Topics in Chapter 4 of Sanhedrin – Lesson 1 – Rabbi Michael Abraham

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay, so first of all, hello everyone. We’re starting the year. Our topic is, yes, topics in the fourth chapter. I’m not going to teach the fourth chapter in order. Rather, I’ll choose topics or passages from it, and each time we’ll deal with a different subject. It may continue for more than one session, but it will be a series of topics within the chapter. This chapter contains all kinds of very interesting topics, I think, and also ones that can be very relevant. And in general, let me just say: first, I’m taking attendance, as you saw, simply so that if I need to give confirmation or something like that for scholarships and things of that sort, or if one of you missed something, it’s recorded with me, so you can make use of that. Another thing: the recordings of the lecture will be uploaded to Moodle, and also they’re on my website or in the WhatsApp group, so whoever wants can look there. That way, if someone missed it, or just wants to listen again, he’ll be able to do that. I hope I’ll also manage to write organized summaries, and then I’ll upload those to Moodle as well. Okay, the chapter basically deals with different aspects of monetary law, capital law in the religious court, a fraudulent case, compromise, examination and cross-examination. That’s the beginning of the chapter, basically things that relate to the conduct of the religious court and proceedings in monetary cases, capital cases, and so on. So I thought, at least at the beginning, to give some kind of conceptual introduction that will provide a framework for all these discussions before we enter the specific passages we’ll be studying. So maybe I want to begin with a somewhat more general look at Jewish law as a whole. That is, Jewish law is made up of a collection of many topics. And when you look at the Mishnah, say, or the Talmud, the divisions of topics, the topical divisions of Jewish law, are by content. Right? There are tractates that deal with one holiday or another; yes, monetary law, capital law—that’s not exactly content, as we’ll soon see. But there are the laws of holidays, the laws of the Sabbath, the laws of—different tractates deal with different subjects. Of course there are associations and all that, but broadly speaking it is divided by topic, the tractates and the orders of the Mishnah as well. And the commentators who come after the Talmud, in most cases, essentially follow the order of the Talmud and the Mishnah. Maimonides, for example—who is the only code written in the history of Jewish law, people don’t notice this point—the only one who actually gathered all the material, classified it, organized it, rearranged it, and made it available to learners, users, and halakhic decisors, is Maimonides. No one else did such work in the history of Jewish law. There is Arukh HaShulchan together with Arukh HaShulchan HeAtid, but again, of course he relies on the Shulchan Aruch and on Maimonides. There are other codes, yes, more partial ones, and there’s a little of that among the medieval authorities, but it’s mainly the Tur and the Shulchan Aruch, which tried to summarize the laws practiced in our time, and they too classified and organized bottom-line rulings. There was a lot of controversy about the very pretension of taking the halakhic corpus, extracting bottom-line rulings from it, and presenting it in a classified, organized, and unreasoned form. There are no reasons given in the Tur, in the Shulchan Aruch, or in Maimonides. That’s what Menachem Elon, in his book, calls the codification controversies. So that stirred up a lot of debate, but that concerns us less. What I do want to point to is a matter that very few people notice. The order we know from the Shulchan Aruch, which is really based on the Tur—the Tur actually established the order, and the Shulchan Aruch follows the Tur’s order—is an order fundamentally different from anything we had before. What do I mean? There is, of course, a division of the laws by topics: the laws of bailees, the laws of the Sabbath, the laws of holidays, yes? There are topical divisions. But in addition, on top of that, there is a division that the Tur established into four sections: Orach Chayim, Yoreh De’ah, Even HaEzer, and Choshen Mishpat. And this division, of course, appears again in the Shulchan Aruch, and we’re already so used to it. Works built around the Tur and the Shulchan Aruch are naturally conducted or arranged according to this order, and we’re so accustomed to this division that our very familiarity with it keeps us from seeing that there is a very significant innovation here. We gathered the topical division—Maimonides, say, made a topical division that isn’t like Rabbi Judah the Prince’s division in the Mishnah, it’s a different topical division, but broadly speaking it’s still a topical division; he reorganized it. The Tur and the Shulchan Aruch also made topical divisions, and of course they rely heavily, among others, on Maimonides. But with them there is another layer. Above the topical division, there is a division into four categories. These categories are not topics; they are categories. I’ll put it in a perhaps sharper way when moving to super-categories. The four sections of the Tur and the Shulchan Aruch can be divided into two—two large categories. Each pair of sections is one category. Orach Chayim and Yoreh De’ah are what today is called rabbinics, rabbinic ordination exams, instruction in what is permitted and forbidden. And Even HaEzer and Choshen Mishpat are halakhic jurisprudence, okay? Judging, you could call it, fine? What today is called rabbinics and judging. Now, of course, “rabbinics and judging” are the names these things get now because of the exams they give, but these really are two categories that stand above the four sections of the Tur and the Shulchan Aruch. And in today’s lecture I want to try to touch on this distinction, the major distinction between these two categories, these super-categories. What exactly defines them? Because here there is a certain innovation, which of course has roots even in the period before the Tur and the Shulchan Aruch, but I think the Tur was the one who first conceptualized it very clearly. You know, in the history of ideas, very often someone comes up with a certain idea. After he comes up with it, you can find it in earlier generations, in earlier works. That always happens, okay? And not only does it always happen, it’s also true that there really were buds of this new idea in earlier works and among earlier people. But still, I think that if you want to look soberly at the history of ideas, then it is right to attribute an idea to the one who first conceptualized it. That is, the one who gave it a name, put it on the table, and said: hold on, there’s a certain pattern of thought here, an idea, something new. Think, for example, about Aristotle’s Organon. Aristotle’s Organon, yes, the book of logic, is what created the field called logic, okay? Now, I’m sure that even before Aristotle, if you said to people: all sheep are white, and this thing is a sheep, then of course this thing is white. People knew that before Aristotle too; Aristotle didn’t invent that, okay? So what did Aristotle innovate? Aristotle innovated the fact that an inference of that sort is a kind of inference. There is this type of inference: if every X is Y, and A is X, then A is Y. And now you can substitute into A, X, and Y whatever you like. Whether it’s sheep and color, or I don’t know what, or clouds and shape, or books and some particular property of books, and so on—whatever you want. So once Aristotle understood that many people were in fact using some pattern that everybody had used, but Aristotle was the first to name it and say: hold on, notice, there’s a fixed pattern here that recurs in many places—and now suddenly we understand that there is a field called logic. Before Aristotle there was no such field. People used arguments of the type: if every X is Y, and A is X, then A is Y. Those are arguments that I assume were used earlier too, but no one noticed that he was even making use of a defined, distinct tool that has a name. Aristotle essentially understood that there is a collection of tools here; he gave them names, classified them, presented them, and by doing so opened up this field called logic. Before him, the field did not exist, even though Aristotle may not have introduced anything new at the level of content. But he did understand that there are concepts here that are worth studying in themselves. Before Aristotle, people used these forms of inference. Since Aristotle, people study the forms of inference themselves. They themselves became objects of study or objects of thought, and that is how logic was born. We owe the computer and all the achievements we use today to Aristotle. Without him, it wouldn’t—again, unless someone else after him had done it—but without this step it couldn’t happen. Even though everyone knew all the Aristotelian inferences. No, he didn’t invent anything. He simply classified and organized things that already existed before him. That’s why it is often very important when someone comes and puts things in order, conceptualizes them, and notices that there is an idea here. I’m not making comparisons, but I once published a book, my first book, Two Carts and a Hot Air Balloon. Never mind. I made distinctions there and showed their implications. Afterwards I got a collection of responses: this is all written in Rabbi Tzadok, and it’s all written in Rav Kook, and in the Maharal, and in whoever you want, in Breslov, I don’t know—everyone with the figure he relates to. And that’s true. Some of it is just nonsense, but some of the comments were correct. It’s true: certain ideas were indeed found there. And still, I think that conceptualization and presenting an idea in a distinct form is actually the birth of that idea. The fact that it draws from earlier roots, fine, that’s true, but that is still the birth of the idea.

[Speaker C] One second, Rabbi, regarding Aristotle: do you mean that he created various models within logic, or that he sensed the thing itself, the very idea that there is such a concept called a pattern, and from there came the possibility of using patterns?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Exactly, yes, the second. The second. Yes.

[Speaker C] Before him there wasn’t a concept called a pattern? A structure on which…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. No one noticed at all that arguments in zoology, and in poetics, and in philosophy, and in science—yes, all of them are actually using the same argument patterns, the same form of thought. And then what happens is that everyone was thinking, but no one turned thought itself into an object of study, meaning into something one can engage in for its own sake. And the computer was born from that. Once we understood that there are patterns of thought and we know how to write them down, we know how to describe them, then wait a second—let’s now produce some kind of golem that can make use of them, or execute them in some way. That’s why these conceptualizations are very important, even though at first glance they seem not to introduce anything new. Why am I saying all this? Let’s go back to the Tur and the Shulchan Aruch. The Tur—the Shulchan Aruch followed it, so I’m talking about the Tur—the Tur basically looked at the material before him, and he did not innovate the categories he came up with. He didn’t invent them—that is, he didn’t invent these categories—but he did conceptualize them. What do I mean? In the Talmud itself it already says, “monetary law is not derived from prohibition law,” meaning people knew there is monetary law and there are prohibitions; there are categories; there is awareness—even awareness that there are different categories in the Talmudic material itself, in the material that preceded the Tur. He didn’t invent that. But I think he was the one who noticed that we are dealing here with a category that has to be named, distinguished, and separated from other categories. And not just some specific rule—“monetary law is not derived from prohibition law,” and sometimes yes, we derive and sometimes not—and it wasn’t distinct, it wasn’t conceptualized. And the Tur essentially says: wait, wait, we actually have a category here called halakhic jurisprudence—Even HaEzer and Choshen Mishpat—and we have a category we’ll call Jewish law, okay? As distinct from jurisprudence, because jurisprudence too is part of Jewish law, but the non-juridical part of Jewish law—Orach Chayim and Yoreh De’ah, okay? And once he understood that there are two such categories, he divided each of them into two, and that is how the four sections came into being. Now, I want to try to understand what exactly underlies this division. And here I think that—I mean, I’m not even sure the Tur himself would know how to define it. He noticed intuitively that there are two categories here; in that sense he was the one who put it on the table. But if you ask him: fine, what defines this category, and what defines that category? That already requires some conceptualization, reflection, some awareness of the intuitions you have, some ability to formulate—or not ability, maybe willingness or awareness to formulate—those categories explicitly. And I’m not sure that if you had asked the Tur, he would have known how to answer that question. I think that many distinctions and concepts I tried to define in the course of my life—these are concepts that were in use among many people before as well. But if I asked people, they would not know how to define them. They understood them well, and they understood where they apply and where they don’t, but try to define it for me and explain why it applies here and not there—I didn’t get answers. And very often the conceptual work I’ve done—and I engage in that quite a bit—came from that, from the feeling that something had not undergone conceptualization and therefore was also not open to criticism. You say it from the gut, and then you can’t criticize it: when should it be applied, when not? If you define it, formulate it, conceptualize it, then you say: okay, now I understand the principle, let’s see where it is and where it isn’t, how to apply it correctly, okay? So conceptualization is important. So let’s try for a moment to think: what exactly distinguishes the juridical realm from the non-juridical halakhic realm? Okay? What is there in Even HaEzer and Choshen Mishpat that is not there in Orach Chayim and Yoreh De’ah? What is the difference between them? Now, obviously there are differences of content, but that is not the categorical difference, because each such category contains a lot of content within it. Here there are the laws of the Sabbath, and blessings, and holidays, and who knows what, and tithes, and honoring parents—various things, yes, Yoreh De’ah and Orach Chayim, okay? And in Even HaEzer and Choshen Mishpat there are the laws of bailees, damages, personal injury, murder, and who knows what, and witnesses and judges and betrothal and divorce and marriage contracts and all sorts of things of that type. What is common to all of these? So it isn’t enough to talk here about a topical division. He gathered many different topics under one category. So I’m asking myself what the category is, not what the topics are. What is common to this set of topics that places them in one category? What is the nature of this category? So let’s try to focus a bit more and talk about Choshen Mishpat, not all of jurisprudence. Let’s leave Even HaEzer aside for the moment; later I’ll comment on it. But let’s try to think about Choshen Mishpat. Is anyone willing to try suggesting a definition? What is included in Choshen Mishpat? What characterizes this category?

[Speaker D] Basically, these are interpersonal relationships.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay. Other suggestions?

[Speaker E] Things that maybe a private individual doesn’t need, but as a community or society, society—it’s useful.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay. More suggestions?

[Speaker G] Maybe the difference is between something that’s more everyday, which is more Orach Chayim and that sort of thing, and Choshen Mishpat is when some problem has arisen and now it needs to be solved.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Okay. Look, let me ask a question. Let’s look at Choshen Mishpat according to the first definition suggested here. The others, I think, accompany it; I’ll come back to them too. But let’s say it’s some kind of interpersonal relations, monetary law, interpersonal connections and relationships. Where would you place the laws of charity and the laws of interest according to that definition? Interpersonal…

[Speaker H] Interpersonal.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right. These are monetary laws between one person and another, so they should be in Choshen Mishpat, right? But they are in Yoreh De’ah.

[Speaker F] Because the transgression is toward Heaven. A transgression, basically a transgression.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] All transgressions are toward Heaven.

[Speaker F] No, it’s the body of the Torah.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] All transgressions are toward Heaven. What’s the diffeWhat is the difference between charity and torts? In both, you either harm another person or help another person, and if you did not do it, it is also an offense toward Heaven, not only between one person and another. So why, by that definition, are charity and interest located in Yoreh De’ah and not in Choshen Mishpat?

[Speaker G] That is fine; there is room for confusion here.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That is one option. But we are talking about—you know—what is called the principle of charity, the charity principle. The charity principle says that before I decide someone made a mistake, I give him every possible benefit of the doubt. Let us see whether there might still be a reasonable explanation, okay?

[Speaker E] Presumably there are laws where it is pretty clear what is option A and what is option B, what needs to be done. There are laws where each person sees things from his own angle, and therefore the picture looks different. There you need the judge to decide—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —who is right, to sort out the… Meaning, in the area of… But in Jewish law too, you need the rabbi to tell you what you are supposed to do and what not to do, because there too not everything is clear.

[Speaker C] There are different approaches, there are… We cannot ignore the fact that all of… in Choshen Mishpat, basically, its source is common sense.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] That is basically the Sages. I could also say that charity too has common sense in it, moral common sense. No—interest does not—but charity? Everyone takes it in the direction convenient for him.

[Speaker C] That is certainly a significant component.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Why is that a significant component? Everything has a significant component.

[Speaker C] The object of the commandment here is something like…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] And there too you fulfill commandments. Meaning, Choshen Mishpat also has commandments and prohibitions.

[Speaker C] When a person gives a coin to someone, there is reward, there is—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, again, you are taking examples that do not fit. But there too you also have murder, which is a prohibition; there too you also have torts and theft and what else? There are all kinds of things. So look, I want to suggest a definition that I think underlies everything said here, but it is a different definition, and it will illustrate for you the importance of conceptualization. Meaning, I think everyone here already senses it; after I define it, all of you will agree, I am sure. But I think it is important to conceptualize it, okay? I will present it perhaps through a riddle—a riddle that will take me a bit of time to lay out. I will present two characteristics of Choshen Mishpat, unique to Choshen Mishpat, that contradict each other, that point in opposite directions.
The first characteristic is that one may stipulate around what is written in the Torah regarding monetary matters. The Mishnah in Bava Metzia 94, for example: an unpaid guardian can stipulate to have the liability of a paid guardian. Meaning, in a contract or something like that, you can make conditions between yourselves. Say that I am an unpaid guardian and we agree between ourselves that I will also be liable for theft and loss—no problem. Both parties agree; one may stipulate, okay? Local custom—already in the first Mishnah in Bava Batra—local custom, for example, determines neighborly relations, the different obligations of how one divides a courtyard, how one divides the expenses for a fence, how one builds the fence, and so on. Everything follows local custom, as the Mishnah says there. Meaning, custom and stipulation are things that can work in monetary law. Nobody can adopt a custom of eating pork, right? Nor can one stipulate to eat pork. Yes, this is stipulating against what is written in the Torah. Yes, one cannot stipulate away the prohibition of eating pork. But regarding monetary matters, there is the dispute between Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Yehuda, because in principle one does not stipulate against what is written in the Torah, but in monetary matters Rabbi Yehuda holds that the stipulation stands—and that is how Jewish law is ruled: in monetary matters one may stipulate against what is written in the Torah. What distinguishes the monetary realm? Seemingly, before we even get to what distinguishes it, we already see that this is the most flexible realm there is. Really flexible. Everything—you can stipulate, custom determines it. For example, today in the State of Israel, nobody imagines applying the laws of guardians exactly as they appear in the Shulchan Arukh. Why not? Because the local custom here, and the law here, set other things, and there is no problem. In this area, custom or statute or stipulation has standing—or perhaps custom is an implicit stipulation, it does not matter—but certainly accepted norms or an agreement between the two parties to the contract can shape a different contract. What the Torah says is some sort of recommendation, a default arrangement, a dispositive arrangement, whatever you want to call it. It is permitted for this to be determined by human beings. But the Torah also sets out the laws of guardians. The Torah does not leave it to people. We study Bava Metzia; there are many, many details there about the laws of guardians.

[Speaker C] Quite similar—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But it is still not the same thing; that does not matter. It is still not the same thing. So they did not decide that it should be similar; therefore it is similar—but that does not matter. Even if they had not decided that it should be similar, it would not matter at all. Meaning, there is no problem here, because one may stipulate against what is written in the Torah, and everything follows local custom and the law of the kingdom is law, and all these very flexible considerations are relevant to monetary law; they are not relevant to prohibitions. In Choshen Mishpat this is relevant; in Yoreh De’ah it is not. Nobody can stipulate to desecrate the Sabbath, or stipulate that local custom is—I do not know what—to go beyond the boundary limit. There is no such thing, right? It does not work in those areas. It works in monetary matters. That is one side.
So it seems that money is the most flexible area there is.
The other side of the coin is the Talmud in Bava Kamma, in the chapter “HaKones,” page 60. The Talmud says there—yes, there is that aggadic passage about David sending the three mighty men to bring him water, and the Talmud expounds there: what does “water” mean? It means to ask a question of the Sanhedrin. Right? “There is no water but Torah.” And then he asks: may a person save himself through another person’s property? Why? May a person save himself through another person’s property? The Talmud there explains that there was a situation where the Philistines were hiding behind a stack of barley, and the question was about—not theirs, never mind—and whether I am allowed to burn the barley in order to fight the Philistines, as part of the war against the Philistines. Essentially, I am damaging the barley-owner in order to save my life from the Philistines, from my enemies. Am I allowed to save myself through another person’s property? At the expense of my fellow’s property? We will soon see—we are not yet discussing whether he must pay or not.
So the Talmud says: no, a person may not save himself through another person’s property. And that is the answer he received from the Sanhedrin: you are a king, and a king may breach a fence to make himself a path. King David had a special dispensation as king; a king may do such a thing. But from the Talmud here we see that an ordinary private individual in such a situation may not save himself through another person’s property. In other words, let us say someone with a rifle is hiding behind a third party’s stack, okay? And he is threatening me. Now I could burn that stack, deal with him, kill him, and escape the danger. I am forbidden to do so. Oh, but he will kill me with that rifle? Right—let him kill me. I am forbidden. A person may not save himself through another person’s property, even if he dies.
Now, Rashi there on the spot—the last Rashi there on the page—really does seem to understand the Talmud literally. A person may not save himself through another person’s property. In other words, there is a rule of “be killed rather than transgress” for theft. Not only for the three severe sins—idolatry, forbidden sexual relations, and murder—but also for theft. There is “be killed rather than transgress.” And Tosafot and Rashba and all the medieval authorities challenge him: what do you mean? The whole list of “be killed rather than transgress” includes three sins, and for each of them a source is brought. Where did you invent that theft too is included among the sins of “be killed rather than transgress”? Where does that come from?
Therefore, quite a few medieval authorities write that the Talmud does not mean that a person is forbidden to save himself through another person’s property. Rather, it means that if he does save himself, he must pay. Meaning, he cannot save himself and then be exempt from payment. But of course he may save himself; danger to life overrides the whole Torah. So what if you burned my stack in order to save yourself? Pay me for the stack you burned. You used my stack. It is not my fault that you were in danger—pay me. But obviously you are allowed to burn the stack. That is what Tosafot argues, and that is what Rashba argues, and that is what other medieval authorities argue.
So what does the Talmud mean when it says that a person may not save himself through another person’s property? It means he may not save himself without paying. But if he pays, it is allowed. There are different formulations in the Rosh and the Tur and various medieval authorities—there are differences in wording—but in principle this is the common approach among the medieval authorities.
One has to understand: this is certainly not the plain meaning of the Talmud. Right? What does it say? A person may not save himself through another person’s property, period. It says nothing beyond that. King David did not ask them whether he would have to pay. David asked whether he was allowed to save himself.

[Speaker E] Beyond that, we need to understand—David was a king—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Fine, but they told him: as a king you are allowed, but an ordinary person is forbidden. Forbidden what? Forbidden to save himself—not “must pay.” The discussion was about the rescue, not about payment. We also need to understand beyond that: after all, what exactly is the problem here? There is the plain meaning of the Talmud, but the plain meaning is difficult logically. The three severe sins are the category of “be killed rather than transgress”—where did we suddenly invent theft as a fourth? So there is pressure here from the language against pressure from the logic. As is well known, there is always tension: do we stretch the language in order to preserve the logic, or stretch the logic in order to preserve the language?
Now, the other medieval authorities, apart from Rashi, presumably prefer to stretch the language in order to preserve the logic. They say: logically, it cannot be that theft is one of the prohibitions for which one must be killed rather than transgress; therefore we must say that even though the Talmud says a person may not save himself, what it means is only that he may not do so without paying—not that it is forbidden altogether. Okay? They stretch the language in order to preserve the logic.
But one must understand that the logic is strained on their view too. Why? Because on their view, what was the question? Whether a person is allowed to save himself or forbidden to save himself, right? David was in doubt whether… Meaning, the one who says that a person may not save himself through another person’s property—wait a second. The one who says that a person may save himself through another person’s property is really saying that if you saved yourself, you do not have to pay. Because the issue is not the rescue itself; it is the obligation to pay. So the view that says a person may not save himself through another person’s property means: he may, but he has to pay. But the view that says a person may save himself through another person’s property is not teaching that he may save himself—everyone agrees he may. What it is teaching is that he does not have to pay.
Now, that does not make sense. True, it does not make sense that a person should be entirely forbidden to save himself and must die. But the other side of the coin is difficult for the medieval authorities who disagree with Rashi. Because on their view, the side that says a person may save himself through another person’s property is really saying: if you did it, you also do not have to pay him. Why not? What exactly do you want? You burned my stack, you used it—justifiably, because you were in mortal danger, I understand—but why should you not bear the cost in order to save yourself, and instead I should bear the consequences, the costs? Hm?

[Speaker H] Fine, but was that the Talmud’s doubt?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There are two sides in the Talmud, right? Whether a person may save himself or may not save himself, right? Now, the side that says he may save himself is basically saying that when he saves himself, he should not have to pay. Right? Seemingly—why on earth? Why is there such a side at all? Why should he not pay?

[Speaker L] So I am saying: he was a king.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] A king can—what I am saying is—a king can also confiscate property; let us say I am willing to accept that. But the question he originally asked was not about a king. The answer was: a king is allowed. But when he asked the question originally, he asked a regular question, as an ordinary person: is one allowed or forbidden to save oneself through another person’s property? Meaning, there was a side to this question according to which even if he saves himself, he would not have to pay—not just that he would be allowed to save himself. That is strange. Hm? No, not have to pay—fine, then do not pay me for what I worked for—but surely if there were costs, you have to pay. You certainly have to reimburse my costs, right? At least like someone guarding a cucumber patch. But here you burned my stack in order to save yourself. So why should you not pay me for the stack you burned? Why on earth not? I am not waiving anything. I—

[Speaker I] So—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What, if so then in any case that is not relevant here. I am talking about this case, okay? So the claim is essentially that the alternative to Rashi, which interprets the whole discussion as only about the obligation to pay and not about the basic permission to save oneself, is also not smooth in terms of the Talmud’s logic. It certainly does not fit the plain sense of the Talmud, and it is also difficult logically. Or in other words, in my opinion, Rashi is the simple reading of the Talmud, both logically and linguistically.
Of course, the question remains: where did he get the idea that theft is in the category of “be killed rather than transgress”? We have three sins—where did he get the fourth?
I will say more than that. Rashba, in a responsum, when he challenges Rashi, explains why in fact I am allowed to burn it: because there is no theft here. Why? Because the owner of the stack is himself obligated to contribute his stack in order to save my life, so I am taking the stack myself—after all, he too would have been obligated to give it to me. That is Rashba’s claim.
Notice what emerges from his reasoning: if there really were theft here, then it could be that Rashba too agrees that it would be forbidden to do this. He is only claiming that this is not theft, that is all. That means that Rashba, in essence, is really on Rashi’s side: if there were a prohibition of theft here, then it would be a case of “be killed rather than transgress.” He only explains: yes, but here it is not theft, because he too must give up his property to save me. But hypothetically, if he did not have to, so that it really were theft, then Rashba too agrees that I may not do it. Why? The very same question I asked against Rashi applies to Rashba.
I can see this in other medieval authorities as well. The Rosh and the Tur also write that it is permitted, provided one does it with the intention to pay. Not that he actually pays in the end, but that from the outset, when he does it, he does it intending to pay. You ask: why? If I do it without intending to pay, then I am acting wrongfully and afterward they will collect the money from me—but why should I be forbidden to do it if I do not do it with the intention to pay? After all, this is not one of the three severe sins. And you see that more medieval authorities than just Rashi are, at least in principle, ready to accept that if there is a prohibition of theft here, then it would be forbidden to do it even if I die. So yes, maybe that is part of the issue; there is room to discuss it.
So maybe I will expand this a bit more. In the responsa Binyan Tzion by the Arukh LaNer, there is a series of five or six responsa that expand this idea to all commandments between one person and another. For example, he brings the Talmudic statement that it is preferable for a person to throw himself into a fiery furnace rather than shame his fellow in public. Tosafot asks there: what do you mean? Is there really a rule of “be killed rather than transgress” for publicly shaming another person? You throw yourself into a furnace in order not to shame him? You give your life in order not to shame him? Is that really “be killed rather than transgress”?
So Tosafot wants to argue that there is some dimension here of murder—it is like murder. After all, the Talmud there says that when a person is publicly humiliated, the blood leaves his face, and so it is as though… Well, fine, that is a cute sermon for the week of wedding celebrations. In short—

[Speaker H] To derive—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —from that a Jewish legal principle of “be killed rather than transgress”—it is simply absurd. Forgive me, with all due respect to Tosafot, but it is simply absurd. But the text says “it is preferable,” not “one is obligated.”

[Speaker E] A person is not obligated—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] “It is preferable for a person to cast—”

[Speaker E] “It is preferable”—that does not sound like an obligation.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Tosafot says yes, it is indeed a matter of “be killed rather than transgress.” Tosafot says that. I will say more than that: even if it had said “obligated”—so what? This is aggadic material, not a legal statement. In general, how does Tosafot derive law from this? It is just unclear. Fine—but it is Tosafot.
So the Arukh LaNer argues that the Talmud there follows Rashi’s approach, and that it also points to Rashi’s position: that you may not violate commandments between one person and another—in this case, shaming another person—even if it costs you your life, just as you may not save yourself through another person’s property. That is what one sees in the Talmud there, and therefore he argues that this is true for all commandments between one person and another. For example, he also discusses autopsies, which essentially involve injury to the dignity of the dead, and asks: just because you need it in order to save your own life, so what? You are not allowed to harm another in order to save yourself. And so on. He makes many other extensions there. He makes a huge extension to basically all commandments between one person and another—that is his formulation.
Rashi’s idea is a broad one: all commandments between one person and another are, in essence, in the category of “be killed rather than transgress”—that is his claim.
So first of all, we need to understand where this comes from. What we asked about Rashi remains: there are three severe sins; where does he get theft and shame and all the commandments between one person and another? Suddenly we have dozens of prohibitions for which one must be killed rather than transgress. Where does this come from?
But beyond that, notice that this creates a contradiction—and here I am closing the contradiction in the characteristics of monetary law. On the one hand, we saw that monetary law is the most flexible thing there is, right? You can stipulate around it, custom determines it, the law of the kingdom is law, everything is fine. Monetary law is very loose. Fine, one can cut corners. Right? It is the most flexible thing there is. On the other hand, here they are telling us: what do you mean? One must be killed rather than transgress in order not to violate someone else’s property or rights. That is as rigid as it gets. So make up your mind: is monetary law the most rigid area in Jewish law, where one cannot budge at all, or is it the most flexible, basically blown whichever way the wind takes it? These are two contradictory characteristics of monetary law.
I want to explain why this is not a contradiction, and through that to understand Choshen Mishpat and the meaning of Choshen Mishpat and so on.
To understand why it is not a contradiction, let us return for a moment to Rashi’s view and to this approach of the Arukh LaNer in Binyan Tzion. How are we really to understand the idea that I may not save myself through another person’s property? What—does theft fall under “be killed rather than transgress”? There are only three such sins.
Here I want to make the following claim. In jurisprudence, legal theory, there is what is called Hohfeld’s table. Hohfeld’s table connects rights and duties. If, say, someone owes me money—he borrowed from me and owes me money—then I have a right to receive money from him, and he has a duty toward me to repay the debt, to pay me the money. The same is true in torts. If someone damaged me, then he has a duty to compensate me, and I have a right to receive compensation from him. One person’s duty always stands opposite another person’s right. That is what Hohfeld’s table establishes. There are additional details, but broadly speaking that is its basic theme, okay?
That is, a right is always matched by a duty, and a duty is always matched by a right.
What I want to claim is that this description—duty matched by right—is correct in the world of law, but it is not correct in the world of Jewish law.
What do I mean?
You know there is a very common saying, especially among scholars of Jewish law, that Jewish law is fundamentally based on duties, not rights. In general law—Israeli law or any legal system—people talk about rights and duties, right? And there is a connection between them in Hohfeld’s table. In the world of Jewish law, there are only duties—so goes this claim, okay?
In general, one must also understand—think, for example, about a demonstration by disabled people. Years ago there were various demonstrations by disabled people, demonstrating for their rights—that they should be paid this, helped with that, and so on. In my eyes that is nonsense. They have no rights. What rights do they have? Do I owe them something? It is very nice to help; one should help; everything is fine. But they do not have a right. There is no money of mine that really belongs to them. Right? Just as with charity. The poor person does not have money of his that happens to be in my possession. I have a duty to give to him, but he has no right to receive that money from me. It is not like a loan or damages. In a loan or damages, when I pay you, you have a right to receive the money, and from that my duty to pay is derived. In charity it does not work like that. In charity, I have a duty to give you, but you have no right to ask me, demand from me, or sue me. The same is true with what are called the rights of the disabled. They have no rights at all. Once the law establishes something, then it will give them rights—fine. But at present they have no rights at all. They are not demonstrating for their rights; they are demonstrating about our duties. They are claiming that we have a duty to help them, and they may be right. Again, I am not discussing whether they are right or not. I am discussing the terminology. Their terminology is incorrect. They have no rights. We perhaps have a duty to help; they have no rights.
Okay?
Now, of course, legally speaking, as long as the law has not established it, there is also no legal duty to help. They are demanding that the law establish a duty to help, and then of course they too will have a right to receive, because if the law says you have a right to receive something, then the law has given you that right. Now you have a right; then corresponding to the state’s duty, you have a right to receive—after legislation. But before legislation, you cannot demonstrate for your rights. You have no rights, okay?
So what does this really mean? Why do people say that in the world of Jewish law there are only duties and no rights? It is a big mistake. It is a big mistake. There definitely are rights in the world of Jewish law, not only duties—and the collection of rights in the world of Jewish law is called Choshen Mishpat. That is Choshen Mishpat.
What does that mean? Choshen Mishpat is the set of Jewish legal topics in which my duty toward you is grounded in your right against me. That is it. That is the definition of Choshen Mishpat.
In Yoreh De’ah there are also topics where I have a duty toward you—interest and charity, which I mentioned earlier, right? Why are they in Yoreh De’ah and not in Choshen Mishpat? Because in charity and interest, you do not have a right to receive the money. I have a duty to give it to you, but you do not have a right to receive it.
A practical difference: you cannot sue me if I did not give you charity, right? You cannot take me to a religious court and sue me. But if I borrowed from you and did not return it, did not repay you, you can take me to court and sue me, because you have rights. The role of the court is to protect your rights, not to make sure I fulfill all my duties, okay? And therefore Choshen Mishpat belongs to the jurisdiction of the court; Yoreh De’ah does not belong to the jurisdiction of the court. So that is the definition. What?

[Speaker G] Yoreh De’ah—

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] —is duties that have no rights corresponding to them. I am obligated to do something, but not because you have a right against me. I am obligated to do it. I am obligated to separate priestly dues and tithes, I am obligated to give you charity, I am obligated—I do not know—to honor parents, I am obligated to do all sorts of things. But no one can sue me, because it is not that something is owed to you. It is an obligation on me, not that because something is owed to you, therefore I must give. It is not like a loan or damages.
Orach Chayim is the same too. As I said, Orach Chayim and Yoreh De’ah are the religious world that imposes duties on me. I must do this, I am forbidden to do that. But even when those duties are toward someone else, it is still Orach Chayim and Yoreh De’ah and not Choshen Mishpat. Why? Because these are duties not founded on the other person’s right. If there is no other person, then there is no other person at all. But even if there is another person, as in interest and charity, that other person has no rights against me. I have duties toward him, but he has no rights against me.
In Choshen Mishpat, my duties toward someone are grounded in rights that he has against me. Okay?

? That’s the difference between Choshen Mishpat and Yoreh De’ah.

[Speaker C] So I, I’m now, I’m now getting to that. I’m now getting to that.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, you can’t. I’m getting to that now. I’ll bring you there through a story. Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky, in some pamphlet on monetary law, maybe by his father-in-law, I don’t remember anymore, or a story from his father-in-law, Rabbi Yerushalimsky. So, so what, there’s some pamphlet by Rabbi Yerushalimsky actually. So, so he tells, tells that… ah no, it’s Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky telling the story. So what’s the story? He was the head of the religious court in London, and in London there were other religious courts too, lower down, and he was the head of the great court, the central one, so to speak, of London. One day some Jew comes to him and says, listen, Rabbi, yes, he’s appealing a lower court in the hierarchy, and he says, look, I went to that court, I paid interest to someone and I sued him, because the rule is that fixed interest is recoverable through the courts. Fixed interest means interest that we agreed on in advance at the time of the loan: you get one hundred and return one hundred ten, okay? We set it from the start. If you return one hundred ten on your own initiative or afterward, that’s not fixed interest; that’s a trace of interest, or rabbinically prohibited interest. But fixed interest is Torah-level interest, where at the time of the loan we agreed in advance that instead of returning one hundred you’d return one hundred ten. That’s called fixed interest, okay? The rule in the Talmud is that ordinary interest is not recoverable through the courts. You can’t go to court and say, return the interest you took from me. But fixed interest is recoverable through the courts, okay? That’s what’s written in the Talmud, and that is the halakhic ruling. That Jew comes and tells Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky like this: I went to that court and sued so-and-so who took interest from me. I said, this is fixed interest, I want you to extract it from him and give me back that interest. All right? A righteous man, huh? He got the loan on the basis that they had stipulated interest, and he promised to pay more, paid more, got the loan, paid more, then went to court because the other fellow took fixed interest from him and should return the interest. Right? Well, it really is amazing. We spoke earlier about morality versus Jewish law, right? So here’s an example. In any case, yes, according to Jewish law, fixed interest is recoverable through the courts. Okay? So he went to the court, and the court said to him: this is not fixed interest, and we are not extracting it, not extracting it.

[Speaker H] That court determined it wasn’t fixed interest?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, it determined that… it examined the circumstances of the case and said this was not fixed interest, and interest that isn’t fixed is not recoverable through the courts, all right? So he says to them: write for me the basis on which you judged me; write the reasoning for the ruling, because I want to appeal. They don’t want to write it for him. So listen, it’s really Kafkaesque. He goes to Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky and says, this is really Kafkaesque, I can’t even appeal, because they didn’t write the reasoning of the… the reasoning of the ruling. And then he got the final slap in the face. Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky throws him down the stairs, figuratively speaking, and says to him: they’re right. What’s the meaning of that? So he explains there, Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky says this: when you pay fixed interest, what does it mean that it is recoverable through the courts? You are not entitled to the money. You paid it by agreement in the contract that the two of you made, and you paid the money that you owed; you owed that money. The Torah forbids the lender to take interest. That’s his prohibition; it has nothing to do with you, okay? Nothing to do with you. Between yourselves, you agreed; this isn’t theft or anything. If not for the verse about biting interest, it might seem to be theft, but never mind, it’s not theft or anything. Therefore, if you agreed, that’s your problem: you paid the interest, he was entitled to the interest under the agreement, and he transgressed a prohibition. When we say fixed interest is recoverable through the courts, the meaning is that now, if we are persuaded that this really is fixed interest, we will compel him to return the inte… return the interest to you, not because you are entitled to it, but in order to make sure he won’t remain a sinner, under the rule of coercion to perform commandments; not in order to give you what is yours, because it isn’t yours. We could have thrown it into the sea. It doesn’t belong to you. If we return the money, then yes, we’ll return it to you, but this is not your claim. Do you understand the point? In other words, fixed interest is recoverable through the courts, but the court here is not acting as a Choshen Mishpat court; it is a Yoreh De’ah court. In Yoreh De’ah, for example, if someone says, I will not build a sukkah, they beat him until his soul departs, as the Talmud says in Ketubot: we coerce people to perform commandments. That too, generally, is done by a court according to most conceptions; Meshovev and Netivot argue about this, in section 3. But, but, but in the simple understanding, the court does this: the court coerces performance of commandments, okay? Obviously it is not functioning here as a Choshen Mishpat court. There is no second party here, no dispute between anyone and anyone. You simply are not taking a lulav, or not building a sukkah, or not sitting in a sukkah, and the court forces you to do it. Why? Because one of the roles of the court is to make sure you are not a sinner. That’s all. So the court sees to it that you won’t be a sinner and compels you to fulfill the commandment or not to violate the prohibition. Fixed interest is recoverable through the courts as part of the laws of coercion to perform commandments. When you took interest, the court will compel you to return the interest, that’s all, but not because the other person is entitled to it. He is not entitled to it, the interest. It’s just that you have to disgorge it. But it doesn’t belong to him. And therefore two things follow. First, that court decided this was not fixed interest, and therefore it did not extract it. Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky says: they didn’t write the reasoning, and therefore I cannot form a position regarding the substance of their ruling, whether it really was fixed interest or not fixed interest. But as for the fact that they didn’t write for you the basis on which they judged me, they were right. Why? Because you, as the borrower who paid the interest, your role in court is the role of a witness, not a litigant. You are not suing the lender to return money that is yours. You simply come as a witness to testify that the lender is a sinner, that he took interest. And since he is a sinner, force him to stop being a sinner. But I come as a witness, not as a litigant. So if I am a witness, how can I say to the court, write for me the basis on which you judged me? They didn’t judge you. What do you want? You aren’t even a litigant here. Do you understand? In other words, what this… what this story basically shows, I think, is a wonderful illustration of this difference: in both cases people come to court, and the court extracts money from one person and gives it to another, and still this is a different category from litigation over a loan, or damage, or theft, or whatever else it may be.

[Speaker N] But he himself also gave it; he too participated in the sin, in the wrongdoing of paying interest, right. So why don’t they also correct him?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What are they going to do? He already paid the interest; it’s gone.

[Speaker N] By returning the money to him, they would actually prevent both of them from continuing to commit transgressions. The one who…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, that’s impossible. It corrects the transgression of taking the interest. But he too… what?

[Speaker N] Understands, understands that there was…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Listen, there was a transgression on both sides, but the correction addresses only one side. When they return the money, the one who took the interest repairs what he did. But the fact that I receive the money, does that repair the transgression of when I gave the interest? In any case, never mind, that’s another discussion. In any event, by the way, there also isn’t a commandment of restoring the interest here. It’s not like theft, where the prohibition is linked to a positive commandment. Returning interest does not, I think, repair the prohibition through a positive act, but that’s another discussion. In any event, this really sharpens what I wanted to say earlier: there can be a situation where two people come before the court, and the court takes money from Reuven and gives it to Shimon, and still one case belongs to Choshen Mishpat and the other belongs to Yoreh De’ah. That’s why the laws of interest appear in Yoreh De’ah. The laws of interest appear in Yoreh De’ah because when you sue him over the interest, you are really coming as a witness, not as a litigant. It is not a legal case between you and him; it is a case between him and the Holy One, blessed be He. Okay? You come as a witness. All right? The same is true with charity. With charity there is a rule that we compel giving charity. We compel charity, right? But obviously this does not mean that the poor person comes and sues you, and if you don’t give him charity he takes you to court: give me the charity that belongs to me. He is entitled to nothing. The court compels you to give charity because it wants to compel performance of a commandment, just as it compels building a sukkah or taking a lulav. So it compels giving charity. All right? There too, and therefore charity and interest both belong to Yoreh De’ah and not to Choshen Mishpat, even though in both cases these are monetary laws between one person and another.

[Speaker F] If

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If the definition of Choshen Mishpat were a collection of monetary laws between one person and another, then interest and charity should have appeared in Choshen Mishpat. And therefore I claim that this is not the definition. The definition is a collection of duties grounded in someone else’s rights. That is Choshen Mishpat. Duties, even duties toward another person, that are not grounded in a right that the other possesses, will appear in Yoreh De’ah, not in Choshen Mishpat. That is the definition. What? What? These aren’t duties at all. At all, right. There is… I’ll give you another example. Also, this happened to me personally. Not also, actually, the earlier one was Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky. There was some Jew in Yerucham; I lived in Yerucham, and at some point I left and moved to Petah Tikva. Some Jew calls me, an immigrant from Russia, who rented an apartment to one of the married students in the yeshiva, in the yeshiva in Yerucham. And there was some dispute there regarding the contract, whether he owed him or didn’t owe him, never mind, there was some dispute between them. Both agreed that whatever I would say… that is, they came to me, and whatever I said. I don’t know why, but that’s what… So this student calls me, not the Russian, this student calls me and says, listen, here’s the story, what do you say: do I have to pay him or not? Because the student is the tenant. Wait. So now, so I said to him: look, based on what you’re describing, it seems to me that you don’t owe him. Fine, that’s it. After some time, an hour, I don’t know, something like that, I get a phone call from the other Jew, that immigrant from Russia. Yes? He says, wait, what, didn’t you hear me? What, how can you issue a legal ruling like that? I said to him: look, if I had meant to serve as a judge, I would have had to take two more people, gather the evidence, and conduct the whole judicial procedure that is relevant, okay? I was not functioning here as a judge. I was functioning as a halakhic authority. And I said to him this: look, you are asking me a principled question. If there is a case like this, and these are its details, what is the law in such a case? So I told him: this is the law in such a case. Whether your case really is such a case or not, you have a disagreement whether the facts were such-and-such or such-and-such. I did not deal with that. I’m not a judge. I certainly was not acting as a judge there. All I did was answer a Jewish-law question. Now notice: this is a discussion in Choshen Mishpat, but still the discussion I conducted, I conducted as a halakhic decisor, not as a judge. You asked a legal question: in such-and-such a situation, is there an obligation or is there no obligation? That’s all. I made the clarification and I said: in my opinion, there is no obligation in such a situation. A judge does not do only that. A judge has to examine the case itself and decide whether the case really is this set of details that describes it or not. After reaching the conclusion that this is indeed the set of details, only then can he also rule on the law. There is something more here than what a halakhic decisor does. A decisor does not have to clarify the facts, does not need to hear the other side, and doesn’t need anything. You come and ask me a question; as far as you understand, these are the facts. So according to your version, if these are the facts, this is the law. That’s all. If those were not the facts, that’s your problem; then you acted incorrectly. You ask me a principled question; this is the question, and this is my answer. What?

[Speaker K] What did he say?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It was a little hard to explain this distinction to him, but never mind, I’m using it here to explain it to you, not to him. To you and not to him, right? What I want to say is to use this too as another example of the difference between a legal case in Choshen Mishpat and a Jewish-law question that really belongs to Yoreh De’ah. The subject here is Choshen Mishpat, the laws of renting. But in fact I functioned here like someone dealing with a Yoreh De’ah question. Because a Choshen Mishpat question is handled by a court, not by a decisor. When a decisor deals with a Choshen Mishpat question, it essentially becomes a Yoreh De’ah question, not a Choshen Mishpat question. And therefore too, religious courts are the institution that deals with questions of Choshen Mishpat, while for Yoreh De’ah questions you go to a rabbi, you go to a halakhic decisor. Okay? It’s simply a categorical difference. The role of the court is to protect someone’s rights; that is the role of the court. Its role is to protect rights that have been violated. If there is no one whose rights have been violated, only someone else who is not fulfilling his obligations, but there is no other person opposite him whose rights have been violated, that is not the court’s business. There is a very beautiful midrash, Vayikra Rabbah, on the portion of Emor I think, that describes how Alexander of Macedon came to Afriki. There, the king of Afriki was known as… Afriki, that’s what it says there. Why should I care? For all I care it could be Yugoslavia. Afriki is what appears there; I don’t know what it is. So he got there, and there was a rumor there that the king was wise and discerning and righteous and so on. So he wanted to know what, wanted to see an example, so the king invited him: come see, I’m judging the people today, come sit and watch a little what goes on. Fine, Alexander of Macedon sits there. Two people come, not two Jews, two people come and describe to the king, the king of Afriki, the following case: Reuven sold Shimon a courtyard. All right? In that courtyard, Shimon bought the courtyard, everything is fine, and at some point he finds a treasure there in the courtyard.

[Speaker F] Now,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Shimon, who got the courtyard, says: wait, this treasure belongs to Reuven. I bought a courtyard, not a treasure. I want to return the treasure to Reuven. Reuven says: what do you mean? I sold him the courtyard, and therefore everything in it, including the treasure. Yes, two righteous people came before him. The king was righteous, so apparently the citizens were righteous too, all right? So these two righteous men came before him, and he had to decide what to do. Fine, so the king says, from here we move into the genre of Hasidic tales, from here the king says to them: tell me, do you have a daughter? Yes. Do you have a son? Yes. Let them marry each other and take the treasure. Yes, and he was delighted, everyone is thrilled to read this happy ending to the story, and I got really annoyed. Why? It’s like, you know, Yonatan ben Uzziel, the story that… right? That every bird that flew above him was burned, right? When Hasidim hear that, they are deeply impressed by the greatness of Yonatan ben Uzziel. When a Lithuanian-type person hears it, he asks: who pays for the damage? Right? So here too, the same thing: what do I care about his daughter and that one’s son? They asked you a Jewish-law question, give an answer. Who does it belong to? Why are you telling me stories here about a son and a daughter? I came to see your wisdom, and you’re showing me your foolishness. Tell me what the law is. If you look for the law, there isn’t one. There was no such law; it doesn’t exist. There is no such law. Why not? Because nobody here is claiming that his rights were violated. When you go to court, you need to claim: look, my rights were violated; he harmed my rights; save me. To rescue the oppressed from his oppressor, that is the role of the court. Here there is no oppressed and no oppressor. Each one wants to give to the other. So if you want to give to each other, what do you want from us? Find a solution by yourselves: son and daughter, some other solution, throw the money into the sea, do whatever you want. What business is it of mine? If you come to me, it is when you have a dispute, where one claims that his rights were violated and the other claims that he did not violate them. Now I have to decide who is right, because I want to protect the oppressed from his oppressor, if there is an oppressed person here. Okay? But a question of this kind is not handled by the court. By the way, on the Choshen Mishpat plane there is certainly room to discuss this question; in Yoreh De’ah there is certainly room to discuss this question. Since you bought a courtyard and neither the seller nor the buyer knew there was a treasure there, the question is whether that included the treasure or did not include the treasure. A wonderful Jewish-law question, but not a question for a court; it is a question for a decisor. Even though it belongs to Choshen Mishpat. A court judges only a dispute, when there is a dispute, when there is someone whose rights were violated; then he goes to court. If there is no dispute, there is no court. Go to a decisor, ask him what the law is in such a case.

[Speaker K] Yes, right. So I’m saying, you can discuss it legally, but that’s a Yoreh De’ah discussion,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It’s not a discussion in a Choshen Mishpat court. It’s very… I’m simply trying to sharpen this point. What does that mean, really? It means that the definition of Choshen Mishpat is the collection of duties that correspond to rights. In Yoreh De’ah there are also duties toward another person; in some areas they are duties toward another person, but they are not grounded in the other person’s right. It is only my duty toward him, like charity or like interest. Now you can understand Rashi’s view that a person may not save himself with another person’s property. Rashi is basically saying this: when I want to burn your grain stack in order to save my life, I am in fact harming your rights, right? And of course I am also violating a prohibition myself: causing damage, theft, or whatever it may be, okay? But the prohibition that I violate is grounded in, yes, my duty not to burn the stack is grounded in your right to the stack; it is yours, right? That’s where it starts. So Rashi says this: theft is not one of the severe transgressions; theft is overridden in the face of a life-and-death situation, yes, obviously. But still I am forbidden to take your property. Why? Because although the prohibition of theft, which is my duty, no longer applies, your right to the property still remains in force. It is not overridden because of my life-and-death emergency. My life-and-death emergency overrides the prohibitions imposed on me. There is a prohibition imposed on me not to rob you, and it is overridden by the need to save life, because I am in mortal danger. Fine, so I no longer have a prohibition against robbing you, but the money is still yours! Where does the permission come from to take someone else’s property? I am forbidden to take someone else’s property not because of the prohibition, You shall not steal. The prohibition, You shall not steal, exists because I am forbidden to take his property. Here I arrive at Rabbi Shimon Shkop, who was mentioned earlier. Okay? And therefore Rashi’s claim is that there is a die-and-not-transgress element in such a situation, but it is not about the prohibition of theft. The prohibition of theft is not one of the three cardinal transgressions. The prohibition of theft is a prohibition like any other theft, like any other prohibition, and it is overridden in the face of saving life. But the reason you do not take the other person’s property is not because of the prohibition of theft. The reason you do not take the other person’s property is because it belongs to the other person; you cannot take it. His right. Let’s give an example, a few examples. One example: suppose someone threatens me with a gun and says to me, give me a shekel or I’ll kill you, all right? Am I allowed to preemptively kill him? Under the law of a pursuer, yes, he is threatening my life, so I should strike first and kill him. But I could give him a shekel and finish the story. Why kill him? Are you allowed to kill in order to save a shekel? If someone threatens my life, obviously I can kill him; that is the law of a pursuer. But he isn’t threatening my life; he’s only forcing me to give him a shekel. I can give him a shekel and end the story. What do you say? Am I allowed to kill him? I’m sure I am. Let me give you a more extreme example. The Talmud in Sanhedrin says that had Zimri turned around and killed Pinchas, he would not have been executed for it. If, yes, Pinchas comes to the chamber to stab Zimri, Zimri can turn around, shoot him in the head, and continue with his business. Okay. Now the Klei Chemdah asks at the end of the portion of Balak, the Klei Chemdah asks: but Zimri could have saved himself through one of Pinchas’s limbs; what permits him to kill Pinchas? If he had stopped sinning, Pinchas wouldn’t have harmed him, right? You know, save himself through one of his limbs means that if I can be saved without killing the pursuer, I am not permitted to kill the pursuer. If I can shoot him in the leg or do something else to save myself without killing the pursuer, I am not permitted to kill the pursuer, right? Only if that is necessary for rescue. Well, he could have stopped sinning, and then Pinchas would not have harmed him, and everything would have been fine. So what gave him permission to kill Pinchas? Now admittedly there is a dispute among medieval authorities; it may be that the pursued person himself does not have this limitation of being able to save himself through one of the pursuer’s limbs. In other words, he does not have to start calculating whether he can be saved some other way; he is in danger, and we do not demand that he make calculations. But there are medieval authorities who say that yes, even the pursued person himself, if he can be saved through one of the pursuer’s limbs, is forbidden to kill the pursuer. So the Klei Chemdah says, bringing it in the name of some rabbi from Gur, he says: true, he can stop pursuing, that is, stop sinning, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to sin. That is his business with the Holy One, blessed be He. What does that have to do with Pinchas? I want to sin; you can’t dictate to me what to do. You threaten that you will kill me if I sin? I’ll kill you first; you are the pursuer. That doesn’t mean I am permitted to sin. I am forbidden to sin. But whether I sin or not is not your business; that is between me and the Holy One, blessed be He. You cannot demand that I stop sinning in order to save your own life; I owe you nothing. Now that speaks about the right to sin. Let’s go back to the shekel case: the right to hold onto a shekel is certainly a right, yes? That I have a right to sin is a novelty, but here it is a right to keep a shekel; I am allowed to keep my shekel, right? There is no problem with that. When you threaten me with a gun and say to me, give me a shekel, and if not I’ll kill you, it is obvious that I am allowed to kill you, and I am not obligated to give you a shekel. Why should I give you a shekel in order to save you? Why on earth? What is the idea here? The idea is this: the shekel is mine. That is my right. You want to harm my rights? You have no standing at all; only I can determine my rights, okay? Therefore, if you want to harm my rights, I am not obligated to waive my rights. If I waive them, fine, but I am not obligated to waive my rights. In my opinion it’s also not advisable, not proper, but never mind, that is already a policy discussion. But I am not obligated to waive my rights, and if you nevertheless threaten to kill me, I will kill you first.

[Speaker C] An example that illustrates it, it becomes the quality of

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Sodom, right?

[Speaker C] The quality of Sodom. The idea is that even though you have some monetary right, yes,

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] We coerce you there… leave that for one more moment, I’ll come back to it if you want, but it’s not connected here. Maybe I’ll bring another example that illustrates it. Once, when I was in the yeshiva in Bnei Brak, there was some joker there, one of the instructors in the yeshiva, who saw someone sitting and reading some book. He said: listen, I’ve been looking for that book for years, and now I have two options: either take your book and violate the prohibition of You shall not steal, take the book from you, or leave the book with you and violate the prohibition of You shall not covet. So since in any event I’m already violating a prohibition, at least let the book be with me. Now, he knew that this wasn’t correct,

But suppose—why is that not right? Let’s say the argument is not correct within the parameters of “do not covet,” but suppose for a moment that it were correct, okay?

[Speaker E] Theft is also an offense against God and also against another person, but “do not covet” is only against God—if anything. I don’t…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t think that’s the point. Right? Maybe that’s another formulation of what I want to say in a moment. The point is that this book belongs to that person, right? It’s part of that person’s rights. Someone’s property is part of his rights, okay? The one who makes decisions about my rights is only me. In theft too—only me. Now, you may have excellent reasons for taking my book, because either way it’s forbidden and either way it’s forbidden, and so in fact you have wonderful reasons—but the one who does the reasoning about my book is only me. Not because your reasoning is wrong—it isn’t, it’s correct! But you don’t have the mandate to make those calculations. Because the calculations about my rights are made only by me. The same thing with the shekel. I don’t have to give you a shekel. If I want to, I’ll give you one, but the decision whether to give or not give a shekel is mine. And if you threaten me with a gun to kill me, I’ll kill you first, because I don’t have to give you a shekel. Those are my calculations. And in Zimri’s prohibition, all the more so. Right? The calculation whether to sin or not to sin is only mine. Obviously it’s forbidden to sin; he’ll have to answer for the sin; all of that is true. But the calculation whether to sin or not to sin is only my calculation. You can’t demand that I stop sinning, and if you threaten me with a gun, I’ll kill you first under the law of a pursuer. What this really means—I have often called it territorial considerations. Meaning, a person has a certain territory, a collection of his rights. Within that territory, he is the exclusive decision-maker, only him! Now, someone else can make a very logical and halakhically correct calculation in order to infringe my rights, and he is correct from the standpoint of Jewish law. The problem is not that he isn’t right, but that he is not the one who can make calculations about my rights—only I can make those calculations. That’s the point. And therefore, I don’t evaluate these situations through the question of whether your halakhic reasoning is justified or unjustified. It may be justified. Because in any case you’re violating a prohibition one way or another, so why should it matter to you that the book is with you? Very logical, right? Or I can give you a shekel, so why on earth should I kill you? You can save your life with a shekel—very logical halakhically, right. But when you make those calculations about my rights, you are invading my territory. In my territory, only I am authorized to make calculations. And even if afterward I’ll be held accountable for them, like Zimri who commits a sin—the decision is his, and afterward the Holy One, blessed be He, will settle accounts with him. You cannot determine for me what I am going to do inside my territory. That’s the point, okay?

[Speaker C] The outlook here is very capitalist.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Right, very capitalist. Peak capitalism, right. And the claim is basically what I argued, for example, regarding the Dromi law—Shai Dromi’s law—or the case of someone who tunnels into a house. Obviously, if a thief breaks in, it is permitted to kill him. I see no problem with that at all; in my opinion it’s even desirable. I wrote an article about it in Techumin. There were huge arguments with the editors; in the end they published it with their reservations. But in any event, it’s the same idea: my property is mine—absolute capitalism. Anyone who enters there, his blood is on his own head. His problem. He shouldn’t come in.

[Speaker J] Where does saving life enter here?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Huh? There is no saving life here. I’m killing him over the property, not because of saving life. If I can’t save the property in any other way—again, if I can save the property without killing him, then of course I’m forbidden to kill him; I’ll save the property in whatever way I can. If I can’t save the property—it’s like the shekel—if…

[Speaker L] If I can’t save…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] …the property unless I kill him, then I’ll kill him. Fine, but that—what? If he won’t kill you, yes. My claim is that you don’t need to reach the rationale that everyone always brings—even the Talmud, apparently—that it’s only because of the future concern that he will kill me. In that article I show why that isn’t correct. Exactly. In this context, I’m American. Right, exactly like that: a man’s home is his castle. Yes. With property it’s easier. Anyway, having said that, let’s go back for a moment and see what this says about the contradiction we saw in monetary law. Why is there really a requirement to be killed rather than transgress with respect to theft? There is no requirement to be killed rather than transgress with respect to theft, but my property is my right. Only I decide what is done with it. The owner of the barley is the one who decides whether he is willing for his barley to be burned. If he is willing—excellent. If he is not willing, then you—even though you are in a life-threatening situation, and you are correct within the parameters of Jewish law, your decision is correct at the halakhic level—still, that decision concerns my property. You cannot make decisions about my property. And if you burn the stack, you did not violate “do not steal”; you simply took my property. You did not violate “do not steal,” because “do not steal” is overridden by danger to life. This connects to Rabbi Shimon Shkop, whom I’m not getting into here because of lack of time. Rabbi Shimon Shkop argues that taking someone else’s property is not necessarily a violation of “do not steal.” The prohibition of “do not steal” exists because you took someone else’s property. A practical difference, for example, would be the property of a non-Jew. Even according to the view that there is no Torah-level prohibition of “do not steal” regarding a non-Jew’s property—a dispute among medieval authorities—Rabbi Shimon Shkop says that there is still a Torah prohibition against taking his property, because the property is his. You didn’t violate “do not steal,” but you still cannot take property, because it’s his. Okay? This prohibition, all of it, is from the law of justice—a legal prohibition. It’s not a halakhic prohibition, in the sense of the Torah’s commands. So I’m saying that the rigidity of monetary law stems from that, not from the severity of the prohibition. It’s not that the prohibition of “do not steal” is more severe than any other prohibition. The prohibition of “do not steal” is overridden by danger to life like any other prohibition. It stems from the fact that the prohibition of “do not steal” is grounded in the right of the victim of theft. The victim’s right is not overridden because my life is in danger. My prohibition of “do not steal” is overridden, but his right does not disappear because I am in mortal danger. What does that have to do with his rights? Ideally he should perhaps waive them in order to save me, but if he does not waive them, he is the sole decision-maker. He is the one who decides about his rights. That’s one side. I asked: so how does this fit with the fact that monetary law is subject to stipulation, local custom, and the law of the kingdom—that it’s the most flexible area there is? The answer is very simple. What happens when I make a stipulation—say, in a contract? A stipulation that an unpaid bailee should have the status of a paid bailee. What? Exactly. That’s only when both sides agreed, right? The owner of the right waived the rights granted to him, right? Say he’s an unpaid bailee; he has the right not to pay in the case of theft or loss, right? He waived that right. He is willing to obligate himself to pay even in the case of theft or loss. There’s no problem at all. If it’s your right, you can waive it. That’s why one may stipulate away what is written in the Torah in monetary matters. When you make a stipulation, what you’re really saying is: the Torah gave me a certain right, but a right means that it is owed to me. Nobody disputes the Torah that it is owed to me, but I am allowed to waive what is owed to me. Therefore one may stipulate away what is written in the Torah. What the Talmud says—that I can stipulate “on condition that the Sabbatical year not cancel my debt to you,” but I cannot stipulate “on condition that the Sabbatical year itself not cancel my debt”—I cannot stipulate against the Torah, even in monetary matters. But I can waive what is owed to me. Okay? That I can do; there’s no problem. And so there is no contradiction between the two sides of the coin. The rigidity and the flexibility are both founded on the very same principle: the obligation stands opposite a right. As long as the owner of the right has not waived it, even if the other person will die, there’s nothing he can do. That is maximum rigidity. But on the other hand, obviously if the owner of the right waives it, then there’s no problem at all—let him do whatever he wants. Again? No, a king can confiscate property, so then you don’t have that right. The king is the owner of the property, the owner of the land, the owner—he’s everything.

[Speaker N] And therefore a king is a different category.

[Speaker E] Yes. Two questions, if possible. First question: there is some place in the Talmud that says, “It was on this understanding that Joshua apportioned the land,” and the Talmud details several things which seemingly are a kind of social rules—things that ostensibly there was no basis to permit, but Joshua apportioned the land on that understanding, and so in a sense people know they waive those rights; a kind of social rules. Why shouldn’t we say that in such a case, in order to save a Jew’s life, it would also be permitted to collect from a Jew’s field? It could be.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If the Torah had said such a thing, then yes, that could be—it would be perfectly fine. But Joshua didn’t say that either. If he had said it, maybe that would indeed have been fine. He didn’t say it. I’m saying: in a place where the king decides this—that’s what they said to King David—where the king decides it, there is no problem; the law will change. Suppose, for example, that the law today in Israel permits you—ugh, sorry—to burn my property in order to save yourself, and maybe it does permit that, if you pay me back. Then there’s no problem at all; the law changes. The law changes because the king revoked that right. But as long as you have that right, nobody can cancel it—no private individual can cancel it. Okay? That’s the point. But really, this dissonance between infinite rigidity on the one hand and infinite flexibility on the other, expresses, I think, in the strongest way the uniqueness of monetary law. The uniqueness of monetary law—of Choshen Mishpat, not monetary law generally, but Choshen Mishpat—is that Choshen Mishpat is the halakhic book of rights.

[Speaker N] Because with regard to collateral—when a person gives collateral, he has collateral and he gives it, and “it shall be righteousness for you,” as it says—so basically the Torah is telling a person to waive his right, but the Torah recommends it to the person.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It says nothing of the sort.

[Speaker N] Whoever wants may give, whoever wants…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Whoever wants to give collateral gives it, whoever…

[Speaker N] Whoever wants not to…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] …not to give collateral doesn’t give it. Nobody recommends anything.

[Speaker N] It recommends to a person…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It recommends nothing. Where from—where…? There is no such recommendation.

[Speaker N] The Torah’s approach…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] There is no such recommendation. No—in the case where he took the collateral… there is no such recommendation.

[Speaker N] If…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] If the person decides to give collateral, then he gives it, and if he doesn’t decide to, then he doesn’t give it. Maybe he won’t get the loan—so what?

[Speaker N] Not that—so then it is worthwhile for him.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Nobody recommends giving collateral; there is no such recommendation.

[Speaker N] “By sunset you shall surely return it to him” (Deuteronomy 24:13)…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Returning collateral is something else! The Torah says to return the collateral, fine. To waive… no! Returning collateral is something else, not giving collateral. Returning collateral—where he’s poor, a poor person—so the Torah says the collateral must be returned to him. Fine, so the Torah said so; what’s the problem? The Torah also said one must give charity. The Torah said many things. That doesn’t move charity from Yoreh De’ah into Choshen Mishpat. Those are commandments; there are commandments in Yoreh De’ah too. But there are no rights in Yoreh De’ah, only in Choshen Mishpat. Okay? There are obligations.

[Speaker E] Rabbi, but why does the Talmud discuss this issue under theft and not under damages? Why isn’t it simply damage? He burned his field; he didn’t take his field.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] I don’t care—it’s damage. So what?

[Speaker E] So why is it called theft anyway?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] No, it’s a matter of damage. What difference does it make? Also the prohibition—what difference does it make whether it’s the prohibition of…

[Speaker E] The prohibition of damage or the prohibition of theft?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] It just became that for any injury to another’s property, the routine turn of phrase is to call it theft. Just a routine expression.

[Speaker C] You said regarding what was the thing that did indeed spill over from judicial law—from… it was the laws of the marriage settlement. In the laws of the marriage settlement, there is a back door into Yoreh De’ah—that is, we learn it from the laws of documents… No, the marriage settlement belongs to Even HaEzer. Right, but still, the laws of the marriage settlement—the laws of how to write a marriage contract and what the laws are of… an invalid document and so on—that’s from the laws of documents found in Choshen Mishpat. Okay. The question is whether this perhaps is something that really does descend… from Choshen Mishpat into its practical end… is its practical end Yoreh De’ah? After all, a woman can’t cancel her marriage settlement, can she? Depends on the considerations. No, no, not like that. No, no, not its practical end… What do you mean?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] A marriage settlement is not Yoreh De’ah. A marriage settlement is a contract in every respect—what do you mean?

[Speaker C] A woman can say she waives fifty zuz? Or the sons’ inheritance clause?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] What do you mean? A woman can waive whatever she wants. She can’t stipulate away what is written in the Torah, but she can waive whatever she wants. What’s the problem? Can she say that the marriage settlement is fifty zuz? If she waives one hundred and fifty out of the two hundred zuz of the marriage settlement, of course she can. What’s the problem?

[Speaker C] She can’t make the betrothal conditional; she can’t make the betrothal conditional on something such that there will be no marriage settlement—or you can’t stipulate that there won’t be a marriage settlement—because that’s stipulating away what is written in the Torah. But if I waive something owed to me—what, am I forbidden to waive the marriage settlement? What’s the problem? First you have to undertake the obligation, and afterward… fine, right. So what’s the problem? It’s a contract in every respect. Obligated, yes—but obligated under the idea that she should not be easy in his eyes to divorce. Doesn’t matter—that’s the reason why they instituted the obligation, why they established the obligation…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] But now that there is such an obligation, it is a contract signed between the husband…

[Speaker C] …and the wife, a contract like any other contract.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Betrothal and divorce too are a matter of…

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] So now I’ll make a comment about Even HaEzer. In Even HaEzer there is a somewhat similar example, yes? One of the things that distinguishes Choshen Mishpat, for example, is that property declared ownerless by the court is ownerless.

[Speaker H] Property declared ownerless by the court is ownerless, right? A court can declare property ownerless.

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] A court cannot permit pork, right? It can declare property ownerless. Why can it declare property ownerless? Because monetary law consists of laws determined by social agreement. Once society agrees that there is a legal system and that the laws of ownership operate in such-and-such a way, that is what gives them force—again, Rabbi Shimon Shkop—that is what gives them force, okay? Once the public is what gives force to monetary law, it can also declare property ownerless, since the force of property is grounded in the public’s consent, in the public’s decision. The same mouth that forbade is the mouth that permitted. So the court, as the representative of the public, can declare property ownerless. Okay? But all of this really stems from the fact that the public can determine what monetary law is; it is what gives force to monetary law, right? It is what basically determines Rabbi Shimon’s “law of justice.” What happens in Even HaEzer? In Even HaEzer, for example: whoever betroths, betroths subject to the will of the rabbis. The rabbis can also uproot a betrothal. By uproot I don’t mean annul it afterward; I mean determine retroactively that it never took effect, okay? This is not annulment of a marriage; it is uprooting the betrothal. Uprooting betrothal means that the betrothal never takes effect. For example, suppose someone sent an agent to divorce his wife, and he canceled the agent not in the agent’s presence—the betrothal is void, right? The rabbis uprooted the betrothal. Why? Because whoever betroths, betroths subject to the will of the rabbis. This is an authority very similar to the court’s power to declare property ownerless. And the Talmud discusses there: fine, if he betrothed with money, then the court can declare the money ownerless. By the way, that’s also a huge novelty, because they declare the money ownerless retroactively. Meaning: he betrothed with a perutah, something happened ten years later, and the court uproots the betrothal—they declare the perutah ownerless. But what? They declare it ownerless now regarding what happened ten years earlier. Also a huge novelty. About that the Talmud says—what?

[Speaker C] From now on retroactively, no?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes, but even “from now on retroactively” still requires a mechanism—either clarification after the fact or a condition—and nobody did that. How can you suddenly operate retroactively? That doesn’t help. So the Talmud itself asks: fine, if he betrothed with money—but if he betrothed through intercourse, what can be said? Then the Talmud says: whoever betroths, betroths subject to the will of the rabbis, and the rabbis uprooted the betrothal from him; the rabbis rendered his intercourse promiscuous intercourse. What did they answer here? I don’t understand. You’re asking how the court can do this, since there is no declaring-property-ownerless here. What do you do with intercourse? Betrothal by intercourse? With a perutah, let’s say yes—even retroactively, I swallowed that frog too. But what about intercourse? Betrothal by intercourse? “Whoever betroths, betroths subject to the will of the rabbis”—so most commentators explain that this is a kind of condition. Whoever betroths does so on condition of the sages’ consent, and if they don’t consent, the betrothal is void—like conditional betrothal, the betrothal is void. There are several proofs that this is not a condition, though there’s a strained explanation. It’s not a condition, and the Talmud also does not formulate it like a condition. So what is it, then? The claim is that because Even HaEzer, like Choshen Mishpat, belongs to the legal sphere of Jewish law—not to the halakhic sphere, but to the legal sphere of Jewish law—the public is what constitutes that legal sphere. Just as the public constitutes the laws of property and acquisition, so too the public constitutes the laws of betrothal and personal status. Every legal system in the world contains at least two components: civil law—monetary law and so on—and personal status, right? In Jewish law too, civil law and personal status—Choshen Mishpat and Even HaEzer—are basically the legal part of Jewish law. Yoreh De’ah and Orach Chayim are the non-legal part of Jewish law. For some reason people call all of it “Hebrew law,” but that’s just a conceptual distortion that I don’t like, okay? There is a legal part of Jewish law and a non-legal part of Jewish law. The legal part of Jewish law really is a legal system. And like every legal system, the public has a mandate to determine various things about it. There are limits imposed by the Torah, but the public has a mandate to determine various limits within it. And therefore the public can determine that certain property is ownerless, and the public can determine that certain betrothals are not betrothals. Because the recognition that you are a married couple—you are not a married couple unless there is public recognition that you are a married couple. If you gave a ring before two witnesses and said, “Behold, you are betrothed to me with this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel,” she is not betrothed if the public does not recognize it. Personal status is a public status. The fact that you are a couple means that the public recognizes you as a unit with personal status—you are a couple. If the public does not recognize it, there is no betrothal. Just like property declared ownerless by the court is ownerless. And so this expresses precisely the fact that Even HaEzer and Choshen Mishpat both belong to this category called halakhic law. And Yoreh De’ah and Orach Chayim belong to the halakhic part that is not law. There, of course, the court cannot determine that pork is permitted, or that it is permitted to desecrate the Sabbath, or things of that kind. There are no such powers in the halakhic context; there are such powers in the legal context. Therefore, in my view, in a lawless world where betrothal has no meaning and everyone commits adultery and everyone does whatever they want, if someone comes and betroths a woman with this ring according to the law of Moses and Israel before two valid witnesses—assuming there are even two valid witnesses there—she would not be betrothed.

[Speaker H] Because it’s not accepted as…?

[Rabbi Michael Abraham] Yes. Society does not grant betrothal that kind of status. In my view she would not be betrothed, okay? Fine.