say…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But the pluralist also explained “the law follows Beit Hillel” on educational grounds. You have to get to a bottom line; let’s choose Beit Hillel for educational reasons.

[Speaker H] Okay.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And both views manage to read the Talmud all the way through. Now the question is whether I have a way to decide between these two views. Okay?

At one point I thought there might be some way to use a kind of Gödelian trick here—that is, to use a paradox. What do I mean? Let’s try to think: we have three possibilities for explaining “these and those are the words of the living God”—pluralism, tolerant monism, or intolerant monism. Or you know what? Forget intolerant monism. Tolerant monism or pluralism. Now I ask about this very question itself: how do you relate to it? Do you treat “these and those” pluralistically or in a tolerant-monist way? There are two views here. Now let’s think about those views themselves—do you treat them in a pluralistic way or in a tolerant-monist way? Now you cannot treat them in a pluralistic way, right? Because it cannot be that both everyone is right and only one is right—that’s a logical contradiction. So here it can’t work.

[Speaker B] But it’s also tolerant monism, because “words of the living God” is not the same as allowing someone else to express an opinion you disagree with—that’s not “words of the living God.”

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why not? It is “words of the living God.” The interpretation we give to “words of the living God” is what’s called here “words of the living God.” If it were written in the Torah, there’d be no dispute; this is interpretation, a dispute in interpretation. So I’m saying I can basically prove by elimination against pluralism. Because on this very question itself, you cannot be a pluralist.

[Speaker C] Another thing now I have to say, at least in my view—what? The point that it’s hard to interpret “words of the living God” this way, because once again, if we were speaking only about justifications, that would be one thing—then it could be that both are “words of the living God.” But since the only way to interpret this situation is that each one actually issued a legal ruling, took the reasons and simply assigned them different weight and issued a ruling, then it’s really hard to interpret “words of the living God” as something that in the end is an incorrect legal ruling. I have a bit of trouble with that internally.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, so I’m saying—you simply don’t agree with the pluralistic reading. Neither do I. I’m a monist, not a pluralist. So I agree that this reading is a difficult reading, but the fact remains that there are such readings of the Talmud, and they are consistent. They read the Talmud the way they read it. In my view it’s less plausible, but they do read it.

[Speaker C] But still there would need to be some somewhat sophisticated interpretation here saying that the law you determined—basically the reasons you took are valid, but your legal ruling is not.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s the monistic reading. That’s my reading. I’m talking about the pluralistic reading.

[Speaker C] Fine, we’re both monists, I’m saying—so then you say about “words of the living God” that you’re not really referring to what happened in the legal ruling itself but to the reasoning.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right—but valid reasoning. Yes, that’s it.

So now I go back to the introduction I gave, to the final part of the talk. I gave an introduction about how to clarify this kind of question. And I said that I prefer—not the book of Avi Sagi that deals with this issue, because he clarifies it from halakhic journalism. That is, so-and-so wrote this, so-and-so wrote that. I prefer to clarify it from the actual conduct of Jewish law itself. And I started thinking: where can I find a halakhic implication of this meta-halakhic debate? Okay? And my answer was this: there is a prohibition against causing another person to violate a prohibition. If I give you something to eat that is forbidden according to Jewish law, then I have violated “do not place a stumbling block before the blind.” That is my prohibition. I caused you to sin, and that sin is my sin—causing another to stumble. Okay?

Now what happens if there is something that according to your view is permitted and according to my view is forbidden—or vice versa—and I cause you to stumble in that matter? Okay? Let’s say, for example, that Ron thinks it is forbidden to eat this meat and I think it is permitted. Now I caused him to eat that meat. Did I violate the prohibition of “do not place a stumbling block”? Let’s do the calculation. If I am a monist, then I think there is no prohibition here; the fact that he thinks there is one just means he is mistaken. So what’s the issue? Obviously I’m allowed to cause him to stumble—why should I care that he is mistaken? Does the fact that he is mistaken mean I’m forbidden to make him stumble? But if I’m a pluralist, then he should act according to his view, and he thinks it’s forbidden, so I’m forbidden to make him stumble. Right? Something interesting comes out here: pluralism turns out stringently. Usually pluralists are considered lenient, but no—here pluralism comes out stringently.

And the reverse too. Meaning, if Ron thinks it’s permitted and I think it’s forbidden and I cause him to stumble, then if I’m a monist, even if he thinks it’s permitted I’m forbidden to do it, because monism says it is forbidden. Why should I care what he thinks? Whereas if I’m a pluralist, then I think it’s forbidden but he should act according to what he thinks, and he thinks it’s permitted, so it’s permitted, right? So there is the practical implication.

Now if I can find a Talmudic passage that discusses precisely this question itself—and the answer is yes, I found two, actually. And one of them is the passage I brought here, from tractate Sukkah. And now look at something beautiful. A passage in tractate Sukkah, and it’s a logical argument. איתמר, נויי סוכה המופלגים ממנה ארבעה—there is a sukkah and there are decorations hanging from the roofing. Now the decorations are four handbreadths—about forty centimeters—below the roofing. Okay? Is that still considered part of the roofing, so that you may sit underneath it and still be considered as sitting in the sukkah, or is it already considered a separate thing because it is too far from the roofing, and if you sit under it that counts as if you did not eat in a valid sukkah? Okay? Rav Nahman said it is valid; Rav Hisda and Rabbah bar Rav Huna said it is invalid. A dispute among Amoraim.

You won’t believe what happened there. Rav Hisda and Rabbah bar Rav Huna—you remember, they say it’s forbidden to sit there—came to the house of the Exilarch. And Rav Nahman was sitting in the house of the Exilarch; he was the chief rabbi there. אגנינהו רב נחמן בסוכה שנוייה המופלגים ממנה ארבעה טפחים—Rav Nahman seated them in a sukkah whose decorations were four handbreadths below the roofing. He seated them in his sukkah. Guests—they had no sukkah. He seats them in his sukkah, and in his sukkah the decorations were hanging low; according to his view it was permitted. But according to their view it was forbidden. He seated them there. אישתיקו ולא אמרו ליה ולא מידי—they were silent, sat there, ate, said nothing. He said to them: הדרו בהו רבנן משמעתייהו? (“Have the Rabbis retracted their teaching?”) Did you change your minds? How are you sitting like this? They said to him—and in my eyes they were joking with him—אנן שלוחי מצווה אנן ופטורין מן הסוכה (“We are engaged in a commandment and are exempt from the sukkah”). We are on a mission involving a commandment; we don’t need to eat in a sukkah at all—we were just messing with you. Okay? Meaning, you were all tense to see what we’d do; we knew that. That’s at least how I read it. Doesn’t matter. But for our purposes, that’s the story.

You understand that this is exactly the case, right? He basically seated them there. Now what is beautiful here is that in the Talmud itself there is as yet no explicit statement whether this is permitted or forbidden. But the Ritva there, in his commentary on the spot, brings this passage. “Explanation: and even though Rav Nahman still did not know…” Rav Nahman still didn’t know what their view was. He thought they thought it was forbidden. Right? He didn’t know that they had retracted their teaching, or that they were agents of a commandment, or that they had some explanation—he knew nothing; he thought they were innocently sitting there and that he was causing them to stumble into a prohibition. So the Ritva asks himself: how can it be that Rav Nahman was not concerned about causing them to stumble in a prohibition? Why in the world did he seat them there? Is he playing games with them? He himself is violating a prohibition. He is causing them to stumble in a prohibition. Before their answer that “we are engaged in a commandment” or “we changed our minds,” he seated them there—he blew it, he violated “do not place a stumbling block.” Okay?

So the Ritva says that from here we see that this is permitted. אגנינהו לפום דעתיה ולא חש דהוי חתיכה דאיסורא לדידהו ויתבי—he seated them according to his own view and did not worry that for them it was a prohibited object and that they were sitting there. He wasn’t worried that they thought it was forbidden. If according to his own view it is permitted, he seats them there. Apparently it is permitted.

And it is like putting a stumbling block before a sighted person. Why? Because they saw that there was a four-handbreadth gap. It’s not as though they didn’t see the problem; they saw the problem, and he seated them there. It may be that he was relying on the fact that they saw and made their own decision. One moment. So he says: some say that from here we learn that one who feeds his fellow something that is permitted according to his own opinion—the opinion of the one causing the stumbling—does not violate “do not place a stumbling block before the blind,” even though he knows that according to his fellow’s opinion it is forbidden to him, and his fellow is competent to issue rulings—that is, he’s a Torah scholar, not just some random person. In line with what we said earlier, this is someone who forms a position seriously; they were Torah scholars there. He was not dictating the law to them; they had a position of their own. He does not violate “do not place a stumbling block before the blind,” because the one feeding was also himself fit to issue rulings and relies on his own opinion, according to his own opinion.

I’ll stop here for a second. What conclusion comes out from this?

[Speaker G] Harsh monism, no?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Harsh monism, right? It basically says: the truth is with me. Why should I care that they’re confused and think it’s forbidden? Harsh monism. Now watch him throw the baby out with the bathwater in the next sentence. He says: ונראה לי דהכא דווקא מפני שהאיסור ניכר לחברו, ואי לא סבירא ליה לא ליכול, הא בשאינו ניכר לחברו לא—“And it seems to me that here this is only because the prohibition is evident to the other person, and if he does not accept it, let him not eat; but where it is not evident to the other person, no.” What is he saying? It’s permitted to do this—we see from the Talmud here that it’s permitted—but only on one condition…

[Speaker C] that the other person…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] sees the situation and can make his own decisions, okay?

[Speaker C] His autonomy, basically.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Wait, you’re already jumping ahead. That’s true, but we need one more step first. So on the face of it, he seems to have thrown out the baby with the bathwater. Why? So he didn’t make them stumble; they made their own decisions. What does that have to do with him? Not true. Because according to Jewish law, if I cause you to violate a prohibition, and you know that it is prohibited, but you eat it despite knowing that, I still violated “do not place a stumbling block.” The fact that you know and decide for yourself to eat it—if I helped you do it, and without me you couldn’t have done it—I violated the prohibition. Therefore the fact that they knew doesn’t solve the problem of “do not place a stumbling block.” So what if they knew?

Now there is a very strange combination here. He brings a passage from Hullin—that was the second source I said also proves this, though it doesn’t matter right now. What is he saying, really? He is saying this: there is a situation in which I cause you to violate something that according to your opinion is forbidden and according to mine is permitted. If this were an objective prohibition, then even if you knew about it that would not exempt me; I would still be violating “do not place a stumbling block.” But if it is a prohibition only according to your opinion and not according to mine, and you also know it, then it is permitted. But if it is a prohibition according to your opinion and not according to mine, and you do not know it, then it is forbidden. So where is the monism? According to my view it is permitted, so why should I care whether you know or don’t know? You understand that this isn’t monism. So what is it? It’s tolerant monism.

This case is really a litmus test. Why? Because if you are a pluralist, that means it is forbidden to cause them to stumble in every case, whether they know or not. If you are an intolerant monist, it is permitted to cause them to stumble whether they know or not. The only way to explain the view that says it is permitted to cause them to stumble, but only if they know, is if you are a tolerant monist. Why? Because if they don’t know, then it is true that you didn’t cause them to violate an actual prohibition, because you know there is no such prohibition—you are a monist—but you did not respect their autonomy. Forbidden. But if they do know, then as for the prohibition of causing them to stumble, there is none, because according to my monism this is not a prohibition; and as for respecting autonomy, they know, so I respected their autonomy—they made the decision. Then everything is fine.

So this really is a litmus test—the issue here gives a different answer if you are a pluralist, if you are an intolerant monist, and if you are a tolerant monist. And from the Talmud here it really seems that Jewish law is probably tolerant monism.

[Speaker C] That’s it, thank you very much, excellent.

[Speaker I] Also very relevant to the barbecue at Erez’s place, in the context of veganism, in the context of veganism…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] As we say where I’m from.

[Speaker I] So the question is whether Erez will try to feed me meat in a monistic way or in a pluralistic way? I assume Erez will offer meat, why not. I understand the…

[Speaker B] question.

[Speaker C] On the other hand, you’re a pretty confused type, so maybe you’re not fully settled yourself.

[Speaker B] So I…

[Speaker I] just want to—yes, the question is whether you’ll be a tolerant monist or a pluralist.

[Speaker B] There’s a place called Tuki’s, and it’s a non-kosher restaurant. Specifically, I met Rabbi Bandy there—you know him, I think—he was our rabbi there, and this was a long time ago. I said to him, where are you? And do you want to talk to me? He said, I’m at Tuki’s. So he says, come over here to Tuki’s. I said, sit and drink a glass of water, you don’t have to eat. I said, I can’t sit in Tuki’s, politically speaking, yes? And did he consult you? And afterward when we met I told him, no, no—it was a desecration of God’s name.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s causing others to stumble, not him,

[Speaker J] he’s eating forbidden food there—causing others to stumble. Regarding the reason of respecting autonomy, what’s the basis for that?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s a value. What’s the basis for the value of life, that murder is forbidden? It’s self-evident. Every chain of reasoning always has some basic assumptions from which you start, and about them you can’t ask what the reason is. It’s self-evident. Meaning, it’s either self-evident or arbitrary, depending on who you ask.

[Speaker J] I think yes, for me it’s self-evident, yes. Because it’s not…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If there are people who offer reasons—because for me it’s not self-evident in others. No, because…

[Speaker J] I…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] think that for them too it’s self-evident, only there are other things that override it.

[Speaker J] Not that they don’t respect…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] autonomy; there are other things that override it. No, it’s like the Nazis. People say the Nazis didn’t recognize the prohibition against murder. Of course they did. They just claimed that Jews are, I don’t know, something else, and Gypsies something else. Here too I think the same thing. I think that for everyone this respect for autonomy is self-evident; it’s just that there are other things that override it.

[Speaker C] Bypass,

[Speaker J] crossed over.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That’s how I think, at least.

[Speaker C] Fine, but there’s still something that bothers me a little, just a little, yes? Within this Jewish law itself, and that is that… who was it, the Ritva? The Ritva. Did he know what their position on the matter was?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s Rav Nahman in the Talmud. Rav Nahman knew what the position of his guests was.

[Speaker C] Yes, he knew what the position of his guests was. Meaning, he knew they weren’t the sort who agreed. Now they only did it in order to check whether he would react or not react.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Apparently. I don’t know.

[Speaker C] Which somewhat muddies the situation in a certain way, because if he knows they are Torah scholars who are aware of all the prohibitions and all these things, okay, then you can look and say: okay, they weighed it, this is their position, and I don’t interfere with their position. Okay? But since he knew they opposed it, it’s hard to understand his position in some way.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why? If they know that this is the situation, then let them make their own decisions. What’s the problem? I think this sukkah is perfectly fine, and I’m inviting you to sit in my sukkah. As long as you know that this is the situation, to say…

[Speaker C] If they’re opposed and they’re aware, then it really may be that I’m supposed to infer that they have some reason—like the fact that they’re guests—for it.