Q&A: The Rogatchover and Other Hasidim
The Rogatchover and Other Hasidim
Question
Hello Rabbi,
For years I’ve had the impression that Hasidic talmudic thinkers (like the Rogatchover, Rabbi Yosef Engel) do not have a straightforward style of learning, in my humble opinion, like the great Lithuanian scholars. For example, you can find אצלם analogies from one matter to another where the resemblance really doesn’t work, what the books call “bringing distant things close by force.”
This week I told someone that in my opinion this is because they are used to Hasidic ideas that have the power to distort a person’s straight thinking.
It’s interesting to note that the Sephardic kabbalists (those who knew how to learn, like Maharit Algazi, the Chida, Ben Ish Chai, Yaskil Avdi) were endowed with straight thinking despite their involvement in Kabbalah, which is to some extent close to Hasidism—apparently because the Sephardic style of learning Kabbalah is text-study without adding novel interpretations (it dries out the brain a bit, but apparently it limits the freedom of imagination).
Since the person who heard these things from me was left breathless, I said perhaps I had suspected worthy people unjustly, and maybe you can give him his breath back.
Please let us know your view, and so it is fitting.
Answer
I definitely tend to agree that Hasidism bends the way one thinks. Even the Avnei Nezer, who was exceptionally sharp and learned, sometimes suffers from bizarre homiletic twists.
But specifically regarding the Rogatchover and Rabbi Yosef Engel, I don’t really agree so much. The Rogatchover compares things according to their logical form and not according to their content, so his analogies shouldn’t be judged the way one judges ordinary analogies. And with Rabbi Yosef Engel, I actually think that in general he learned in a straightforward way (occasional deviations happen with everyone).
Discussion on Answer
Can you give a representative example of the Avnei Nezer’s bizarre homiletic twists?
The Minchat Chinukh was close to Hasidism. He, the Ketzot, and the Netivot were all Galicians.
The Minchat Chinukh is indeed a good example (he too has some “Hasidic” tendencies). The Ketzot HaChoshen and the Netivot are indeed counterexamples.
For example, the Avnei Nezer’s resolution of the contradiction in the Sefer HaChinukh regarding women’s obligation in wiping out Amalek and their exemption from the war against the seven nations. Truly astonishing words. Orach Chaim, sec. 509:
A) The Sefer HaChinukh wrote at the end of the portion Ki Tetzei (commandment 603) that women are not commanded in wiping out Amalek, only males, who are men of war—and therefore they are exempt from remembering Amalek. This is puzzling, for regarding killing the seven nations he wrote in commandment 425 that it applies to males and females. The Mishneh LaMelekh already hinted at this in his glosses.
B) The explanation seems to be as follows: the Sefer HaChinukh wrote that each individual also has an obligation—if one of the descendants of Amalek comes into his hands, he must kill him. This can happen with a woman too, as in the case of Sisera and Jael. So why did he write that the commandment applies only to males, who are men of war? One could say that it is a positive commandment dependent on time, since it does not apply on the Sabbath, for the obligation to kill Amalek is no more stringent than other capital obligations, which do not override the Sabbath. Granted, in wartime it says, “until it falls,” even on the Sabbath (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 19a). But since women are not combatants, and only if an individual came into her hands—and then it would not override the Sabbath—therefore, since the Sabbath is not a time for this commandment in the case of women, it is considered as though this is not its time at all. This is as is proven in the Mishnah in tractate Keritot, chapter 1, regarding a woman who miscarries on the night of the eighty-first day, where the House of Hillel compare it to one who miscarries on the eightieth day that falls on the Sabbath, and the House of Shammai only answered because the Sabbath is fit for a communal offering. But if it were fit for no offering at all, it would be like night. And one should not ask: since the time of this commandment exists for men during wartime, why is that not enough? No difficulty, for we maintain (Shabbat 62a) that women are a category unto themselves. Since for women there is no wiping out of Amalek at all on the Sabbath, for them it is not considered the time of this commandment at all, and with respect to them it is a time-bound positive commandment. (See also Sefer HaKaneh on the topics of circumcision.)
C) But regarding killing the seven nations—not only according to the medieval authorities in the first chapter of tractate Kiddushin (34a; see there in Ran and Rabbi Akiva Eiger’s glosses, note 7), that when a prohibition is involved together with a positive commandment women are also obligated—here too there is the prohibition, “you shall not let any soul live.” But even according to what seems from the plain meaning of Tosafot on Kiddushin 34a, the opposite: killing the seven nations is “so that they not teach you to do [their abominations],” and it is similar to killing harmful creatures, which is considered labor not needed for its own sake, for which according to most decisors one is exempt, and that applies by Torah law even on the Sabbath.
D) At first glance one might say that since killing the seven nations applies on the Sabbath, that counts as the time of the commandment also regarding killing Amalek, just as the time of an individual offering counts because it is fit for a communal offering. But it is not comparable: killing Amalek is for the past, to take revenge on him, while killing the seven nations is for the future, “so that they not teach [you].” They are not from one bundle.
Truthfully, I know that Amalek example. It’s definitely highly amusing. I think I once heard it from you. Just casually—if you have another example, I’d be happy to be amused a bit more.
I don’t remember one right now. You can look around, and I imagine it’s not very hard to find.
What about Hasidic scholars who aren’t Polish?
What about them?
Another practical implication, if “place is the cause,” is whether the determining factor is sociological affiliation or the area of Hasidic involvement.
I assume both are factors, in different proportions. But I haven’t done any research.
You’re annoying. “Hasidism bends the way one thinks”?! Nothing less. I’m unsubscribing from the site. A rabbi in Israel—watch your words.
As is known, Vilna was under Polish rule between the two world wars—during that period, were its scholars judged as Lithuanians or as Poles? 🙂 And what about the Hungarians? 🙂
Best regards, Józef Piłsudski
Oh dear, how terrifying!
Is the Rabbi half Lithuanian, half Hungarian?
And if we’re already talking here about geographic influences, isn’t the Rabbi afraid because he lives in Lod?
With God’s help, on the eve of the holy Sabbath, Vayera 5780
To Strudel—greetings,
Lod was already a place of Torah in the days of the Sages. Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus and Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi lived in Lod, and their spirit influences love of Torah and diligence in it. Even the “merchants of Lod” were known for their sharpness.
Lod also gains added value from its proximity to the airport, through which air connection is maintained with the entire world, symbolizing spiritual openness to global science and culture, which makes it possible both to influence and to receive fruitful ideas.
Indeed, with such openness one also needs extra caution not to be swept away by every passing “common wind,” as Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook said in his speech at the opening of the Hebrew University (in Essays of Rabbi Kook): regarding the “glory of the nations” flowing to Zion, one must fulfill not only “and your heart shall expand” but also “and fear,” and caution must accompany openness.
With blessings for a good Sabbath, G. Hanun
In paragraph 3, line 3:
… one must fulfill not only “and your heart shall expand,” but also…
My heart is in Lithuania, and I am at the edge of Hungary. How can I eat, and how can anything taste good, at the far western edge?
With God’s help, on the eve of the holy Sabbath, “Go forth from your land,” 5780
It is therefore called “Hungary-God,” expressing the hunger (in Yiddish: hunger) to hear the word of God.
Indeed, Ramda was precise when he wrote “at the edge of Hungary… at the far western edge,” since Hungary was divided into the “Upper Region” (Oberland), in the west, whose Jews tended in language and custom toward Ashkenazic Judaism; as opposed to the “Lower Region” (Unterland), whose Jews tended toward the centers of Hasidism in nearby Galicia.
With blessings of “a good Sabbath,” Lowinger Shamshon
A poetic nickname among the Jews for Hungary was “the land of Hagar,” since in the translation of Psalms 83:7, “The tents of Edom and the Ishmaelites, Moab and the Hagrites,” the word “Hagrites” is translated as “Hungarians.”
By the way, I once thought that maybe place is the cause—meaning Poland and Galicia produce Galicians, while Lithuanians think more systematically. And a practical implication would be Polish scholars who aren’t Hasidim (like Rabbi Akiva Eiger), who are in fact straightforward.