“Shabbat” appears in every book of the Tora,[1] and prior to Parashat Emor in VaYikra, where we read the following,

VaYikra 23:3

Six days you shall do creative activity, and on the seventh day “Shabbat Shabbaton”, a holy convocation, all creative activity you shall not do. It is Shabbat to HaShem in all of your dwellings,

we have already been told about “Shabbat” several times:

Beraishit 2:3
And God Blessed the seventh day and Sanctified it because in it He Rested from all of His Creative Activity that God Created to do.

Shemot 16:23

And he (Moshe) said to them: This is what HaShem has Spoken, Shabbaton (a rest day), a holy Shabbat for HaShem tomorrow. What you want to bake, bake (today) and what you want to cook, cook (today), and whatever is left over (from the double portion of Manna that will fall on Fridays) put away for yourselves as a safekeeping until the morning.

Shemot 20:8-11

Remember the Shabbat day to keep it holy. Six days you will work and do all of your creative activity. And on the seventh day a Shabbat to the Lord your God, you shall not do any creative activity, you, your son, your daughter, your male servant, your female servant, and your animal and your sojourner that is in your gates.  Because for six days did HaShem Make the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in it, and He Rested on the seventh day. For this reason HaShem Blessed the day of the Shabbat and He Sanctified it.

Shemot 23:12

Six days you will do your activities and on the seventh day you will rest, in order that your ox and your donkey will rest and the son of your handmaiden and the sojourner will rest.

Shemot 31:13-17

You (Moshe) shall speak to the Jewish people saying: You will certainly observe My Shabbatot because it is a sign between Me and between you for your generations, to know that I am HaShem Who Sanctifies you. And you will observe Shabbat because it is holy to you; those who profane it will surely die, because anyone who performs in it creative activity and that soul will be cut off from the midst of its people. Six days will creative activity be done, and on the seventh day Shabbat Shabbaton holy to HaShem. Whoever does creative activity on the day of Shabbat will surely die. And the Children of Israel will observe the Shabbat, to do Shabbat down through their generations, an eternal covenant. Between Me and the Children of Israel it is a sign forever, because in six days HaShem Made the Heavens and the earth and on the seventh day He Rested.

Shemot 34:21

Six days you shall work and on the seventh day you shall rest, you will rest from ploughing and harvesting.

Shemot 35:2-3

Six days will creative activity be done, and on the seventh day it will be to you holy, Shabbat Shabbaton to HaShem. Whoever does creative activity in it, will die. You shall not ignite a fire in all of your habitations on the day of Shabbat.

VaYikra 19:3

An individual should fear his mother and his father and My Shabbatot he should observe, I am HaShem.

VaYikra 19:30

My Shabbatot you shall observe, and My Tabernacle/Temple you shall fear, I am HaShem.

Accounting for these numerous references to Shabbat.

While it is conceivable that the reason for the many repetitions of this Commandment is in order to emphasize its centrality and importance in comparison with other Mitzvot,[2] some commentators attempt to attribute to each new iteration of Shabbat a specific intent and emphasis, in order to avoid the impression of the Tora containing simple superfluity.

Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on VaYikra 23:3

…The “Shabbat” law appears repeatedly in the Tora, and always with reference to a different phase of Jewish life, to which indeed Shabbat forms the fundamental institution. Thus we find:

                a)  the Shabbat of Creation (Gen. 2:1);

b)  the Shabbat of the Wilderness, in connection with the struggle for existence, for obtaining food (Shem. 16:22);

c)   the Shabbat of the Decalogue, as evidence of the whole Jewish consciousness of God (Shem. 20:8);

d)   Shabbat re its effect on human and social life (Shem. 23:12);

e)   the sanctity of Shabbat in its relationship to the Temple  (Shem. 31:13 ff.; 35:2 ff.)

Linking a comment in Parashat Emor  to one in Parashat BeShalach.

R. Hirsch’s explanation for the Tora’s repetition of the Mitzva of Shabbat is intriguing on at least two counts. Firstly, he contends that Shabbat is “the fundamental institution of Jewish life.” This premise is reflected in earlier comments that R. Hirsch makes regarding the double portion of Manna that fell in the desert on Erev Shabbat (the day preceding Shabbat, i.e., Friday), in order to compensate for Manna’s not being found at the outskirts of the encampment on Shabbat itself.  The commentator wishes to explain why HaShem Wished that the people “stay at home” on Shabbat, rather than going out to gather food as they had to do on the other days of the week.

Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on Shemot 16:23

…In inhibiting his activity—Shabbaton[3]—the Jew is first of all to show his submission to God in his activity in seeking his livelihood (gathering the Manna was the means by which the Jews acquired their requisite food during the 40 years of wandering in the desert, hence how they sought their “livelihood” during that period of time)—that first and mightiest incitement to conquer the world,[4] and just as the Shabbat of God impresses the seal of God’s Creation on the world,[5] so does the Shabbat of man impress the seal of the authority of God on Man’s efforts at creation.[6]  With Shabbat, man places himself and his work in the service of God[7]…

The greater implications of not performing Melacha one day each week.

According to R. Hirsch, the reason why Shabbat is the fundamental institution of Jewish life independent of the specific conditions in which Jews find themselves down through the ages, is because its observance in terms of the willing cessation by a Jew of the pursuit of his livelihood[8] demonstrates an individual’s devotion to and sacrifice for God playing a more central role in his life than any consideration of personal advancement or fulfillment.

Shabbat as a manifestation of sacrifice.

The centrality of sacrifice and self-discipline as a means by which one indicates the degree to which he is beholden to God and His Tora, is a theme that R. J.B. Soloveitchik, ZaTzaL, often invoked in his writing. However, he sees the cessation of pro-active creative activity as only one side of a two-sided coin with regard to God’s Expectations of man:

                R. J.B. Soloveitchik, “Catharsis” in Tradition, 17:2, 1978.

…What is heroism in the Halacha?

…One must perform the dialectical[9] movement. The Halachic catharsis expresses itself in paradoxical movement in two opposite directions—in surging forward boldly and retreating humbly. Man’s heroic experience is a polar, antithetic one. Man drives forward, only to retreat and to reverse, subsequently, the direction of his movement.

The Tora wants man who is bold and adventurous in his quest for opportunities, to act heroically, and at the final moment, when it appears that victory is within reach, to stop short, turn around and retreat. At the most exalted moment of triumph and fulfillment, man must forego the ecstasy of victory and take defeat at his own hands…

…”U’Malu Et HaAretz VeKivshuha” (and fill the earth and conquer it). Man was called upon to defy opposition on the part of nature and to march to victory. Biblical man is out to subdue his environment. Yet when conquest is within man’s reach and the road to realization has been cleared of all hindrances, man-victor, who needs only to reach out and grab everything that his heart has desired, must change his course and begin to withdraw. When victory is near, man must invite defeat and surrender the spoils that he had quested for so long. The movement is dialectical: the forward marching ends in retreat, which in turn leads to a resumption of the forward march…

According to the Rav’s formulation, it is just as important for a person to resume his activities following a periodic withdrawal from them, as is mandated by the observance of Shabbat, as it is to withdraw from them in the first place. As inappropriate as it would be for a Jew not to observe Shabbat at all, it would also be improper for him to approach every day as if it was Shabbat.[10] R. Soloveitchik maintains that complete submission to God resulting in failure to engage in the world of the work-week would be as injurious to the dialectic that God Envisions for man as would be an immersion in creative activity that leaves no room for acknowledgement of God’s Place in one’s life. [11]

Do the dynamics of the dialectic change along with the unfolding of Jewish history?

Returning to R. Hirsch’s original comments on VaYikra 23:3, the second intriguing aspect of his approach is the suggestion that “Shabbat”, while remaining central and fundamental to Judaism, nevertheless takes on different connotations during different periods of the Jewish experience: a) Creation, b) the struggle for food in the wilderness, c) the receiving of the Tora at Sinai, d) as part of the general social contract that informs Jewish social interactions, and e) in relationship with the Temple.  Assuming that R. Hirsch is correct in his categorizations, it would be reasonable to assume that in each of these periods, one might have thought that Shabbat would not be applicable had the Tora not specifically stated otherwise. Perhaps one might have thought that the desert conditions that brought into question where food and drink would be obtained entailed Pikuach Nefesh (the endangerment of life) and therefore perhaps certain aspects of Shabbat would be deferred until more normal conditions would be encountered.  As for receiving the Tora at Sinai, it was important to emphasize how Shabbat takes its place among the first five[12] of the Ten Commandments, Mitzvot that stress man’s relationship with HaShem. Yet when the rules mainly governing interpersonal relationships are set forth, Shabbat is again mentioned, leading us to reflect upon the social aspects of this observance, i.e., allowing slaves to rest, deemphasizing once a week the pursuit of material possessions, allowing people to come together to share prayer, study, food and good fellowship, etc. The Temple service involves some ostensible suspensions of Shabbat prohibitions, e.g., slaughtering, cutting, burning public sacrifices; but by mentioning Shabbat in juxtaposition with the sacrificial service, the Tora calls attention to the rest of the rules governing the cessation of Melacha remaining in effect even within the Temple precincts.

But R. Hirsch does not appear to include all of the instances where Shabbat is mentioned in the Tora within his categorization scheme. Perhaps VaYikra 19:3 can be accounted for as part of a reformulation of the Ten Commandments in alternate form and order,[13] therefore paralleling Shabbat of the Decalogue. However, explaining the “unique phase of Jewish life” suggested by Shemot 34:21 where Shabbat is mentioned in the middle of the other holy days,[14] and VaYikra 23:3 where it is listed first with respect to other holy days,[15] appears to be more challenging. It is possible that the experience of Shabbat prior to the institution of additional holy days, such as the Pilgrimage Festivals of Pesach, Shavuot and Sukko as well as the Yamim Noraim (days of awe) which also call for the cessation of Melacha at least to some degree,[16] was unique, and the manner in which Jews approach Shabbat becomes altered once other days of the year are also designated for the cessation of the pursuit of one’s livelihood. Furthermore, the symbolism of Shabbat which originally exclusively represented our acknowledgement of God’s Completion of Creation, changes with the evolution of the Jewish people and its history—in the version of the Ten Commandments recorded in Shemot 20:10 “Shabbat” is associated with the theme of God Resting is invoked, while Devarim 5:14 emphasizes Shabbat’s reflecting the lessons learned from the enslavement in Egypt. Could the Tora’s invocation of Shabbat within the context of other Jewish holy days in Shemot 34 and VaYikra 23 emphasize the differences and similarities intrinsic to these respective days, i.e., the common denominator between them is a commitment to sacrificially set aside personal pursuit of livelihood and self-advancement in order to demonstrate and reflect upon our devotion to God, even as the focus of our  contemplation during these various days are different spiritual themes—our creaturehood in light of God’s Creation (Shabbat), God’s Intervention in Jewish history (Moadim), and the necessity for us to reflect upon our merits and demerits and strive to improve our level of Mitzva performance and relationship to the Divine (Yamim Noraim)?

[2] Tosafot on Kiddushin 70b, d.h. “Kashim Geirim” notes that the Tora states in 24 (alternate readings substitute “36” or “46” for this number) places that one is not to oppress Geirim  (lit. sojourners; in this context, converts to Judaism). From such repeated insistence it can be inferred that observing this Mitzva is simultaneously important and challenging—if it were so easy to comply with this directive, why does it have to be revisited again and again? By implication, a similar conclusion could be reached regarding the observance of Shabbat.

[3] R. Hirsch’s focusing upon the term Shabbaton is given particular resonance in light of RaMBaN’s comments on VaYikra 23:24, partially cited in fn. 8 below, where the medieval commentator defines this word as representing the positive Commandment that is fulfilled on Shabbat by not doing Melacha.

[4] R. Hirsch’s terminology with regard to man’s mandate to conquer the world stems from one of the blessings Bestowed by God upon Adam and Chava:

Beraishit 1:28

And God Blessed them and He Said to them: Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and conquer it, and rule over the fish of the sea and over the bird of the air and over every living thing that moves on the earth.

Although following the Flood, man is given permission to rule over animal life to the point where even its consumption as food becomes possible, 

Beraishit 9:3

Every moving thing that lives, it will be food for you, like the green grass I have Given to you everything,

at the time of Beraishit 1:28, only plant life was permitted to be eaten. Consequently, R. Hirsch had to originally define “conquest” in a more limited manner, than what it eventually could be interpreted to connote:

Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on Beraishit 1:28

“Kivshuha” (and conquer it) is property: the mastering, appropriating and transforming the earth and its products for human purposes (short of treating animal life as food). This acquirement of property is a preliminary necessity for the preceding tasks of home and society which require it as the means for accomplishing them. This makes the acquisition of property itself into a moral duty. But as this preliminary duty is mentioned last (“Peru” [be fruitful] = marriage; “Revu” [multiply] = children, family; “Milu” [fill] = society) it gives it its limitation as having a moral meaning and importance only if it is devoted to the preceding purposes; only if fortune is sought and acquired to found family and further the needs of social work. But not if the order is reversed and one looks upon marriage and society as the means to acquire property and riches.

[5] By God Deciding that the Creation was completed, and therefore an entire “day” was set aside during which no further creation of aspects of the universe would occur, He Demonstrates that rather than simply Setting into motion the forces of Nature, He Maintains control over them to the extent that He Decides when to initiate their functioning and the consequent progress of Creation, and when to call a halt to them.

[6] Rather than man deciding when to engage in his own creative acts, which serve as a microcosm of God’s Creating the universe, he defers to God’s Schedule and Commandments, also calling a weekly halt to his activities.

[7] Although in a finite sense, observing Shabbat only incorporates adherence to God’s Directives with respect to activities which a person might engage in during the 24+ hour period between Friday evening and Saturday night, R. Hirsch suggests that it symbolizes man’s acceptance of God’s Authority vis-a-vis his activities during the other six days of the week as well. Consequently, it becomes the most overarching statement of man’s readiness to subject himself to God’s Law and Will.

[8] It is interesting that R. Hirsch understands the significance of Shabbat with regard to what he considers its centrality in Jewish life from the negative rather than positive perspective, i.e., more important than the positive aspects of Shabbat observance, e.g., Kiddush, Seudot (festive meals), Zemirot (songs of praise), Neirot (lit candles), Tefilla (prayer) etc., is the prohibition against performing creative activity. And although the considerable sacrifice entailed in desisting from one’s profession or occupation for an entire day each week is certainly obvious, from another perspective a case could be made that Mitzvot Aseh (positive Commandments) trump Mitzvot Lo Ta’aseh (negative Commandments) in terms of their respective spiritual significance. One commentator makes such a claim in his presentation of the Commandment of Shabbat:

RaMBaN on Shemot 20:8

…It is also true that the attribute of Zachor (remembering; this is the language that is used in the first version of the Ten Commandments in Shemot 20:8) is represented by a positive Commandment (“remembering” suggests positive pro-action rather than avoidance of objectionable action implied by “guard against”) and issues forth from the emotion of love extending to the attribute of mercy, for he who does his master’s command is beloved by him and his master shows him mercy. But the attribute of Shamor (observing, Devarim 5:12) is represented by a negative Commandment, which extends to the attribute of justice and issues forth from the emotion of fear, for he who guards himself from doing anything which does not please his master does so out of fear of him. It is for this reason that a positive Commandment is greater than a negative Commandment, just as love is greater than fear, for he who fulfills and observes the will of his master with his body and his possessions is greater than he who guards himself from doing that which is not pleasing to him. This is why the Rabbis have said (Shabbat 132b, etc.) that a positive Commandment overrides a negative Commandment (when both are inherent in the same action—a classic example discussed in Yevamot 4b is the reason why the Commandment of not wearing Sha’atnez [mixtures of wool and linen] is placed immediately next to the Command to wear Tzitzit [Devarim 22:12-13]. The Talmud suggests that the juxtaposition [Semichut HaParshiot] of these two Commandments comes to teach that in the event that one has a linen four-cornered garment and woolen fringes, one can attach the fringes to the garment despite the prohibition against Sha’atnez since the positive Commandment of wearing Tzitzit overpowers the negative Commandment of avoiding Sha’atnez)…

Extending RaMBaN’s understanding of the spiritual significance of positive as opposed to negative Commandments to the Mitzva of Shabbat, one would then conclude that it is not the avoidance of Melacha, i.e., the negative aspect of Shabbat, that is key, but rather all of the positive actions that are associated with Shabbat that contain Shabbat’s true spiritual meaning.

Perhaps R. Hirsch would respond that the negative Commandment of Shamor  that is associated with Shabbat  is intrinsically different from other negative Commandments designed to separate a Jew from particular objects or activities. Whereas one could contend that non-Kosher foods might have something about them that is at least metaphysically objectionable, and that the act of stealing another’s property is inherently an evil act, performing Melacha in the pursuit of one’s livelihood is not only devoid of such negative connotations, but is even a Mitzva, i.e., a religiously positive act, most of the time—the Tora’s statements to the effect that “Six days you shall work, perform creative activity” (see the verses dealing with “Shabbat” cited at the beginning of this essay) could be viewed not only as the granting of permission to engage in productive labor, but as a Commandment to do so! Therefore when one is told to cease doing Melacha on Shabbat, it is not so much to separate from something evil, as to create the context whereby the positive Commandments of Shabbat can be performed that much more fully and meaningfully. Furthermore, not performing Melacha on Shabbat is viewed by RaMBaN as being interdicted by both a negative as well as a positive Commandment. 

RaMBaN on VaYikra 23:24   (The commentator is accounting for the usage in the verse of “Shabbaton” by itself, as opposed to the more typical “Shabbat Shabbaton”.)

That it will be a day of cessation of Melacha to rest in it. And the Rabbis interpret (Shabbat 24a): “’Shabbaton’ is a positive Commandment.”  And behold a person who performs “Melacha” on “Yom Tov” transgresses a negative Commandment as well as fails to fulfill a positive Commandment. And one who rests on it, fulfills a positive Commandment…

Although RaMBaN is commenting above on a verse that deals with Rosh HaShana, his citation of Shabbat 24a, combined with the term “Shabbaton” appearing in verses that concern Shabbat rather than Yom Tov (see Shemot 16:23; 31:15; 35:2) allow one to understand resting on Shabbat as also the fulfillment of both types of Commandments. Whenever a Mitzva manifests itself in both positive and negative forms, it is an indication of its centrality and significance.

Naturally there is an element of paradox when one conceptualizes the absence of action as not only compliance with instructions to desist from action, but also as a “positive fulfillment” of some kind. With respect to Shabbat, we confront an instance of a Mitzvat Aseh that is accomplished by doing nothing! Nevertheless, such a definition allows us to avoid pitting the prohibition against doing Melacha against the obligation to make Kiddush, light candles, etc. and rather see it as a complete entity in itself, encompassing both positive and negative elements simultaneously.

[9] “Dialectic”—…the method of logic used by Hegel and adapted by Marx to his materialist philosophy; it is based on the concept of the contradiction of opposites (thesis and antithesis) and their continual resolution using dialectic. (Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language, College Edition, The World Publishing Co., Cleveland, 1966, p. 404.)

[10] A distinction ought to be made between actually observing the laws of Shabbat each weekday, and keeping Shabbat in mind throughout the week. The Rabbis mention two different manifestations of how one should keep Shabbat in mind continually:

Beitza 16a

It was taught: They related concerning Shammai, the Elder [that] all his life he ate in honor of the Sabbath. [Thus] if he found a well-favored animal he said, Let this be for the Sabbath. [If afterwards] he found one better favored he put aside the second [for the Sabbath] and ate the first. But Hillel the Elder had a different trait, for all his works were for the sake of heaven, for it is said: (Tehillim 68:20) “Blessed be the Lord, day by day.” It was likewise taught: Beth Shammai say: From the first day of the week [prepare] for the Sabbath; but Beth Hillel say: “Blessed be the Lord, day by day.”

Mechilta on Shemot 20:8

R. Yitzchak says: You should not count the days of the week as others count them. Rather you should count them with reference to Shabbat.

                RaMBaN on Shemot 20:8

…The meaning of this is that other nations count the days of the week in such a manner that each is independent of the other. Thus they call each day by a separate name…But Israel counts all of the days with reference to Shabbat “one day after the Shabbat”, “two days after the Shabbat”…

Consequently, even though one only actually avoids Melacha, as well as fulfills positive Commandments such as lighting candles, reciting Kiddush etc., on one day each week, Shabbat should nevertheless remain on one’s mind throughout. Perhaps one can say that this goes beyond simply physically preparing for Shabbat and invoking Shabbat in one’s conversation, but also remaining conscious of Shabbat’s symbolism and implications, not only when one actually rests, but even while one is engaged in creative work.

[11] A support for the dialectical approach that the Rav suggests can be found in the Midrash Halacha on the Ten Commandments in Shemot:

Mechilta D’Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai on Shemot 20:9 (cited in R. Menachem Kasher, Tora Shleima, Parshat Yitro, p. 69, and further explicated in the addendum to that volume, p. 242 ff.)

“Six days you will work”—Rebbe says: This is another decree (i.e., Divine Directive, Mitzva). Just as Israel is commanded regarding the positive Commandment of  Shabbat,* so too it is commanded with respect to “Melacha” (i.e., that there is a positive Commandment to engage in creative activity when it is not Shabbat).**

* This would appear to be a reference to the positive aspect of the act of desisting from “Melacha”, i.e., “Shabbaton”, discussed by RaMBaN, and cited in fn. 8 above.

** In his addendum essay, “Sheishet Yamim Ta’avod” (Tora Shleima, Parshat Yitro, Section 14, p. 142) R. Kasher suggests that the reason why Rebbe interpreted “Six days you shall work” in this manner is because it is otherwise difficult to account for the repetition of this phrase 8 different times: Shemot 16:26; 20:9-10; 23:12; 31:15; 34:21; 35:2; VaYikra 23:3; Devarim 5:13. It’s one thing to repeat the Commandment of “Shabbat” but why stress so many times the idea of working for six days, unless this too is a Commandment.

[12] 1) Belief in God; 2) Prohibition against idolatry; 3) Prohibition against taking God’s Name in vein; 4) Remembering Shabbat; 5) Respecting parents.

[13]             Shemot 20; Devarim 5                                                       VaYikra 19

                1) Belief in God                                                                    19:2

                2) Prohibition against idolatry                                           19:4

                3) Prohibition against taking God’s Name in vein           19:12

                4) Remembering/Observing “Shabbat”                           19:3

                5) Respecting parents                                                         19:3

                6) Do not murder                                                                 19:16                                                                    

                7) Do not engage in sexual immorality                             19:20, 29

8) Do not steal                                                                      19:11

9) Do not testify falsely                                                       19:11

10) Do not covet                                                                  19:18(?)

[14] Shemot 34:18 ff.              Pesach

                   34:21                   Shabbat

                   34:22                   Shavuot, Sukkot

[15] VaYikra  23:3                     Shabbat

                    23:5 ff.                Pesach

                    23:16 ff.              Shavuot

                    23:24 ff.              Rosh HaShana

                    23:27 ff.              Yom HaKippurim

                    23:34 ff.              Sukkot

[16] Although most Melacha is prohibited on these days, the prohibition is not as all-inclusive as on Shabbat. With the exception of Yom HaKippurim when the restrictions are identical to those of Shabbat, activities that are deemed necessary for Ochel Nefesh (lit. consumption of the soul; certain actions involved in food preparation) as well as carrying from one domain to another or within a public domain, and transferring fire, are permitted.

Prophecy Among the Sages

In bBaba Batra 12a, R. Abdimi of Haifa says that once the Temple was destroyed, prophecy was taken from the prophets and given to the Sages.  That later rabbis such as Abbaye, Rava, and R. Ashi sought to prove that claim, and since rishonim and aharonim explicated it, this suggests that they saw this as expressing a continuingly valid Jewish idea. I would like to rehearse some of their ideas, which suggest that in one view, we have continuing access, of sorts, to God’s communication with the world.

Abbaye suggests that he can prove that sages are now repositories of at least some form of prophecy from the fact that sometimes two sages, separated by great distance, arrive at the same idea.  Such “coincidental” discoveries, he seems to be saying, can only occur if God sent this idea to the two scholars.

Rava responds in a way that I think has a very modern tinge, although it is expressed in classical terms.  He dismisses Abbaye’s example by noting that the two might simply be בני חד מזלא, bearers of the same luck, or astrological sign.  It would be easy to read that as saying that they have the same supernatural forces operating on them, but for the well-known fact that we hold אין מזל לישראל, the Jewish people are not controlled by such forces. 

More importantly, I think Rava was anticipating a fact recognized in many circles today, especially science, that intellectual achievements are often already primed to occur, and therefore can be reproduced in multiple places by different scholars.

If so, Rava was saying that perhaps these rabbis were not demonstrating prophecy, but had similar intellectual bents; based on the knowledge they had in front of them, they could reach similar conclusions.

Rava himself suggests a different proof, that occasionally a sage will come up with an idea which we later discover was originally said by R. Akiva.  Considering Rava’s reason for rejecting Abbaye’s proof, his statements shows us something about the Talmudic attitude towards R. Akiva—it was, Rava means us to understand, impossible that a sage had the same “mazal,” the same intellectual background and makeup as R. Akiva, so that coming up with such an idea was proof that it was given to the sage by God, not by ordinary intellectual achievement.

R. Ashi disagrees because, he says, the sage might have had the same “mazal” as R. Akiva for that one topic.  In my translation to modern terms, I think that R. Ashi was saying that R. Akiva’s genius was not in each particular idea he had (so that another sage could, conceivably, have arrived at such an idea on his own, without prophecy), but in the sum total of them.  R. Ashi then argues that the proof of prophecy among sages lies in their occasionally articulating ideas that later turn out to have been given to Moshe Rabbenu directly from God at Har Sinai.

Full Prophecy or Prophecy-Lite?

Some scholars seemed to take the Gemara at face value, saying that sages are really the prophets of our day (and that would seem to apply throughout history).  In the introduction to Halachot Gedolot, Behag juxtaposes a Talmudic saying that ascribes the death penalty for willfully violating Rabbinic law with the saying we have been discussing, that says that sages, post-Temple, have prophecy. Behag does not explain further, but I think he meant to imply that since the Sages are the closest thing to prophets we now have, violating their words incurs the same penalty that violating a prophet’s words would, death at the hands of Heaven.  In another passage, Hovot haLevavot characterizes the highest levels of achievement in any discipline as akin to prophecy.

In his commentary to Baba Batra, Ramban makes a point about this passage that I think both goes far to putting it in the kinds of modern terms we are able to accept, but also serves as a reminder of the awe in which we need to hold Torah scholars and—at least according to Hovot haLevavot—those who excel in many other disciplines besides.

Ramban assumes that the Gemara does not mean Torah scholars now have prophecy in its classic sense of a vision or dream, of a direct communication from God; that was lost with the destruction.  In his view (and Hatam Sofer expands on it in his commentary), ordinary intellectual efforts only take us so far, and that is not prophetic.  The greats of Torah, however (and, perhaps, of all disciplines), arrive at ideas that are such a jump from what had come before, we can only see it as having an element of prophecy—or, better said, Divine spirit– to it.

I don’t know if the analogy is fully apt, but it seems to me similar to the concept of “prior art” in current patent law.  Patents are not awarded for discoveries already latent in the existing literature of that discipline; as my wife once told me, “prior art” means that if we were to take all the existing human knowledge on a topic, put it on scraps of paper in a room, and it would lead ineluctably to some idea, that idea is not patentable. It is for leaps of intuition, advances that were not already obvious, that the US offers patents.  I think Ramban is saying that is what the Gemara is calling the prophecy given the sages.

If so, the Gemara is actually two-pronged, giving us a sense of continuing prophecy, but not of the kind that we see as “real” prophecy; for the sages, their prophetic realizations will only come within pre-existing discussions.  A Torah scholar can, on occasion, be inspired with an idea we could not have imagined, but is limited to doing so within the purview of topics he encounters in his studies.

The Prophecy of Children and Those Not in Their Right Minds

Once we see that the prophecy of sages did not mean the exact experience of prophets, another Talmudic statement about prophecy becomes more understandable. In contrast to R. Abdimi of Haifa, R. Yohanan declared prophecy to have been given to שוטים (delicately, those not in their right minds) and children.  In the Gemara, it is not clear whether R. Yohanan is adding to R. Abdimi or contradicting him.  Either way, we are left to understand what that would mean and how it would work. 

Torat Hayyim, an early 17^th century Talmud commentator, writes that this statement explains the occasional Talmudic practice of turning to a child and asking for the verse of Scripture he learned that day, and then applying the verse to the questioner’s situation (incidentally, a practice Rema Yoreh Deah 179:4 allows today). 

Since prophecy was taken from prophets and given to children, Torat Hayyim says, this is a way of accessing that prophecy.  Note, though, his assumption that the prophecy is not a conscious process for the child, but that the words that will come out of a child’s mouth, in certain circumstances, will be those we are meant to hear.  That leaves us with the challenge of knowing which words we are to take as prophecy and which not, a challenge that continues when we turn our attention to the other Talmudically-designated “prophets,” those not in their right minds.

Torat Hayyim suggests that this is part of the punishment of the loss of prophecy. That is, since we so long ignored the messages of the prophets, who were impressive and worthy people, God took those messages and put them in the mouths of those who seem wholly unfit.  While we might struggle with the idea that someone who is not fully sane would be a prophet—for example, Rashba rejected a late 13^th century claim of prophecy partially because the putative prophet was so obviously unworthy of it—it does suggest Torat Hayyim’s view that sometimes our punishment is to have the truth become less accessible rather than more.  Not all that an insane person will say will be prophecy, but some of it might be.

Along similar lines, Hatam Sofer suggests that God’s goodness is so great that even with the loss of prophecy, God continues sending messages to people. When ordinary people receive those communications, they ignore them (or refuse to say them out loud), for fear of seeming so odd or out of line with the mainstream (not Hatam Sofer’s casual assumption that the messages God really wants us to hear will be out of the mainstream).

The only ones willing to say what comes to their minds are those who always speak so, who are often out of touch with what polite company allows, those we call crazy.

It’s Out There, Although Harder to Notice

Hatam Sofer challenges us to consider whether God might be communicating with us more often than we would like to admit, that in our certainty that we know what God really wants, our readiness to reject truths that are too far from how we view the world, we lose the opportunity to hear what God actually wants us to hear.

In sharing these ideas with my class at the Webyeshiva, an attendee noted that some people claim that autistic savants (particularly in Jerusalem) are revealing exactly such prophecies.  Certainly the Gemara and Hatam Sofer would urge us to be alert to the possibility; at the same time, the Gemara does not claim that all the words of those not in their right minds will be prophecy, only that they might be.

We are left with the challenge of all times of hester panim, of God’s hidden face.  The Gemara would seem to be telling us that even now, even in these times, God is still communicating.  While there was a time when God did so relatively directly—although even then, we found ways to deny the truth or accuracy of the prophets bearing those messages—now the messages come in packages that make it all that much harder to distinguish which are from God and which are childish or mad ravings.

It reminds me of a scene from Field of Dreams, where a young Doc Graham is standing at the plate, and an older ballplayer is giving him advice about the kind of pitch to look for. They agree that it’s likely to be outside, but that he had better be on the lookout for “in his ear.” 

The Gemara in Baba Batra, I suggest, is reminding us that while most of the statements of the sages will be ordinary intellectual accomplishments, most children’s ramblings will be just the cute process of growing to adulthood, and most pronouncements of those challenged with mental illness will be “high and outside,” not requiring any more than the ordinary attention they each deserve in their own context, we had better be on the lookout for “in our ear,” for truths God is trying to get us to hear, even in this time bereft of the more direct contact we would prefer, and for whose return we long.

In a recent article in Tradition (Summer 2010, 42:1) – now available for free download - R. Daniel Stein challenges Hazon Ish’s rejection of a particular definition of bittahon, trust in God.  A closer reading of the sources R. Stein references to prove his point shows that the topic raises thorny questions of when and how a completely new belief can come to be accepted as Jewishly plausible.

In his work Emuna u-Bittahon, Hazon Ish had argued against the view that “intense and unwavering trust in God can [itself] produce favorable results,” as R. Stein summarizes it.[1] In fact, Hazon Ish not only argued against it, he called it “an old misconception rooted in the hearts of many.”[2] “Misconception” means, we should note, that Hazon Ish was rejecting the reasonableness of any Jew believing that trust works this way, not just expressing his own view of the issue.

To be sure that we understand what is at stake: All traditional Jews value bittahon, trust that God runs the world in such a way that, at least in the long run, will guide it to the victory of the righteous and defeat of the wicked.  Further, all traditional Jews see trust as a merit that contributes to overall good outcomes for that person (whether in this world or in the next).  Just as the observance of the mitzvot redounds to a Jew’s good fortune, so, too, does that Jew’s trust in God.

The definition of trust, though, is unclear.  Can or should a Jew trust that, in the near and discernible future, s/he will see the positive fruits of bittahon, that those fruits will become clear in the course of his/her life, or is it more of a general sense that God works the world out as it should, the individual’s role in it never being assured?

Elu Va-Elu In Defining Bittahon

In an essay,[3] mori ve-rabi R. Aharon Lichtenstein understands Hazon Ish to be rejecting even a relatively moderate view of bittahon, which says that a person should approach life with the confidence that Hashem can and will help, unless other factors intervene.  In R. Lichtenstein’s words, this kind of trust is

antinomic, i.e., it contains opposing aspects.  On the one hand, trust demands that a person be convinced that God will assist him; on the other hand, it demands that a person be prepared for a time when, God forbid, help will not be forthcoming.[4]

In the face of his understanding of Hazon Ish, R. Lichtenstein asserts instead that this is a matter on which elu va-elu should apply, with Jews within their rights to adopt either view—that is, either that God works the world out as it should with no particular guarantee or hope for the individual, or that part of bittahon is a certain optimism, that God will likely help those seeking to serve Him.  For R. Lichtenstein, Hazon Ish adopts the first view, and too quickly dismisses the other view, despite clear sources in Hazal and the rishonim that allow for the more optimistic approach, for general confidence that Hashem will treat us well.

It is not for me to weigh in on whether Hazon Ish meant to go as far as R. Lichtenstein understands him to, but R. Stein takes R. Lichtenstein’s point a giant step further.  For R. Stein, even rejecting the view that trust itself can guarantee favorable results improperly erases a legitimate and well-attested opinion in Jewish literature.  For him, “both sides in this debate are legitimate…have solid sources, medieval and more contemporary, and both have, at least historically, been adopted in practice by certain segments of the broader Jewish community.”[5] He thinks this second option is so “widespread, or even traditional” he from then on refers to it as the traditional view.

Reviving our recognition of its Jewish plausibility, he argues, has “theological value,” reminding us that “there are two genuine version of bittahon, an example of our obligation to follow the principle of elu va-elu diveri Elokim Hayyim,” “these and those are the word of the living God.”[6] He then goes on to adduce the rabbinic, medieval and contemporary sources that, in his reading, adopt this “traditional” view.[7]

If I am understanding R. Stein correctly – and if he himself is correct – it would mean that one acceptable reading of Jewish tradition teaches that Jews have the right to assume not just that God will treat them well, but that the fact of their trusting God to do so will itself insure such treatment.  R. Stein further contends that he says Hazon Ish could not have meant his disparagement of this view literally.  Rather, for R. Stein, this was Hazon Ish’s “manner of expressing his strong views on the matter.”

How Old Makes a View Traditional?

I concede that from at least the 16^th century (and perhaps the 15^th, as we will see), major Jewish thinkers have adopted his “traditional” view; the question is whether it goes farther back than that.  Looking at the sources R. Stein cited, I believe, will show that the only way to find rabbinic sources that support this view is by reading them in a manner other than their plainest or simplest one.

If I am right, R. Stein actually forces us to grapple with how to react when radical new ideas enter the conversation of Torah and when to accept them as possibly accurate reflections of a Torah worldview.  To my mind, if rabbis of the 16^th—or even 15^th century—produced a new version of the nature of bittahon, it would more than justify Hazon Ish’s claiming that that is not a legitimate view, characterizing it as a misconception. Hazon Ish would have been saying—not unreasonably, although certainly arguably—that on a question as central to Judaism as the nature of bittahon, there is no reason to believe that we suddenly, in the 15^th century, discovered a completely new perspective of what the word means.

Testing the Sources: The Paradox of Articles

Before we can consider that question, though, I need to show why I see the sources so differently from R. Stein.  And before I embark on that, I want to note something inherently paradoxical about the endeavor: the only way you, the reader, can judge between our perspectives is by going back to those sources and testing whose reading appears more correct.  Since that is a tedious task often outside of the scope of how we intend to spend our time, I think we as readers—I know I do—often fall back on saying, “well, there are two perspectives,” in this case, R. Stein’s and mine.

Except that the argument I am making here precludes that: I am arguing, first, that certainly up to the fifteenth century we have no medieval sources that held what R. Stein calls the traditional view.  Once I have shown that, I will note that the rabbinic sources do not obviously say what the “traditional” view would like them to. If I am right, in other words, R. Stein must be wrong about a significant chunk of what he claimed, which in turn significantly alters how necessary we find it to accept both views and dignify them with the appellation of elu va-elu. But all of this rises and falls on the reading of sources, not on how convincing a presentation I make here.

HaEmunah ve-ha-Bittahon: Does Proper Trust Allow for Unfortunate Outcomes?

As far as I am able to see, R. Stein adduces only three medieval sources for the “traditional” view of bittahon, with many rishonim on the other side.[8] Those three are the 13^th century work ha-Emuna ve-ha-Bittahon, originally attributed to Ramban but, as R. Stein notes, “presently ascribed to another Geronese kabbalist of the same school, R. Jacob ben Sheshet”[9]; Ramban himself in the Commentary on the Torah; and R. Joseph Albo’s Sefer ha-Ikrim. Closer reading shows that neither ha-Emuna ve-ha-Bittahon nor Ramban were adopting this “traditional” position, and there is some question about R. Joseph Albo.

R. Stein excerpts the first paragraph of ha-Emuna ve-ha-Bittahon (the 13^th century work, not Hazon Ish’s similarly named work that started this whole discussion), introducing it by saying that the author “initially characterizes Jacob’s fear prior to his encounter with Esau (Gen 32;8) as representing a lack of bittahon.”  He summarizes by saying

Ha-Emmuna ve-ha-Bittahon apparently believes that a byproduct of absolute bittahon is not only the calming of fear but the negation of fear entirely, most likely because the author understands that bittahon, when utilized fully, assures completely favorable results [emphasis added].

In a footnote, R. Stein concedes that “in later paragraphs of the same essay” the author “implies otherwise,” but chooses this reading because he believes “preference should be given to his explicit statements over vague insinuations.”[10] Fair enough, but the paragraph R. Stein excerpts itself reads explicitly very differently than he would like.

The only way I can show this, however, is by citing it extensively.  I will record the Hebrew and my best attempt at English so that readers can easily check my admittedly imperfect translation skills, and have emphasized in the translation the parts that seem to me most relevant to our discussion.  The paragraph reads in full:

האמונה והבטחון הם שני ענינים שהאחד צריך לחבירו ואין חבירו צריך לו, שהאמונה קודמת לבטחון ומתקיימת בלב המאמין, אע”פ שאין הבטחון עמה ואינה צריכה לו בקיומה, ולפיכך אינה מורה עליו. אבל הבטחון הוא מורה עליה, שאי אפשר לו להיות קודם לה ולא להתקיים בלעדיה. וכל הבוטח יקרא מאמין, אך לא כל המאמין יקרא בוטח. כי האמונה כמו האילן, והבטחון כמו הפרי. והפרי לאות על האילן או על עשב שגדל את הפרי ההוא. ואין האילן או העשב לאות על הפרי, כי יש אילנות שאינם עושים פרי, וכן עשבים הרבה, אבל אין פרי בלא אילן או עשב. וכמו שהחסידות שהיא מורה על החכמה שאי אפשר להיות אלא אם כן היה חכם כמו שאמרו¹ אין בור ירא חטא ולא עם הארץ חסיד. אבל אין החכמה לאות על החסידות, שאפשר שיהא חכם והוא רשע. וכן הבטחון והאמונה: כל הבוטח מאמין, לפי שאין אדם בוטח אלא במי שמאמין בו שהיכולת בידו למלאות שאלתו, ואין כל המאמין בוטח, כי לפעמים ירא שמא יגרום החטא, או שמא קבל כבר על מעשיו הטובים בנסים שעשה לו הבורא. ומאשר מוצא עצמו חוטא ופושע כנגד חסדי הבורא יתברך אינו נושא נפשו לבטוח בו שיצילהו מצרתו, או שיתן לו רצון לבו ותאותו. ועל כן ישתדל בנוהג שבעולם להנצל מצרתו או להשיג שאלתו ובקשתו. ולולא היראה שמא יגרום החטא היה ההשתדלות להנצל אפילו על ידי נוהג העולם חסרון באמונתו, שהרי כתיב² ולא ראיתי צדיק נעזב וזרעו מבקש לחם. ואפילו הלל ורבי חנינא בן דוסא וחבריהם שהיו עניים ביותר³, מעוטי ממון, לא היו נעזבים, לפי שלא קנו נכסים מעולם. שאין לשון עזיבה נופל אלא על מי שהיה סמוך ואחר כך נעזב, אבל מי שלא היה סמוך מעולם אין זה נעזב. ואין העזיבה חנם בלא חטא ובלא עון. על כן לא יתכן שיירא מי שבוטח בעצמו שלא חטא מעולם, אבל הירא מן החטא יתכן שיירא שלא תבא עליו צרה מצד אותו החטא. והיודע בעצמו שהוא צדיק אבל מתכוין למה שאמרו: “היה לך לעזרני”, הרי לבו לשמים, ויפה הוא עושה, ואין זה חסרון באמונה. וכן הירא שמא יגרום החטא, אחר שהוא מאמין שהיכולת בידו, אבל מאשר הוא יודע שאין לפניו משוא פנים, ושהקב”ה יכול לקיים הבטחתו מצד אחר ולגבות חובו מצד אחר, לפיכך ירא שמא יגרום החטא שלא ינצל מצרתו. כמו יעקב אבינו עליו השלום שהבטיחו ה’ ואמר: הנה אנכי עמך⁴, והיה ירא מעשו כדכתיב ויירא יעקב מאד וגו’⁵, והקדימו במנחה, וחצה עבדיו לשני מחנות⁶, והיה ירא שמא יגרום החטא. וכן מצינו בדוד שהיה מאמין לראות בטוב ה’ והיה ירא שמא יגרום החטא, כמו שאמרו ז”ל⁷: מפני מה נקוד על לולא, לפי שהיה ירא שמא יגרום החטא. נמצא כי המאמין יתכן שיירא שמא יגרום החטא, אבל הבוטח אינו ירא שמא יגרום החטא. כמו שאמר דוד: משמועה רעה לא יירא נכון לבו בטוח בה’⁸, ובפסוק אחר אומר: באלהים בטחתי לא אירא⁹.

Faith and trust are two matters, one of which needs the other, but the second does not need the first, for faith is prior to trust and is established in the heart of the believer, even if there is no trust with it, and it does not need it to exist, and therefore does not point towards it. But trust points towards it, for it is impossible to have trust without it [faith] preceding it, and cannot exist without it.  And anyone who trusts is a believer, but not every believer will be called one who trusts.  For faith is like the tree, and trust the fruit.  And the fruit is a sign there is a tree, or a grass [bush?] that grew that fruit.  But the tree or the grass [bush?] is not a sign of a fruit, for there are trees that do not make fruit, and many bushes, but there is no fruit without a tree or a bush.  And just as hasidut [supererogatory piety] demonstrates wisdom, for it is impossible to exist without having been wise, as they said, no boor has fear of sin and no ignoramus becomes a hasid.  But wisdom is not a sign of hasidut, for it is possible to be wise and an evildoer.  And so with trust and faith: everyone with trust is a believer, because one only trusts in one whom he believes has the power to fulfill his requests, but not every believer has trust, for sometimes he is afraid that sin will cause [his hopes to be dashed], or lest he already received [reward] for his good deeds in the miracles the Creator did for him.  And from seeing himself as a sinner as compared to the great kindnesses of the Creator, May He Be Blessed, he does not lift his soul to trust that He will save him from his trouble, or give him the desire of his heart and appetite.  And he will therefore strive in the ordinary custom of the world to be saved from his distress or to achieve his want and desire.  And if not for his fear that sin would cause [God not to act on his behalf], the striving to be saved even by natural means would be a lack of faith, for the verse says “And I have not seen a righteous man abandoned nor his descendants seeking food.” And even Hillel and R. Hanina b. Dosa and their friends, who were extremely ppor, lacking in money, weren’t abandoned, because they never had possessions from the start.  For the term “abandon” applies only to those who had been supported [to a certain level] and were then abandoned, but one who was never supported is not considered abandoned.

And the abandoning does not occur for nothing, without sin or transgression.  Therefore, it is not plausible that one should fear who trusts himself that he never sinned, but one who fears [his own] sin plausibly will fear lest times of trouble should come to him because of that sin. And one who knows himself to be righteous but intends to what they said: “you should have helped Me,” his heart is for Heaven, and he does well, and this is no lack of faith.  And so one who fears lest sin cause [him times of trouble], since he believes that the power is in His hands, but since he knows that there is no concession before Him [meaning: God does not simply ignore wrongs committed] and that the Holy One, Blessed Be He can fulfill His promise on the one hand and collect His debt [punish sin] on the other, therefore is afraid that sin will cause him not to be saved from his time of distress, like our father Jacob peace be on him, whom  God promised and said, “And behold I am with you,” and was afraid of Esau, as it is written “And Jacob was greatly afraid, etc.” and sent him an offering, and split his servants into two camps, and was afraid lest sin cause [a bad outcome].  And so too we find with David who believed he would see the goodness of God and [also] was afraid lest sin cause [punishment], as they said, may their memories be a blessing: “Why are there dots over the word lulei,” because he was afraid lest sin cause.  What we find is that the believer can be afraid lest sin cause [punishment or a bad outcome], but the one who trusts does not fear that sin will cause.  As David said: From a bad report he will not fear, his heart is fully trusting in God, and in another verse said “In God I trusted, I will not fear.”

The more extensive citation lets us see two important differences from R. Stein’s presentation: First, the author’s concern, as he opened this essay, was defining faith and trust—and how they differ– not prescribing the right version of each.  Along the way, he does mention that one who is confident of his complete righteousness should have to trust that God will take care of him; the only permissibility of human striving, for such a person, would be that God wants human beings to make efforts as well.

Aside from that, however, the author is not judging the right and wrongs of bittahon, he is defining the term: bittahon means one who has complete trust that God will produce a certain outcome. Since, however, he fully accepts the claim that one is allowed to worry that sin will cause a different outcome—as was true of Yaakov and, more importantly of David, even as David also had full trust that God’s promises would be fulfilled—it is clear that it is not the trust itself that produces these outcomes, it is God’s promises.

Ha-Emuna ve-ha-Bittahon, in these paragraphs, is not dealing with the power of trust to assure results.  He is struggling with how it can happen that a believing person will lack trust in the future. His answer is that sin can, in fact, legitimately lead to a different future than promised.  If so, it is not implicit that trust does not itself produce a favorable outcome, it is explicit: while the absence of sin obligates trust that God’s promises will come true—again, though, it is not the trust that does it, it is the prior promises combined with the lack of sin—the presence of sin alters the picture.

But if the author held the “traditional” view, why would he not just tell us (and Yaakov Avinu) to work on developing better trust?  The answer is that he did not hold any such view; he was defining terms, and, by definition, trust means confidence that God’s word will come true. There can be valid reasons not to have such confidence, but that person is not then trusting in God (legitimately).

Ramban: Is Living a Life Under Divine Providence the Same as Complete Trust?

This text is so related to the comment of Ramban that we might as well take it up here. R. Stein notes that the “traditional” view would seem to militate against hishtadlut, our working for certain conclusions, since God will bring good to us anyway.  In the course of that discussion, he notes Ramban’s commentary to Vayikra 26:11, which, in R. Stein’s reading,

asserts that bittahon can be self-sustaining, precluding the need for human intervention, as he writes, ‘when the entire people of Israel are perfect in their conduct, their matters are not governed by the laws of nature at all… Rather God will bless their bread and water and remove all manners of sickness from among them… the righteous people who lived during the period of the prophets would conduct themselves in this manner.

Here, too, I do not understand R. Stein’s reading.  Ramban does contemplate the Jewish people—or righteous individuals among them—ignoring nature’s ordinary operations, but that results from religious perfection, not the presence of bittahon. Ramban is claiming—and this is itself striking, a position we could understand R. Hayyim Soloveitchik being hard-pressed to believe, as R. Stein noted in his article—that religious perfection can free us of the need to worry about what we otherwise call nature, but that is much different than the claim that bittahon itself can do so.[11]

There is one more medieval source I have yet to discuss, but since that has complications of its own, I want to delay that analysis for a moment.  So far, I hope I have shown that two of the main medieval sources R. Stein cited do not, in fact, make the claim he was trying to.  This is equally true, I now wish to show, of his claim that the “plain sense” of some rabbinic sources promotes this view.  This is important, because any view recorded in classical sources (and not rejected by them) would seem to be inherently a legitimate religious option, one among the many divrei Elokim Hayyim tradition has bequeathed us.

R. Akiva and Nahum Ish Gam Zu: Paragons of What Kind of Bittahon?

While R. Stein starts with three midrashic comments, I want to turn first to the four Talmudic sources he references, since the hashkafic weight and authority of the Talmud so fully outweighs other sources.  First, he notes the stories about R. Akiva[12] and his teacher, Nahum Ish Gam Zu,[13] where each takes apparently disastrous incidents in stride, only to have it all work out in the end.  As R. Stein notes, Maharal saw these two stories as evincing the power of bittahon. According to Maharal, apparently, the stories worked out well because of the heroes’ bittahon.

This reading is problematic for several reasons, not least of which is another Talmudic story that forced Maharal himself to limit his view of the power of bittahon.  In bBerachot 60a, we hear of Hillel entering his city, hearing a loud cry of misfortune, and confidently asserting that it was not in his house.  Maharal assumes that this was because of his bittahon, his trust, but then notes that this kind of trust protects us only from cataclysmic misfortunes.  Interestingly, while R. Stein includes this in a footnote, he does not see what a limitation this is on the “traditional” view he has been pushing: one of its earliest explicit proponents envisioned it as applying only to calamitous disasters, but that ordinary life would go as it went, regardless of the person’s bittahon.

More significantly, though, Maharal’s reading of the stories—with all due respect—cannot be seen as the simplest intent of those passages.  I say this both because of the internal logic of the presentations as well as because of the lack of anyone having read these stories that way before Maharal.

In terms of internal logic, R. Akiva and Nahum Ish Gam Zu do not, in those stories, assume everything will turn out immediately well, they only assume that it will turn out well in the sense that God wants.  In fact, the Talmud’s citing those stories shows how extraordinary they were, in that the good end became apparent so quickly; mostly, the “good” of God’s operations are not so obvious.  This is particularly clear since both R. Akiva and his teacher met famously horrible ends, full of suffering– are we to believe this demonstrates a failure of their bittahon at later stages of their lives?

R. Stein notes[14] later authorities who argue that, indeed, such events occur only through a failure of bittahon, but that is not reflected in the sources themselves.  Especially since we have no medieval readings of those stories that take them that way, the weight of the logic and the lack of an earlier authority makes Maharal’s position no longer the simplest reading of the stories where they displayed their bittahon.  That does not mean he is wrong, just that he (and those who take his view) cannot point to this source as a proof of their position; they might claim it supports their view, but it does not prove it.

So, too, Hillel may have felt protected from great tragedies, but Ramban has already told us why—he had come to understand that his level of service of God meant he would not be touched by such sorrows.  That is, as I noted before, worlds different than just blindly trusting that God will protect us.

Shabbat Preparations as an Expression of Bittahon

R. Stein also brings up the discussion in bBeitsa 16a regarding Shammai and Hillel’s differing practices regarding preparing Shabbat food.  Shammai, we are told, would put aside any nice portions of food he found for Shabbat; if, later that week, a better portion came along, he would eat the first and put aside the second. Hillel, in contrast, ate food as it came, saying ברוך ה’ יום יום, blessed is the Lord every day.  As Rashi points out there, Hillel had bittahon that God would provide food for Shabbat in its time as well.

R. Stein deems this a good proof for the “traditional” view to the extent that he prefers a different reading of Hillel than even that advanced by Maharal.  Yet this sugya is not about the power of bittahon.  Rather, it is about when or whether we are required to be aware of, and preparing for, Shabbat. While Shammai required thinking of Shabbat all week, so that any good food be set aside, Hillel allowed enjoying God’s bounty as it came, leaving the future for the future.

This is an expression of trust in how the world works, as Rashi points out, but not an assertion about the power of bittahon.  It is not the bittahon that produces the Shabbat food, nor even the person’s merits; rather, Hillel held that God set up the world such that we need not always be worrying about tomorrow’s food.  We can take today’s blessings as they come, and trust that later blessings will come as well.

Midrashic Assertions About Bittahon

R. Stein also cites three passages in Yalkut Shimoni as evidence of this view’s pedigree.  I will come back to the first of those in a moment, since it calls for the lengthiest discussion, but one includes the comment[15] on Tehillim 9:11 “And they… will put their trust in you—based on what? Because You, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You.” However, the only words added by the Midrash are “based on what.”  All the rest is in the original verse.

Unless we understand the verse itself to mean that trust is what produces salvation, the Midrash has not added that to it.  In fact, all the Midrash would seem to be doing is noting the structure of the verse, that the second half explains the experience of the first; since God does not forsake those who seek Him—and forsaking, we should note, is not nearly the same as promising an immediately positive outcome— it leads to trust.  But that could only be the trust of not being forsaken, not the trust of immediate salvation.

So, too, the comment on Psalms 91;2,[16] which R. Stein translates as “If you trust in My Name, your life will stand for you.” The actual language goes, אומר לה’ מחסי ומצודתי בשמי בטחת, חייך שהוא עומד לך, which seems to me to more properly translate as “‘I will say of the Lord who is my refuge and my fortress’—if you trust in My Name, by your life [a form of an oath], it will stand for you.”  Certainly, the Midrash is asserting that the merit of trusting in God’s Name will “stand” for us, but I see no commitment, implied or explicit, as to the time frame within which that “standing” will take place.  As before, bittahon creates merits and merits improve our standing with God and the likelihood of good outcomes—bounded by ordinary issues of theodicy—but the leap to bittahon guaranteeing immediate or near-immediate help is missing.

The Yalkut’s reading of Psalms 31;2 comes closest to what R. Stein seeks.  On a verse that connects relying on God to never being “put to confusion,” the Midrash does say that anyone who trusts in God, God will save that person, giving the examples of Hananiah, Mishael, and Azaryah being saved from the furnace and Daniel from the lions’ den.

The question is whether the phrase “put to confusion” means we can expect immediate salvation, especially since the continuation of the statement points to David as using this as the anchor of this faith, and the Jewish people, too, as having such a promise underlying their existence. In these latter two cases, though, God’s salvation was not always immediately forthcoming; while neither David haMelech nor the Jewish people were ever put to permanent embarrassment or confusion, certainly there were and have been long-lasting and trying stages along the way.

Convincing and Arguable Re-readings of Classical Sources

In sum, the classical sources R. Stein sees as reflecting the “traditional” view do so only in debatable ways.  R. Stein might respond that this is irrelevant, that as long as Maharal has classical sources he can cite, this becomes a view we can think of as being well-grounded in traditional Jewish thought.

The claim would take us too far afield to discuss fully.[17] Briefly, it raises issues of what we can consider legitimate or plausible readings of texts, and what those obligate us to accept as within the traditional corpus.  I believe that here we need not engage in that full discussion, since the only sources for this view are ones that have to be read arguably.

In contrast, for example, when Rambam re-read many verses in Scripture and statements in the Talmud to fit his rationalistic view of the religion, his claims were stronger for several reasons.  First, he was relying on philosophical principles that he believed were eminently clear prior to any reading of Scripture (that would not seem to be true of this version of bittahon). Second, and more importantly, there were other texts in those same literatures that unequivocally made the claims he was making.  Rambam was not trying to convince us to read sources his way; he was noting that unless we read sources his way, we would be faced with internal contradictions about fundamental matters of belief.  This is not the case with the extreme view of bittahon, that trust itself guarantees a good outcome, in the near term.

Back to R. Joseph Albo

Until now, I believe I have shown that the medieval sources do not, in fact, take bittahon as far as his “traditional” view.  I also pointed out that the readings offered by more modern thinkers—such as Maharal and those who came after him—do not render traditional texts in such a convincing way as to seem unarguable.  This is crucial  because without an ironclad classical source, we would have to consider whether what R. Stein refers to as the “traditional” view is actually a newcomer to the world of Jewish thought, with all the questions of legitimacy that come with that.

It is one thing for later thinkers to uncover or rediscover sources—or even just fuller ramifications of sources– that earlier thinkers had failed to emphasize.  It is a much different, and more tenuous, matter for later readers to claim that an earlier source makes a significant claim about the nature of faith that no earlier readers had realized.

Which brings us back to R. Joseph Albo, since a novel theological idea first attested in the fifteenth century is stronger than one first attested in the sixteenth.  As R. Stein translates him, R. Albo writes that if a person “had hoped properly, the hesed [of granting his wish] would not have been withheld by God.”

It is certainly possible that R. Albo meant what R. Stein understands, that God’s interest in performing kindnesses for humanity allows whoever has the right level of hope to get what they desire.  Yet it seems an odd position for him to take, given that he spends the rest of the chapter discussing two other, surer kinds of bittahon.  If trusting that it will come is the only barrier to securing God’s assistance—in a direct and immediate way, like being saved from a furnace— why would anyone doubt that?  Why would it be, as R. Albo himself characterizes it, the least certain of the three kinds of bittahon—surely, after a history in which trusting in God’s kindness is always rewarded, we would come to see it as equally certain as other kinds?

I suggest, therefore, that the words מקוה כראוי—which R. Stein understandably translates as “hopes properly”—actually mean “hopes for proper results.” That is, R. Albo’s presentation becomes significantly more comprehensible if we understand that he does not mean that God’s Attribute of kindness would lead God to give whatever someone truly wants; rather, the attribute is that God gives worthy outcomes, even if the recipient does not fully deserve them.

Bittahon ha-hessed, I am suggesting, is not trust that God will give me wealth, and access to temptations of the flesh, and other unworthy desires, simply because I trust in God.  God will give me those proper and appropriate things for which I long, as a kindness, even if I don’t fully deserve them.

“Proper and appropriate” can often, again, be a far cry from what the “traditional” view of bittahon claims.  If so, R. Albo might be a precursor of Maharal’s view, in that he does argue that bittahon can itself produce the hessed God looks to bestow, but it is not making the strong claim that bittahon itself produces absolutely positive outcomes.  Alternatively, R. Stein is correct, and R. Albo means exactly what he says.

Does Traditional Start in the Fifteenth Century?

Either way, I believe what we have is a view of bittahon that starts, at earliest, in the fifteenth century, and perhaps only in the sixteenth, with Maharal.  Maharal, too, is a significant Jewish thinker, with very broad shoulders, and many might feel that he has the standing to promulgate a major new claim about how God operates in the world.

Granted that he believed he had found classical sources that shared his perspective, we then are faced with this complicated question: does elu va-elu require us to accept such a latecomer to the world of Jewish thought?  Some might say yes, but others (such as, I believe, Hazon Ish) might argue that such ideas about trust in God cannot be posited anew when prior thinkers have dealt with them so often, so fully, and without mentioning this revolutionary version.

To believe in God is to rely on Him, at least in the broad sense that evildoers will not have permanent victory.  But as we try to go further than that, we run into thorny problems of Jewish faith.  Without insisting on a single vision of how God rewards such faith, we can still yet note that one such version—the one Hazon Ish called out as an old misconception rooted in the hearts of many—is a late addition to the group of ideas Jewish thinkers offered as ways of experiencing God in the world.

Some of us may not mind that late provenance, but others, including apparently Hazon Ish, think it raises the specter of a false idea, one God never asked or told us to believe, becoming a cornerstone of people’s view of how God runs the world.  And that, certainly, tests the limits of elu va-elu.

[2] Ibid, p. 41, a quote of Yaakov Goldstein’s translation of Hazon Ish’s Emuna u-Bittahon, titled Faith and Trust, (Jerusalem, Am haSefer, 2008), beginning of ch. 2.

[3] By His Light, Chapter 7, 134-161.

[4] Ibid., p. 154.

[5] Stein, p. 32.

[6] P. 48.  R. Stein notes that R. Aharon Lichtenstein also argued for an elu va-elu approach in his discussion of versions of bittahon; importantly, though, the approaches that R. Lichtenstein was arguing for did not include what R. Stein calls the traditional one.

[7] P. 33.

[8] I note that he claims that Rashi on Psalms 71:1 also says something along those lines, but I was unable to find that Rashi.

[9] P. 35.

[10] P. 35-36, with footnote 14.

[11] In addition, it is not clear to me that Ramban necessarily assumes that all outcomes will be perfect (unless the nation is perfect). When the righteous people in the times of the prophets conducted themselves in this manner, does Ramban mean their lives went with no bumps at all, or only with as many (or fewer) than in a natural life? For example, Ramban says that God removed illnesses from such people—does he necessarily mean all illnesses, or only enough such illnesses that there was no need to feel like a doctor had to be called in? If, for example, twenty percent of ordinary people would get cancer in a certain situation, and these righteous people had only a ten percent rate, and better rates of cure from those cancers, would that suffice for Ramban’s envisioned world? It seems to me it should.

[12] bBerachot 60b.

[13] bTaanit 21a.

[14] p. 39.

[15] Yalkut Shimoni Tehilllim, 643.

[16] Yalkut Shimoni Tehilllim, 842.

[17] I touched on some of these issues in my PhD dissertation, Writing Midrash Avot, available online at the Open Access Project.  As I noted there, the fifteenth century in Spain—and Maharal follows this school—saw the introduction of new rules for what constitutes legitimate readings of texts, treating Talmudic sources in ways that Midrash treated only Biblical ones.  When hermeneutics change, we might question where the resulting readings are theologically binding or even necessarily acceptable as options, regardless of the religiosity and importance of those who offer them.

In Rashi’s telling, hearing that her son had been brought to be killed, and was almost killed, caused her heart to burst, and she to pass away.  R. Kahana wondered how this could be, for a few reasons. 

First, if she knew that Yitzhak was not killed, why would she have still had a heart attack? More significantly, though, R. Kahana reminded us that Hazal (Megillah 14a) assume that Sarah was a neviah, a prophetess, because Hashem tells Avraham to listen to whatever Sarah says.  As R. Kahana added, that would seem to imply that Sarah was not only a neviah, but a greater prophet than Avraham himself! If so, why was the news of the Akedah so shocking to her?

Who Hears the Prophecies God Sends and How Well Do They Hear Them?

In his question, R. Kahana assumed an important aspect of prophecy, this, too, backed up by the Gemara.  In Sanhedrin 89a, based on the verse in Amos 3;7 “For Hashem will not do anything without telling His servants the prophets,” the Gemara assumes that when one prophet receives a prophecy, the other prophets of that generation know of it as well.  If so, we can assume that Sarah would have heard that Avraham had been told to sacrifice his son, and why should she have reacted so tragically?

 R. Kahana’s answer was even more compelling in terms of what it said about prophecy.  He noted that when Hannah wants a son (at the beginning of the book of Shmuel), she promises that, if granted the boy, she would “give him to God all the days of his life.”  Looking back at Bereshit, we see that Hashem commanded Avraham to “offer him up as an olah” on the mountain.

While we all reflexively think of an olah as a burnt offering, R. Kahana suggested that the more salient point is that the entire sacrifice is given to God.  In his reading (and he may have quoted someone else—that is lost in the sands of my memory), Sarah understood God’s command to be akin to Hannah’s promise: Take the boy to a mountain and dedicate him completely to God.  When she heard that Avraham had—if she was right—misunderstood the prophecy so significantly, the shock and fear of her son’s near-death ended her life.

That reading would seem to make another radical assumption, yet one that is also clear in Hazal, that prophets can miss the full ramifications of their prophecies.  Rambam asserts (and I know of no one who disagrees) that prophets immediately understand their visions and what they mean, but Hazal do imply that they may miss other implications of the same prophecy. 

They do so while wrestling with how a human court could ever punish a prophet for suppressing his prophecy.  Their first answer is that the other prophets of the time will know of it, and can bring him to court.  When the Gemara asks, but what if God, as it were, changes His mind, the Gemara says that God would reveal that change of mind as well.  Problematically, though, Yonah is given a prophecy, the people of Ninveh repent, changing God’s decree, and yet Yonah is never informed. 

The Gemara’s answer is, to me, mind-blowing:  The Gemara says that Yonah was not told Ninveh would be destroyed, Yonah was told Ninveh would be overturned (נהפכת), which can be for the good or the bad.  In fact, Ninveh was overturned, by their changing their hearts, their worldview, and their intent for how to act in the future.

Getting back to prophecy—a topic I am currently addressing in a series of shiurim for the Webyeshiva—the Gemara clearly accepts R. Kahana’s possibility, that a prophet can have an accurate prophecy and yet miss some of its implications.  (In the case of Avraham, R. Kahana suggested that the course of the Patriarch’s life, his spending all his time trying to declare God’s presence in the world, led him to be overly alert to dramatic ways of demonstrating his fealty to God; when God said “an olah,” it was, to Avraham, the long-awaited chance to prove just how dedicated he was).

Human Intellect in Reaction to Prophecy

In at least two places, Tosafot add another aspect of human insight in order to utilize prophecy properly.  First, in Yevamot 90b, the Talmud wants to derive a court’s power to abrogate the Torah actively (בקום ועשה) from Eliyahu’s right to do so—by offering a sacrifice on Mt. Carmel outside the Temple, for the needs of the moment.  The Gemara rejects the derivation for reasons other than the fact that Eliyahu was a prophet, which inherently differs from the way a court functions.

Tosafot, bothered by that lacuna, argues that in fact there is no significant difference, since our halachic principle is that a prophet is not allowed to innovate halachically.  While I might have understood that to refer only to halachic claims—whereas a temporary abrogation is an explicitly extra-halachic act—Tosafot assume that, fundamentally, a prophet abrogating the law (for the greater needs of the halachic system) is qualitatively similar to a court doing so.

 In Sanhedrin 89b, Tosafot again makes the same assumption, and goes a step further, entertaining the possibility that Eliyahu himself, on Mt. Carmel, was acting out of his intellectual understanding of what was necessary, not on the basis of an explicit Divine command (Tosafot there actually seems to entertain three possibilities, that God told Eliyahu to offer the sacrifice, that Eliyahu did it on his own and assumed God would cooperate, or that Eliyahu inferred his right to do so from a Scriptural verse).  

At least for Tosafot, then, even prophecy is not completely controlled and communicated by God.  The first steps come from God, where the prophet receives revelation(s) and/or is empowered to perform miracles to establish that he or she is, indeed, a prophet.  Once so certified (and I have a more whimsical version of this certification process in my book Cassandra Misreads the Book of Samuel), the prophet gains certain rights, such as the right to have ordinary Jews listen to him or her (with exceptions, notably if the prophet tells us to worship any power other than God). 

 Yet even that prophet, in line with what we have seen here, may not fully realize what it is that God was telling him or her.  In the prime example, the people of Ninveh would seem to have found a meaning in the prophecy that came their way that even their prophet had missed.

Accept R. Kahana’s vort or not, then, the Gemara’s clear assumption suggests that even prophecy was not always as unequivocal as we might want it to be.  We might long for the time when we could consult with a prophet about matters great or small—the paradigm for this being Shmuel haNavi, who was apparently even responsible for helping Jews find their lost donkeys—but we should not think that the prophet would be there to tell us exactly what to do in every situation in life.

The case of Yonah and, perhaps, Avraham at the Akedah show us that even when we do consult, even when we do receive a prophetic message, we still need to be sure we understand all its possible ramifications, so that we not miss a more positive, more pleasant, and easier way of reaching the future that God wants.

Growing up, I remember finding עבודה זרה a totally foreign concept— we were supposed to believe that many years ago, benighted and backward peoples believed that stones and statues and trees could control their lives, and worshiped them to secure better outcomes. And we Jews, with a tradition of rejecting idolatry going back to Avraham Avinu, did not do that.  We did not bow down to figures or icons, which freed ourselves about having to worry about that whole sensitive area.

As I got older, the questions became more complex, since there are world religions today that are at least questionably close to fitting the halachic categories of עבודה זרה. For a simple example, when Buddhists bow to statues of the human founder of their belief system, the halachic ramifications of that bowing depend significantly on how the person expresses his or her attachment to Buddhism.  Some bow to the statue—and Buddhists themselves use the word ‘worship’ for what they are doing– “only” מאהבה, as an expression of love and respect (which is not acceptable in halachah, but is significantly less serious than actual idol worship), but some expressions of what that worship seem to me to be full-fledged idolatry, with all the halachic ramifications that ensue. 

If my understanding of Buddhism is deficient, I know that some versions of Feng Shui, the Chinese practice of arranging furniture to produce a better energy in a room, speak explicitly of it as a way to get good spirits (actual metaphysical forces) to come to that space, and keep bad or evil spirits away.  I remember once buying a book about the practice, out of curiosity, and realizing that it was real, actual idol worship.

Those examples may resonate with some readers, but may seem rather distant to those who have no interest in Eastern philosophies, and I did not come to delve into that, only to note that even the forms of idol worship that we might have assumed we had left in the past still exist today. 

Idolatry That’s Much Closer to All of Our Hearts

More interesting to me, though, and more directly applicable to those who live in Western societies, is the question of whether Jews’ belief in science can become so engrossing as to fit the category of idolatry as well.  By offering a few supporting details for that claim, I hope to accomplish two goals: 1) to remind myself and others that God’s prohibition of idolatry went further than just bowing down to explicit forms of religious worship, and 2) secondarily but not less importantly, to raise the possibility that we often lose sight not just of minutiae of Torah, but of significant, fundamental propositions of Torah (in this case, the nature of idolatry that we have to avoid).  If so, part of our teshuvah process, this and every year, should be to recheck ourselves as to whether we’ve gone astray not only in failing to live up to our ideals, but also in forgetting what those ideals should be—and, again, not just in small or ancillary details.

No Luddite or Technophobes We Jews Be

Let us start by reminding ourselves of our long tradition of embracing the clear conclusions of science, those that note generally recurring patterns in the world’s operation, and structuring our lives accordingly. Thus, Abbaya and Rava tell us, Shabbat 67a, that anything that has actual medicinal value cannot be prohibited as imitating the ways of idol-worshipping nations.  So, too, when Rambam notes that we do not follow the opinion of R. Matya b. Harash (Yoma 83a), he distinguishes between a form of healing that is natural and one that depends on a סגולה, which I understand to mean operates in a way that is not identifiably natural.  Natural means of healing are permissible always; once we leave nature, we might be treading in dangerous territory.

That would seem to leave science wide open, since science explicitly seeks to be empirical, to study nature’s modes of operation.  In many if not most cases, when science operates within those parameters, that is absolutely true, and Jews may or must follow the conclusions of scientific study.  It is for that reason that so many Jews have found the sciences, medicinal or otherwise, a congenial occupation, since the study of how God set up the world, and the rules that generally govern its operation, is a perfectly acceptable—perhaps even meritorious—activity for a believing Jew, one more path to understanding the great wonders of God.

Idolatry Without the Bowing

But there is a simple halachah recorded by Rambam—taken from a Mishnah in Sanhedrin—that gives room for further consideration.  When listing those sins whose egregious and public flouting could lead a court to administer the death penalty of stoning, the Mishnah includes עבודה זרה, which it then defines to include (7;6), “sacrificing, offering incense, libating, bowing, or accepting it as lord or saying to it ‘you are my god.’”  Rambam’s Laws of Avodah Zarah, 3;4, codifies this idea as it sounds, that accepting anything other than God as one’s god is a crime, punishable by stoning.

In the first two chapters of those laws, I note, Rambam had made clear that this is not limited to statues and other completely ineffective aspects of the world.  As he put it in the beginning of the second chapter, the “essential commandment of idolatry is not to worship anything created, not an angel, not a heavenly sphere, not a star…” It was not, I stress, that Rambam (at least as he presents it in the משנה תורה) did not think that these parts of creation had any power; rather, even if God had delegated some control to them, it was prohibited to worship them.

And Rambam reminds us that idolatrous belief did not have to exclude a belief in God.  Rather, Rambam explicitly includes the worship of subordinate powers as an example of idolatry, even granting that God created those subordinate powers.

One more misconception about idol worship might be the sense that the idolater conceives of the focus of worship as a conscious being of some sort, so that the worship will influence it to act better towards the worshipper, but this also seems untrue.  For only one proof, the fact that simply accepting any power as one’s god (even not in its presence—that is the distinction the Talmud draws between מקבלו עליו לאלוה, accepting it as a god, and saying אלי אתה, saying ‘you are my god.’) shows that it is not the expectation of a response that makes something idolatry, it is also the underlying attitude the person brings to it.

How Much Belief in Science Is Going Too Far?

Which brings us to the complicated case of nature and science.  To the extent that a Jew believes that God runs the world through a general pattern of occurrences we call Nature—and without in any way judging whether Ramban is right that these are all miracles, but regular ones, or that these are laws of Nature, as Rambam would seem to have them—there is no objection or worry of idolatry.

But what happens if a Jew shades over—as many prominent non-Jewish scientists do today; most recently, Stephen Hawking, who announced that scientists’ understanding of the laws of physics precludes the existence of God—into believing that science necessarily limits the power of God? That is not the same, let me stress, as saying that science defines the way the world almost always works, or even the way the world works 99.9% of the time; the difference between 99.9% and 100%, though, crucially divides a believing stance from one that seems to me dangerously close to accepting science לאלוה, as the power that runs one’s life.  If one comes to believe that God cannot abrogate the laws of science as we know them, God forbid, I personally think that is indistinguishable from accepting some worship as an אלוה, as a god, and would put the person believing that in the category of an  עובד עבודה זרה, although probably as a שוגג, doing so without full understanding.

This past summer, I had the following startling experience: In the course of a conversation with a group of serious, committed Jews, I mentioned my understanding that it was a necessary part of Orthodox belief to accept the possibility of miracles. Asked for an example, I offered the following scenario: if a person, God forbid, is ill, and medical science (which, I stressed, a patient in our times must consult) has no tools left to heal the person, that person—and all other Jews as well—must nonetheless believe in the possibility of a miraculous recovery. Not the necessity, not the likelihood, but the possibility.

To my surprise and distress, just about everyone else in the conversation—and, I repeat, these were highly dedicated Jews– seemed shocked by the idea.  It was clear to them that the world operates solely by the laws of Nature, and there is no possibility for it to operate otherwise.

From my perspective, this ignores the lessons of the Exodus from Egypt, one of the points of which was to firmly and permanently fix the belief in a God Who can, whenever circumstances are right, change Nature, even radically.  (Some will say Rambam disagrees with this idea; I believe they are completely wrong, but do not have the space to prove that point here).

If I am right, many, many Orthodox Jews are unwittingly violating the prohibition against עבודה זרה, since the belief in science in many segments of the Jewish community extends to believing that science shows the limits of what God can or cannot do, as Stephen Hawking said it years ago in his A Brief History of Time.  I say unwittingly because I don’t think they realize that this belief is exactly a form of idolatry, and ignorance of the law does, in most cases, change a person’s halachic status from a willful violator to an unintentional one. But even unintentional sins require atonement.

A Missing Piece of Our Teshuvah

Which brings me to the teshuvah aspect of this discussion.  If I am right in my thought process so far, it would mean not only that many Jews are committing a serious sin without realizing it, but that they are also struggling to repent their sins without realizing one major area calling for rectification.  And not just an ordinary sin, but one of the central concerns of the Torah, the sin the Prophets spent pretty much all of the first Temple period trying to uproot!  And if many of us are still violating that basic prohibition, how many other sins are we accumulating without even realizing them?

A central challenge of this time of year, then, is not only to regret that which we know we do wrong, but to search as thoroughly as we can, to try to educate ourselves as much as we can, to be more familiar with what Judaism wants of us, what God has demanded of us, so that we can at least know more fully where we have failed – knowingly or not—and work to repair our relationship with God from a state of full understanding of where that relationship currently stands.

The Philosophical Telos

One important authority who has discussed this issue is the רמב”ם. He has a rather lengthy discussion regarding the teleology of the הלכה in the מורה נבוכים. The following are some of the highlights.

מורה נבוכים ג:כז (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

כונת כלל התורה שני דברים: והם תיקון הנפש ותיקון הגוף. אמנם, תיקון הנפש הוא שיתנו להמון דעות אמיתיות כפי יכלתם; ומפני זה יהיה קצתם בפירוש וקצתם במשל, שאין בטבע ההמון לסבול השגת הענין ההוא כפי מה שהוא. ואמנם תיקון הגוף יהיה כתיקון ענייני מחייתם קצתם עם קצתם …

ודע ששתי הכוונות האלה  האחת מהן בלא ספק קודמת במעלה. והוא תיקון הנפש, רוצני לומר: נתינת הדעות האמיתיות. והשנית קודמת בטבע ובזמן, רוצני לומר: תיקון הגוף; והוא הנהגת המדינה ותיקון ענייני אנשיה כפי היכולת. וזאת השנית היא הצריכה יותר תחילה, והיא אשר הפליג לדקדק בה ולדקדק בחלקיה כולם, מפני שאין יכולת להגיע אל הכוונה הראשונה אלא אחר שיגיעו אל השנית הזאת …

והתורה האמיתית אשר בארנו שהיא אחת ושאין זולתה, והיא תורת משה רבינו, אמנם באה לתת לנו שתי השלמיות יחד, תקון ענייני בני אדם קצתם עם קצתם בהסיר העוול ובקנות המדות הטובות המעולות, עד שתתכן עמידת אנשי הארץ והתמדתם על סדר אחד להגיע כל אחד מהם אל שלמותו הראשון, לתיקון האמונות, ונתינת דעות אמתיות כאשר יגיע השלמות האחרון. וכבר כתבה התורה ב׳ השלומיות, והגידה אלינו שתכלית אלו התורות כולם היא להגיע אליהם …  

The general object of the Law is twofold: the well-being of the soul, and the well-being of the body. The well-being of the soul is promoted by correct opinions communicated to the people according to their capacity. Some of these opinions are therefore imparted in a plain form, others allegorically: because certain opinions are in their plain form too strong for the capacity of the common people. The well-being of the body is established by a proper management of the relations in which we live one to another…

Of these two objects, the one, the well-being of the soul, or the communication of correct opinions, comes undoubtedly first in rank, but the other, the well-being of the body, the government of the state, and the establishment of the best possible relations among men, is anterior in nature and time. The latter object is required first; it is also treated [in the Law] most carefully and most minutely, because the well-being of the soul can only be obtained after that of the body has been secured. For it has already been found that man has a double perfection: the first perfection is that of the body, and the second perfection is that of the soul…

The true Law, which as we said is one, and beside which there is no other Law, viz., the Law of our teacher Moses, has for its purpose to give us the twofold perfection. It aims first at the establishment of good mutual relations among men by removing injustice and creating the noblest feelings. In this way the people in every land are enabled to stay and continue in one condition, and every one can acquire his first perfection. Secondly, it seeks to train us in faith, and to impart correct and true opinions when the intellect is sufficiently developed. Scripture clearly mentions the twofold perfection, and tells us that its acquisition is the object of all the divine commandments…. (Translation: M. Friedländer)

This רמב”ם is consistent with the רמב”ם’s greater philosophies on health, beliefs, and טעמי המצוות. He writes in various places in חלק ג’ of his מורה נבוכים that the reason for God’s commanding several מצוות was to prevent us from ingesting unhealthy foods or practicing something not conducive to good health. The רמב”ם maintains that non-kosher food is prohibited since it is unhealthy and repulsive, as he writes later in the מורה:

“כי כל מה שאסרתו התורה עלינו מן המאכלים— מזונם מגונה.”[1]

Additionally, the רמב”ם maintains that the purpose of other Scriptural commands is to eradicate incorrect beliefs and character traits and inculcate correct ones. One need not look further than ג:לה of the מורה for confirmation of these statements. There, the רמב”ם writes that the point of most מצוות is to establish and perpetuate specific principles—both general philosophical ones and ones specific to Jewish Divine worship—throughout the nation.[2] As a leading medical and philosophical authority, it is not surprising that the רמב”ם should adopt this specific teleology of the הלכה.

A Methodological Difficulty

It seems at this point that we have found the answer to our question according to the רמב”ם. For him, the telos of הלכה is twofold: to perfect ourselves both physio-biologically and religio-ethically. However, there is a very large difficulty with this רמב”ם. To understand this question, we must first ask another question: What does it mean to say that something is the goal of the הלכה? What implications does it carry? The answer to this question is related back to the הלכה itself and its inner workings and mechanisms. The question of “what is the telos of the הלכה?” is identical with that of “what is the most important consideration of the הלכה?” We now have the background to understand the aforementioned challenge to the רמב”ם, which is that we do not find that the הלכה cares about health[3] and instilling correct beliefs.[4] Indeed, they seem nugatory inasmuch as they are not major factors in the halachic decision making process. Therefore, we are forced to superimpose a significant qualification on the רמב”ם previously cited. That רמב”ם was only referring to the philosophical purpose of the הלכה, not the halachic one.

Philosophical Reasons and Halachic Reasons- The Case of שילוח הקן

To better comprehend this distinction between philosophical and halachic reasons for commandments, we will briefly discuss a famous apparent contradiction within the רמב”ם involving his opinion vis-à-vis the מצוה of שילוח הקן and טעמי המצוות in general.

The impetus for this discussion is a fascinating גמרא.

ברכות ה:ג (לג:) ועיין מגילה ד:ט (כה.)

האומר: על קן ציפור יגיעו רחמיך… משתקים אותו.

If one [in praying] says ‘may Thy mercies extend to a bird’s nest’… he is silenced. (Translation: Soncino)

גמרא שם

… אלא על קן צפור יגיעו רחמיך, מאי טעמא? פליגי בה תרי אמוראי במערבא: ר’ יוסי בר אבין ור’ יוסי בר זבידא. חד אמר מפני שמטיל קנאה במעשה בראשית, וחד אמר מפני שעושה מידותיו של הקב”ה רחמים ואינן אלא גזירות.

But what is the reason for silencing him if he says ‘Thy mercies extend to the bird’s nest? Two Amoraim in the West, R. Jose b. Abin and R. Jose b. Zebida, give different answers; one ‘says it is because he creates jealousy among God’s creatures, the other, because he presents the measures taken by the Holy One, blessed be He, as springing from compassion, whereas they are but decrees. (Translation: Soncino)

Anti טעמי המצוות

This discussion would indicate that מצוות in general, and especially שילוח הקן, have no reasons. This is what the רמב”ם writes explicitly in the following sources.

פירוש המשניות להרמב”ם: ברכות ה:ג (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

ענין מה שאמרו: “על קן ציפור יגיעו רחמיך,” שיאמר: כמו שחמלת על קן הציפור ואמרת “לא תקח האם על הבנים,”[5] כן רחם עלינו. וכל מי שאמר כן בתפילתו משתקים אותו, מפני שהוא תולה טעם זאת המצוה בחמלת הקב”ה על העוף, ואין הדבר כן. שאילו היה מדרך רחמנות לא ציוה לשחוט חיה ועוף כלל. אבל היא מצוה מקובלת, אין לה טעם.

The meaning of what (our Sages) said “Your mercy extends to the bird’s nest,” is that the (prayer leader) will say: ‘just as you have been merciful to the bird’s nest in saying ‘do not take the mother along with her children,’ so, too, you should be merciful to us.’ And anyone who says thus in his prayer should be silenced, since he identifies the reason for this commandment as God’s mercy over the bird, and this is not correct. Since if it were that the commandment stems from merciful conduct, (God) would not have commanded the slaughter of animal and birds at all. Rather, it is an accepted commandment without a reason. (Translation: E.M.S)

פירוש המשניות להרמב”ם : מגילה ד:ט (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

“ועל קן ציפור יגיעו רחמיך,” לפי שהטעם אינו מצד רחמניות מהשם יתברך באומרו “לא תקח האם על הבנים,”[6] אבל היא גזירת הכתוב.

(The issue with saying in prayer) “Your mercy extends to the bird’s nest” is because the reason is not because of merciful considerations from the Holy Blessed One in his saying “do not take the mother along with the children,” rather it is a Scriptural decree. (Translation: E.M.S)

משנה תורה: הלכות תפילה ט:ז

מי שאמר בתחנונים: מי שריחם על קן ציפור שלא ליקח האם על הבנים או שלא לשחוט אותו ואת בנו ביום אחד ירחם עלינו וכיוצא בענין זה, משתקין אותו, מפני שמצוות אלו גזירות הכתוב הן ואינן רחמים. שאילו היו מפני רחמים לא היה מתיר לנו שחיטה כל עיקר.

One who says in his supplicatory prayers: “May He who showed mercy on a bird’s nest prohibiting the taking of the mother together with the chicks, or the slaughter of an animal and its calf on the same day, also show mercy on us,” or [makes other] similar statements should be silenced, because these mitzvot are God’s decrees and not [expressions] of mercy. Were they [expressions] of mercy, He would not permit us to slaughter at all. (Translation: Moznaim)

Pro טעמי המצוות

However, this position seems to contradict the רמב”ם’s classical view discussed earlier that מצוות do have reasons. This is expressed in the following מקורות both in general idea and specific cases.

משנה תורה: הלכות מעילה ח:ח

ראוי לאדם להתבונן במשפטי התורה הקדושה ולידע סוף ענינם כפי כחו… והמשפטים הן המצוות שטעמן גלוי וטובת עשייתן בעולם הזה ידועה, כגון איסור גזל ושפיכות דמים וכיבוד אב ואם. והחוקים הן המצוות שאין טעמן ידוע. אמרו חכמים: “חוקים חקתי לך ואין לך רשות להרהר בהן.”[7] … והקדימה תורה ציווי על החוקים, שנאמר: “ושמרתם את חקותי ואת משפטי אשר יעשה אותם האדם וחי בהם.”[8]

It is appropriate for a person to meditate on the judgments of the holy Torah and know their ultimate purpose according to his capacity…. The judgments are those mitzvot whose motivating rationale is openly revealed and the benefit of their observance in this world is known, e.g., the prohibitions against robbery and bloodshed and honoring one’s father and mother. The decrees are the mitzvot whose motivating rationales are not known. Our Sages said: “I ordained decrees and you have no license to question them…” the Torah gave precedence to the command for the decrees, as Leviticus 18:5 states: “And you shall heed My decrees and judgments which a person will perform and live through them.” (Translation: Moznaim)

משנה תורה: הלכות תמורה ד:יג

… אף על פי שכל חוקי התורה גזירות הם כמו שביארנו בסוף מעילה, ראוי להתבונן בהן וכל מה שאתה יכול ליתן לו טעם תן לו טעם. הרי אמרו חכמים הראשונים שהמלך שלמה הבין רוב הטעמים של כל חוקי התורה…

Although all of the statutes of the Torah are decrees, as we explained in the conclusion of Hilchot Me’ilah, it is fit to meditate upon them and wherever it is possible to provide a reason, one should provide a reason. The Sages of the early generations said that King Solomon understood most of the rationales for all the statutes of the Torah. (Translation: Moznaim)

מורה נבוכים ג:מח (תרגום אבן-תיבון)

וכן נאסר לשחוט אותו ואת בנו ביום אחד, סייג והרחקה, שמא ישחט מהם הבן לפני האם, כי צער בעלי חיים בכך גדול מאוד… וזהו הטעם גם בשילוח הקן… ואל תקשה עלי באומרם ז”ל: “האומר על קן צפור יגיעו רחמיך” וגו’, כי זו אחת משתי הסברות אשר הזכרנום, כלומר, השקפת מי שסובר שאין טעם למצוות אלא הרצון המופשט, ואנו הלא הלכנו אחרי ההשקפה השניה.

The same reason applies to the law which enjoins that we should let the mother fly away when we take the young. The eggs over which the bird sits, and the young that are in need of their mother, are generally unfit for food, and when the mother is sent away she does not see the taking of her young ones, and does not feel any pain. In most cases, however, this commandment will cause man to leave the whole nest untouched, because [the young or the eggs], which he is allowed to take, are, as a rule, unfit for food. If the Law provides that such grief should not be caused to cattle or birds, how much more careful must we be that we should not cause grief to our fellowmen. When in the Talmud  those are blamed who use in their prayer the phrase, “Thy mercy extendeth to young birds,” it is the expression of the one of the two opinions mentioned by us, namely, that the precepts of the Law have no other reason but the Divine will. We follow the other opinion. (Translation: M. Friedländer)

The Resolution of the בן ידיד

The רמב”ם here writes clearly that he does not accept the opinion in the גמרא that the מצוות are just גזירות, yet he rules like that opinion twice in the פירוש המשניות and again in the משנה תורה. Many commentators on the רמב”ם have attempted to resolve this contradiction. However, the explanation most cogent and compelling is that of the בן ידיד.[9]

בן ידיד: פירוש על המשנה תורה: הלכות תפילה ט:ז

כאן נטה להלכה אחר דעת מי שאמר שמדותיו גזירות. ובספר מורה נבוכים חלק ג’ פרק מ”ח נטה אחר דעת מי שאמר שמטיל קנאה אבל מידותיו רחמים, ועיין שם בפירוש הרב שם טוב ז”ל. והנראה לי כפשוטו, דכיון דבכמה מקומות אמרינן בש”ס “גזירת הכתוב היא,” וקיימא לן שלא נתגלו טעמי תורה, לפיכך להלכה פסק כמאן דאמר שמידותיו גזירות. והתם בספר המורה נתן דעתו למצוא לכל המצוות טעם, ונתן טעם גם לזו. וכמו שכתב, וזה לשונו: “ואנחנו נמשכנו אחר הדעת השנייה,” עד כאן. פירוש: דבאותו ספר נמשך לתת טעם לכל המצוות. ואין הכי נמי, דלהלכה תפסינן דמדותיו גזירות. ועיין שם באותו חלק פרק כ”ו באורך. וסבירא ליה לרבינו דלדרוש שרי, וכמו שעשה הוא, וכהמדרש רבה פרשת תצא, וכהתרגום יונתן בפרשיות אמור ותצא, עיין שם, ולמעבד עובדא לא נהגינן. כן נראה לי ברור. ועיין מה שהאריך בספר מעשה רוקח ועיין בתוספות יום טוב (פ”ט) [פ"ה] דברכות, וקשה לי.

In this passage he was inclined to accept on the halachic level the opinion that (we silence the worshiper who states during prayer “Your mercy extends to the bird’s nest” since) God’s commandments are merely decrees (in the debate in the Gemara in Megilah 25a and Berachot 33b). However, in The Guide for the Perplexed section three chapter forty-eight, he was inclined to accept the (opposing) opinion that (we silence him since) he is engendering jealousy (among the creatures), but God’s commandments are merciful. Vide there in the commentary of R. Shem Tov, o.b.m. And it seems to me to explicate according to the simple meaning, that since in several places in the Talmud we say “it is a Scriptural decree,” and we have a tradition that the reasons for commandments were never revealed, he therefore decided on the halachic level according to the one who says that God’s commandments are merely decrees. However, there in the Guide for the Perplexed, he set out to discover a reason for every commandment, and he consequently gave a reason for this one (i.e. sending away the mother bird), as well. And this is what he wrote, saying “and we have accepted the second opinion” (i.e. that commandments have reasons). Explanation: that in that book he wanted to give a reason for all the commandments. Admittedly, we accept on the halachic level that the commandments are merely decrees. And vide in that section chapter twenty-six at length. And our master (i.e. Maimonides) is of the opinion that to expound (and find a reason for this commandment) is permitted, like he himself did, and as did the Midrash Rabbah in the Torah portion of “Teitzey” and as did Targum Pseudo-Jonathan in the Torah portions of “Emor” and “Teitzey,” vide there. However, we do not conduct ourselves based on this fact (i.e. the reasons do not affect the final laws). This seems clear to me. But, vide the Ma’aseh Rokeach’s long treatment of the subject, and vide the Tosafot Yom Tov in the fifth chapter of tractate Berachot, (both of which) I find difficult. (Translation: E.M.S.)

The key point from this בן ידיד is that the רמב”ם accepts טעמי המצוות, but in the realm of השקפה, not הלכה. [10] This means that philosophically, the רמב”ם maintains that there are real reasons for commandments, but they are not legally significant. If we accept טעמי המצוות at all, then this idea that טעמי המצוות is only operative in the realm of השקפה makes sense by reductio ad absurdum. If we say that טעמי המצוות carry halachic significance, then that means that the הלכה would change based on whether or not that טעם is being accomplished. Since the individual experiences the law—and thus the reasoning behind it—subjectively and relatively, then for each person the הלכה could change into an idiosyncratic and nebulous collection of observances, spelling the end of the halachic system. This is clearly untenable, and thus טעמי המצוות cannot influence the הלכה.[11]

This is an intriguing idea that the בן ידיד has. That we can accept one view להלכה while retaining the diametrically opposed view “להשקפה” is quite remarkable. Of course, as with all grand resolutions involving ראשונים, especially those of the רמב”ם, we must not get ahead of ourselves. This explanation seems to belittle the רמב”ם’s dominant rationalist tradition of טעמי המצוות. Regardless, this distinction is brilliant and can help us think in distinct paradigms that allow us to better understand the רמב”ם’s philosophical and legal conceptualizations.

The Halachic Telos

Now that we can distinguish clearly between halachic reasons and philosophical ones, we shall return to our revised question: what is the most halachically significant factor? The way by which we shall answer this question is by identifying the halachic reasons behind the largest mitigating factors that exist in הלכה. In other words, the הלכה’s true purpose can be seen by understanding in what cases and for what reasons it allows itself to be all but overridden.

The two most powerful mitigating factors in הלכה are those of פיקוח נפש and הוראת שעה. Both of these factors have the ability to override Biblical prohibitions, to the exclusion of all others. Indeed, there are other factors that carry much weight in the halachic decision making process, such as כבוד הבריות, דרכי שלום, איבה, שלום בית, and others. However, these factors generally only operate on a דרבנן level.[12]

Halachic Reasoning behind פיקוח נפש

First, we will identify the halachic reason behind the imperative of פיקוח נפש.

שבת קנא:

תניא רבן שמעון בן גמליאל אומר: תינוק בן יומו חי, מחללין עליו את השבת. דוד מלך ישראל מת, אין מחללין עליו את השבת. תינוק בן יומו חי מחללין עליו את השבת— אמרה תורה: חלל עליו שבת אחד כדי שישמור שבתות הרבה. דוד מלך ישראל מת—אין מחללין עליו. כיון שמת אדם, בטל מן המצוות.

It was taught, R. Simeon b. Gamaliel said: For a day-old infant the Sabbath is desecrated; for David, King of Israel, dead, the Sabbath must not be desecrated. ‘For a day-old infant the Sabbath is desecrated’: the Torah ordered, Desecrate one Sabbath on his account so that he may keep many Sabbaths. ‘For David, King of Israel, dead, the Sabbath must not be desecrated’: Once man dies he is free from [all] obligations. (Translation: Soncino)

The גמרא introduces the idea of desecrating one שבת in order that the one for whom שבת was desecrated should be able to observe many more שבתות. The last line of the גמרא summarizes the reasoning behind the discrepancy in rulings. After one dies, he or she is פטור from observing any מצוה. This means that the command and leniency of פיקוח נפש only exists when there is a potential for the Jew to keep obeying the Torah. In other words, the halachic telos of פיקוח נפש is the הלכה’s own continuity.[13][14]

Halachic Reasoning behind הוראת שעה

Now we shall study the ruling of הוראת שעה, when a  בית דיןcan temporarily suspend or abrogate a מצוה in particularly dire circumstances.

רמב”ם: הלכות ממרים ב:ד

… שאפילו דברי תורה יש לכל בית דין לעקרו הוראת שעה. כיצד? בית דין שראו לחזק הדת ולעשות סייג כדי שלא יעברו העם על דברי תורה מכין ועונשין שלא כדין, אבל אין קובעין הדבר לדורות ואומרים שהלכה כך הוא. וכן אם ראו לפי שעה לבטל מצות עשה או לעבור על מצות לא תעשה כדי להחזיר רבים לדת או להציל רבים מישראל מלהיכשל בדברים אחרים, עושין לפי מה שצריכה השעה.

…Any court has the authority to abrogate the words of the Torah as a temporary measure. What is implied? If a court sees that it is necessary to strengthen the faith and create a safeguard so that the people will not violate Torah law, they may apply beatings and punishments that are not sanctioned by Torah. They may not, however, establish the matter for posterity and say that this is the halachah. Similarly, if they saw that temporarily it was necessary to nullify a positive commandment or violate a negative commandment in order to bring people at large back to the Jewish faith or to prevent many Jews from transgressing in other matters, they may do what is necessary at that time. (Translation: Moznaim)

This case seems to have the same reason as the preceding one, viz. to ensure the הלכה’s own basic stability.[15] If this did not seem clear yet, the רמב”ם’s next line proves our theory beyond a shadow of a doubt.

שם

כשם שהרופא חותך ידו או רגלו של זה כדי שיחיה כולו כך בית דין מורים בזמן מן הזמנים לעבור על קצת מצוות לפי שעה כדי שיתקיימו כולם, כדרך שאמרו חכמים הראשונים: “חלל עליו שבת אחת כדי שישמור שבתות הרבה.

To explain by analogy: Just like a doctor may amputate a person’s hand or foot so that the person as a whole will live; so, too, at times, the court may rule to temporarily violate some of the commandments so that they will later keep all of them. In this vein, the Sages of the previous generations said: “Desecrate one Sabbath for a person’s sake so that he will keep many Sabbaths.” (Translation: Moznaim)

By connecting the previously seen idea of “חלל עליו שבת אחת כדי שישמור שבתות הרבה” with that of הוראת שעה in the medical metaphor for the מצוות, the רמב”ם makes unambiguous his conception of sometimes being able to sacrifice a part to keep the whole alive.[16] Or, in different phraseology, the הלכה forgoes one law so that the whole system can be sustained. Therefore, the answer to our question is that the halachic telos of the הלכה is its own continuity and integrity.[17]

Conclusions

As dry as it may seem, our thesis fits in as a corollary of the halachic טעמי המצוות: God decreed thus. Consequently, after all the dust settles, we end up with four ideas from the רמב”ם. On the philosophical level, we follow מצוות for various specific reasons, some of which are remembering God or staying away from unhealthy foodstuffs; however, on the halachic level, we obey commands simply because the Almighty has commanded us to do so. Similarly, on the philosophical level, the telos of the הלכה is to instill within us the correct values, beliefs, character traits, and health decisions; but, in contradistinction, the telos of the הלכה on the halachic level is its own proliferation and propagation.

* Elliot M. Salinger is a junior at the Maimonides School in Brookline, MA.

[2] The specifics of the reasons behind each מצוה or groups of מצוות are far beyond the scope of this article. However, the reader is highly encouraged to study כו-מט  פרקים of חלק ג’ of theמורה , where the רמב”ם’s full philosophical excursus regarding טעמי המצוות may be found.

[3] One might challenge this assertion with the statement of חז”ל that “חמירא סכנתא מאיסורא” (חולין י.), but this is not a consideration which carries with it much halachic force. All it can do is prohibit the otherwise permitted, but not the more radical converse.

[4] One might counter that in certain streams of Judaism, particularly that of the רמב”ם, beliefs and dogma have a large role to play, so it must be that they really are halachically significant. This is answered by saying that it is true that they themselves are important to the הלכה. However, we don’t find that beliefs qua lessons that emerge from obeying a מצוה having large roles in determining the הלכות of that מצוה, either by their presence or absence.

[5] דברים כב:ו

[6] Ibid

[7] יומא סז:

[8] ויקרא יח:ה

[9] The בן ידיד was authored by ר’ ידידיה שמואל טאריקה, who died circa 1769. The ספר is a lesser known פירוש on the משנה תורה in which many of the author’s responsa also appear. It was published in Thessaloniki in 1806. Among his other works are the חלקו של ידיד on the טור, the אמר ידיד on the סדרים of זרעים and מועד, and the קידש ידיד, which includes sermons for festivals and eulogies.

[10] Along with being very logically sound, as explained above, the בן ידיד’s distinction best fits the רמב”ם’s actual statement. The commentators cited at the end of the בן ידיד’s comment draw a distinction in the רמב”ם between philosophy and תפילה to explain this contradiction, thus resolving the specific issue of the רמב”ם’s statements on the מצוה ofשילוח הקן in the פירוש המשניות, משנה תורה, and מורה נבוכים. They say that mentioning something in the context of requesting something from God gives it an extra weightiness and seriousness. This is the reason why we cannot attribute a reason to a מצוה in prayer. This approach assumes that the רמב”ם’s real, fundamental position is that there are reasons for מצוות. This is slightly difficult since although this seems to be his consistent approach globally in the מורה and in the citations from הלכות תמורה and מעילה, the רמב”ם calls not only the מצוה of שילוח הקן aגזירת הכתוב, but he refers to several other הלכות and מצוות as such. For examples, videג:ד  הלכות תשובה regarding שופר, מקואות יא:יב  הלכות regarding טומאה and טהרה, יח:ו הלכות סנהדרין regarding the בית דין’s acceptance of testimony by two witnesses, יח:ג הלכות עדות regarding עדים זוממין, ו:ז הלכות ממרים regarding the extent of  כיבוד אב ואם, and ibid ז:יא regarding the fact that only a male can be considered a בן סורר ומורה. However, the בן ידיד’s distinction between law and philosophy works in all the cases. Whenever the רמב”ם discusses טעמי המצוות positively, it is in the context of a philosophical discussion. However, his statements in הלכות תפילה and the פירוש המשניות are all in a halachic context— he is describing the details of the הלכה. Additionally, in two out of three of the sources cited, he refutes the “רחמנות” argument for the reason for the commandment with a halachic disproof, indicating that the טעם does not function as a determining factor in the legal system, indicating that he does not accept טעמי המצוות on the halachic level.

[11] Truthfully, whether or not reasons for commandments, whether specified by a פסוק or not, can influence הלכה is a מחלוקת in the גמרא between רבי שמעון and רבי יהודה. This idea is referred to as דרשינן טעמא דקרא. Whether or not we rule like the opinion that, in fact, does maintain that we are דרשינן טעמא דקרא is also a disagreement. Even more complex is whether or not the רמב”ם, with whom this article is concerned, accepted this concept. It appears that, for a variety of intricate and complicated reasons, the רמב”ם was not even of the opinion that the concept even truly existed, and all the more so that he did not accept it להלכה. (I thank my teacher R. Yaakov Jaffe for informing me about this insight.) These details, however, lie far beyond the scope of this article.

[12] Vide ברכות יט.-כ:, which is the locus for the famous discussion regarding the halachic implications of כבוד הבריות. Admittedly, the status of כבוד הבריות vis-à-vis דאורייתא commands is complicated, but all opinions agree that it does not override a trueמצוה דאורייתא  (with the possible exception, of course, of adhering to מצוות דרבנן) in a way which involves proactive commission. For exceptions to the claim that more interpersonally-oriented concerns can only affect Rabbinic law, vide R. Aharon Lichtenstein’s “The Human and Social Factor in Halakha,” published in Tradition 36 (2002) pp. 89-114. פסק הלכה contains, by its very nature, a subjective element left up for the individual פוסק to decide based on the empirical situation. However, in general, the biblically mandated imperative of פקוח נפש and case of הוראת שעה are significantly more potent than their rabbinically derived cousins.

[13] Admittedly, what remains to be seen is how פיקוח נפש operates vis-à-vis other מצוות. Presumably, the same reasoning behind פיקוח נפש on שבת would apply to all other מצוות. The reason why we only state this reason in the case of שבת is because that is the most frequent case of פיקוח נפש that arises.

[14] This idea, that the Torah’s self-suspension for the sake of preserving life is in order to preserve Torah, might be referred to by the Talner Rebbe, R. Dr. Isadore Twersky, זצ”ל, in his article entitled “Aspects of Maimonides’ Epistemology: Halaka and Science,” published in From Ancient Israel to Modern Judaism: Intellect in Quest of Understanding in 1989 by Brown University. In footnote 39 on p. 14, as he describes פיקוח נפש, R. Dr. Twersky writes, “The teleology is all-important in understanding the differences between religion and medicine. The Torah, while not intending ‘its words the cure the body,’ is concerned with the well-being of the body… it delegated the means to the science of medicine. To put it differently, the Torah allows for its suspension in order to prolong life, but the teleology of life in turn is completely subordinate to the Torah.” (I thank my friend Avinoam J. Stillman for bringing this article to my attention.)

[15] Perhaps this is why the רמב”ם feels compelled to add that these rulings do not last indefinitely and that temporary ruling is never to be considered to be the actual הלכה. Doing so would be contrary to the entire point of הוראת שעה, which is preserving the integrity of the halachic system. Additionally, the רמב”ם mentions these two ideas in his brief discussion of הוראת שעה in הלכות סנהדרין כד:ד. There is, however, a more broad type of הוראת שעה in Judaism, which is that of a נביא. The רמב”ם codifies these הלכות in הלכות יסודי התורה ט:ג-ה. This kind of הוראת שעה is very widely applicable, and seems to contradict the very foundations of the halachic system and process. Perhaps this explains some of the otherwise slightly incongruous details in these הלכות. The רמב”ם, interestingly, codifies these הלכות after explaining the מצוות of בל תוסיף and בל תגרע, which exist altogether in order to ensure the integrity of the הלכה as a legal system. Additionally, here the רמב”ם mentions twice that the extralegal commands of a נביא must be temporary, not permanent, and that not even a נביא may command idol worship. The רמב”ם emphasizes these elements of the נביא case of הוראת שעה since they come to counteract its seemingly amorphous and contra-halachic nature.

[16] Another observation about this רמב”ם involves the cases of הוראת שעה. The only case cited in this הלכה is that of administrations of punishments that are not strictly warranted according to the letter of the law. This is the case that the רמב”ם cites in הלכות סנהדרין כד:ד, as well, based on יבמות צ: and סנהדרין מו.. That the quintessential case of הוראת שעה is extralegal punishment fits in well with our thesis. One of the primary goals of punishment in any legal system is to serve as deterrent for those who would otherwise be criminals and impress upon the populace the gravity of the offense and the powers of the enforcers of the legal system. Here, too, the punishments serve to protect the integrity of the halachic system, and therefore would be the prime example of extralegal measures in the halachic legal system.

[17] Also of note is the fact that both of these extraordinarily potent mitigating factors and imperatives, פיקוח נפש and הוראת שעה, have internal limits regarding to which cases they may be applied. As is known, פיקוח נפש cannot override the “big three” of שפיחות דמים, גילוי עריות, and עבודה זרה. Vide הלכות יסודי התורה ה:ז, based on פסחים כה and יומא סז:. In addition, הוראת שעה is, by definition, a temporary ruling and does not operate for extended periods of time, as was discussed earlier. We would explain the phenomenon of limitations of פיקוח נפש as follows: Transgressing one of those מצוות is such an enormity that it represents the breakdown of the halachic system. Free occurrences of murder, idolatry, and adultery would undermine the foundations of Judaism and thus uproot the whole corpus of the הלכה. A proof to this is that the רמב”ם notes twice inהלכות שבת פרק ב’  that one need not receive permission from the בית דין in order to utilize the principle of פיקוח נפש, the implication being that authorization from a higher legal authority would have otherwise been a prerequisite to taking that type of extreme action. By contrast, the authority to enact a הוראת שעה is in the hands of the בית דין, which ensures that matters will not spiral out of control, obviating strict limitations on the scope and applicability of הוראת שעה.

Moshe Halbertal’s Hebrew biography of the Rambam (Merkaz Zalman Shazar) is characteristically brilliant.  Although the first and longest chapter, nearly 70 pages, chronicles the Rambam’s life and his role as a communal leader, the book is primarily an intellectual biography, based on Rambam’s major works.  Each chapter is sharp and probing, providing thoughtful insights into the Rambam’s ideas, goals, and accomplishments.  I would hesitate, however, to recommend this book as an introduction to Rambam’s thought, as it strikes me as too sophisticated for the lay reader.  Those with a basic appreciation for the Rambam’s writings and ideas, however, will certainl enjoy this compelling biography.

Menachem Kellner’s Science in the Bet Midrash:  Studies in Maimonides (Academic Studies Press) is a collection of previously published English essays, organized around 4 major themes:  Approaches to the Study of Maimonides; Religious Faith and Dogma; Science and Torah; and Universalism.  Fans of Kellner’s writings, including myself, will surely recognize that these themes (particulary dogma and universalism) were also the subject of some of his acclaimed (and sometimes controversial) books.  Those who have read those books may find some of the articles superfluous (sometimes they reflect earlier drafts, other times slight amendments or clarifications), but they remain probing and stimulating.  The articles are intended for the scholarly or sophisticated lay reader.

The Jewish Publication Society has republished two important works by David Hartman on Rambam:  Torah and Philsophical Quest and Epistles of Maimonides: Crisis and Leadership (with Abraham Halkin).   They remain important works, and the former remains a classic work regarding how Rambam reconciled his philosophical and halakhic commitments.

Prof. Yaakov (Gerald) Blidstein, Israel Prize laureate and member of Tradition’s editorial board, published a collection of his Hebrew articles, Studies in Halakhic and Aggadic Thought (Mossad Bialik), which include many imporant studies on Rambam.  Blidstein, who might be the most important scholar on Mishneh Torah in his generation, includes several seminal studies, including the Rambam’s eschatolgoical vision of universal political dominion, his understanding of the Oral Law, the status of Islam, living in Eretz Yisrael, and many other important topics.  The collection, however, also highlights his expertise in other areas of rabbinic literature, including articles on rabbinic autonomy and collective punishment.

More recently, Blidstein’s students, colleagues, and admirers published a festchrift in his honor, By the Well: Studies in Jewish Philosophy and Halakhic Thought Presented to Gerald J. Blidstein, ed. Uri Ehrlich, Howard Kreisel, and Daniel J. Lasker, (Mossad Bialik), including over 30 Hebrew studies related to his broad interests.  Highlight  articles include:

Alon Goshen-Gottstein: Other Gods in Ramban’s Thought (including implications for contemporary interfaith dialogue); David Henschke:  Rambam’s Sefer Ha-Mitzvot and its role in Rambam’s legal thought; Daniel Lasker:  Ahavat Hashem and Kiddush Hashem according to R’ Yehuda Halevi and Rambam; Enat Navot: Rav Herzog’s Perspective on Testimony by Sabbath desecrators; Menachem Kellner:  Rambam in the eyes of Rav Aharon Kotler; and many other interesting studies.  The work also includes a bibliography of Blidstein’s many publications, including a few in Tradition. The work is a fitting tribute to this important scholar.

Since we are discussing Mossad Bialik, we should note that they have been publishing a series of medieval works of Jewish philosophy, prepared and edited by members of the Jewish philosophy department at Ben-Gurion University. Two recent works include:  Levi Ben Avraham’s Livyat Hen: The Quality Prophecy and the Secrets of the Torah, ed. Howard Kreisel, and The Writings of R. Moshe Ibn Tibbon, ed. Howard Kreisel, Colette Sirat, and Avraham Israel.

The Eight Chapters of the Rambam is an English translation by Rabbi Yaakov Feldman of Shemoneh Perakim.  Additionally, the footnotes include reflections on how the Rambam’s teachings can improve our own behavior.

Books Received:   The Temple of Jerusalem,  Tractate Middot  Part 2 (II) by Asher Kaufman.

- Shlomo Brody

Complicating my response further, I am in sympathy with much that bothers him.  Rabbi Cardozo is concerned that too many Jews today, particularly young ones, find the religion overly dry, overly focused on specific halachot, and leaving too little room for them to find their way to a productive and personal avodat Hashem, service of God.

To alleviate this problem, he argues in favor of adjusting our experience of halacha, which he suggests we do by recognizing that the codifications of Rambam and Shulchan Aruch were not in line with the spirit of Talmudic Judaism.  Leaning on well-known rabbinic critics of both works, such as Maharshal, Maharal, and R. Hayyim b. Betsalel, R. Cardozo argues that the spirit of elu va-elu, these and these are the words of the living God, should once again infuse our application of halacha. 

He seems to suggest that we should return to the Talmudic sources for our halachic conclusions rather than being bound by the conclusions of hundreds of years of writing that have followed the Talmud.  He seems to suggest that even on as well-settled a question as whether to follow Beit Hillel or Beit Shammai, we should be open to the option of following Beit Shammai if that is more meaningful to us.  He also calls for greater freedom to personalize our religiosity, both in terms of which halachic views we follow and also in formulating prayers and blessings of our own.

As R. Cardozo notes many times, he shares these ideas out of deep concern for the future of the religion, and there is no doubt of his sincerity and his honest intention to find the most productive way forward towards a meaningful and attractive avodat Hashem and yirat Shamayim.  And yet, I think that there are less radical and more systemically authentic ways to accomplish his goals.

I say this because the issues he raises are ones I have been and am grappling with in writing.  In my now-completed Mission of Orthodoxy project, which the Webyeshiva is kind enough to host, I too wondered whether halacha as practiced today effectively leads Jews in the most productive religious direction, but I came at it from almost the opposite approach to that taken by Rabbi Cardozo.

Universal Agreement, Codified or Not

While Rabbi Cardozo blames halacha’s “wrong” turn on codifications—singling out Rambam’s Mishneh Torah and R. Yosef Caro’s Shulchan Aruch— I showed that Judaism has always placed some parts of the religion closer to the essence of its goals than others.  These beliefs and practices have always and unequivocally been seen as the center of what the religion is about, have been implicitly or explicitly codified as the religion’s essence. 

I stress the unequivocal aspect of this precisely because R. Cardozo (and he is not the first) assumes that Judaism records so many alternate approaches as to preclude any such well-accepted core.  In this view, if we only shed the shackles of the attempt to impose codification the Talmud never intended, people could find their way to a more productive and more personal experience of the religion.  One of the points of my posts was that, with all the debate in the Talmud and beyond—R. Cardozo, to my mind, grossly exaggerates the extent to which works of codification have stifled multiple voices, the concerns of Maharshal notwithstanding— there is an unarguable set of ideas and practices that are not only obligatory on all Jews, but that necessarily and centrally shape any Jewishness worthy of the name.

Truth is, R. Cardozo should have been forced to realize this, to some extent, simply as a result of his casual assumption that the religion focuses on worship of God.  Both the words ‘worship’ and ‘God’ need some sort of definition, no matter how broad, and going outside of that definition will be the same as going outside the acceptable parameters of Judaism.  My Mission posts show that Scriptural, Talmudic, and post-Talmudic sources evince broader agreement than his article recognizes.

What he is noticing, I believe, is not the results of codification per se, but of a more recent phenomenon, in which our community focuses only on certain sections of those works, warping the picture those works themselves presented.  That we can confuse the entirety of the religion with observing Shabbat and kashrut, or with wearing certain clothing to the exclusion of other clothing, or with whatever subset we have turned into “real Judaism” is distressing, but not a development we can or should blame on Rambam or R. Yosef Caro.

A Problem and Its Solution

Diagnosing the problem correctly affects the solution we will pursue.  R. Cardozo argues for a return to a Talmudic era in which Judaism let a thousand flowers bloom, in which the ethos of elu va-elu, these and these are the words of the Living God, offered a broader range of religious options to those seeking God.  I think he misrepresents the Talmudic era itself, but more than that he reaches unnecessarily far for his remedy.

As to Talmudic times, the Tosefta in Sotah 14;9, cited in Sanhedrin 98b, blames the multiplicity of debates on students’ failure to study properly, hardly an encomium for diversity of opinion in the halachic world; turning to elu va-elu itself, while Kabbalists did, indeed, find an interpretation in which it meant that all those opinions were right, most rishonim (and R. Moshe Feinstein, in his introduction to Iggerot Moshe) understand the phrase as allowing us to tolerate a wrong opinion as long as it was reached through valid process.  Indeed, the general understanding of the mitzvah to follow majority rule—and the largely-ignored obligation of lo titgodedu, not to have Jewish communities be split by multiple forms of practice– seems to prefer avoiding precisely the kinds of splits R. Cardozo wants to uphold as an ideal.

In my Mission posts, I argued that the problem lies not in the system or how it has been recorded in the various masterpieces of our religious literary history, but in our selective reading of those sources—and a poorly selective reading at that.  If we are going to pick and choose, I showed, the sources themselves tell us, repeatedly and in extraordinarily explicit terms, what we should be choosing.

I also noted that there is more room for tolerance and even pluralism within Orthodoxy than some people realize, yet less than others assert.  In articulating the unequivocal parts of the religion, we see where reputable disagreement about other issues points to more ways of being faithfully Jewish than we usually assume.

But, and in direct contradiction to R. Cardozo’s claims, there is no need to bypass almost two thousand years to do so.  The rich literature of commentary on Scripture, on the Talmud, on Rif’s codification of the Talmud, on Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, on the Shulchan Aruch, and in the voluminous Responsa literature produced by hundreds of giants of Torah over the generations, offers more than a few options for finding an appropriate, traditional, and yet not rigidly imposed religiosity.

Those who find halacha confining mean, at best, the halacha they see practiced in their sociological circles. Reminding ourselves that there may be valid other options than the one we currently practice is an important task, but not one for which we need to try to go back to some supposedly more authentic time.

 The first step of my response to R. Cardozo, then, lies in noting that he may have accurately noted a problem in how we experience halacha, but that the solution lies elsewhere than he points.  Rather than dispense with sources, we need to study them more deeply, to find which beliefs and practices are absolutely necessary according to all opinions (such as the belief in God), which leave room for tolerating other opinions we see as wrong (such as when Sephardim and Ashkenazim follow different readings of a Talmudic discussion), and some that leave room for true pluralism, where each of the choices is recognized by all as fully plausible and equally correct. 

Religious Autonomy:  No Need to Abandon Ordinary Halachic Process

Another aspect of R. Cardozo’s concern, no less important and yet, to my mind, rooted in a completely different cause, is the question of religious autonomy.  He feels that the dogmatism of Judaism—caused, in his view, by the move to codification—leads to frustration on the part of those seeking a meaningful personal religiosity.

I again sympathize with the concern, and yet again find myself disappointed at the solution he proffers.  I hope this week—if there are coincidences in life, this is a remarkable one—to begin another project at the Webyeshiva’s blog, the Religious Autonomy Project.  The Project, an outgrowth of my Mission of Orthodoxy posts, will show that the religion cries out for each of us to shape our personal religiosity, for each of us to make autonomous decisions about how best to relate to God.  And, I hasten to add, this is not by circumventing or ignoring any of halacha as it is codified today.

Where and how this autonomy works will take me some time to lay out, but the upshot is that I believe the sources of tradition show that the move to legislation was always a concession to human weakness, not a function of God’s interest in being specific about how we are supposed to worship.  While we cannot turn back the clock, I believe the sources of tradition show us that Judaism as codified today still leaves ample if not voluminous room for personal input into the shape of one’s relationship with God.  Demonstrating that convincingly takes more space than I have here, and I invite readers to join me weekly at the Webyeshiva blog for this journey. 

For now, I say only that I find R. Cardozo’s diagnosis and prescription overly alarmist.  Halacha can be misrepresented and misapplied, producing an erroneous picture of what God wants of us, and that wrong picture can lead us to lose sight of the freedom the religion gives us.  Instead of trying to change the system, though, I urge us to realize that the flaw lies in our partial and incomplete understanding of what God, the Torah, and Hazal have been telling us for thousands of years.  Recovering a truer picture of what halacha is about and where that leads us, as I aim to do, seems to me a more productive way of finding our way back to a full-hearted and heart-fulfilling relationship with God.

I have basically presented the remarks as they were delivered in the context of a short oral presentation.

Nati Helfgot 
 

Sunday, April 25, 2010 
 

I approach this topic from the following perspective. Women’s expanded role in Jewish learning, communal life and leadership is a blessed event in Judaism and in our life-time. From my theological perspective it is very much part of the process of God acting in history,  in the spirit of Rav Kook zt”l’s perspective of how various movements in history unfold and often contribute to the world and ultimate goals. Many movements and developments bring forth positive ideas and elements, even as they present us with tremendous challenges and negative elements as well. 

In addition I adhere fully to the Rav zt”l’s famous 14^th ani-maamin about Torah Judaism being able to exist in every society and context, without having to retreat and be a ”sect,” or existing only in the social realities of the ghetto or closed off from the world. 

The discussions we are having here are about the proper role of qualified and talented women to fulfill various clergy-like functions (a reality that a handful of RCA shuls are already doing in various capacities, whatever the title that is being given to the women undertaking those roles and responsibilities). These women are or will be assuming these roles in areas of  pastoral counseling, teaching of Torah, responding to halakhic queries, giving of divrei Torah and derashot in various capacities and in some instances engaging in coordinating and directing life-cycle events - while remaining faithful to those limits that halakha sets, e.g. speaking under the huppah, reading the ketubah, arranging all the technical matters of the siddur kiddushin while at the same time  not reciting birkot eirusin or birkot ha-nissuim.) 

In our ranks there are minimalists and maximalists on the propriety of these roles and actions. Most of the people who have discussed this issue in print or in e-mails have as a general rule tended not to raise questions about technical halakhic categories but other more amorphous issues of meta-halakha, tradition, sociology, tactics, etc.  

My general inclination in these matters is on the side of the maximalists –  i.e. in favor of expanding the opportunities for and encouraging talented and qualified women to be able to fulfill their desire to serve the Jewish community and Torah - for the following five reasons: 

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  1. We often speak at conferences and write in monographs about the significant personnel crisis in recruiting good people, especially outside of New York, to enter the field of Jewish education, the rabbinate, Jewish communal work and the like. To close off possibilities, which are not in violation of halakhic parameters, for more amorphous reasons, is to shoot ourselves in the foot. There are so many talented young women coming up the ranks that we cannot simply ignore this talented pool some of whom can contribute so mightily to ahavat Hashem and harbatzat Torah and serve as role models for our young women and girls and boys.
  2. The entry of more women into the various fields of avodat ha-kodesh can bring about positive expansion and help in dealing with various parts of our community who we are not always as sensitive to. Having women more involved in may help bring issues to the fore in our congregational and halakhic discussions that we might not have been sensitive to before. A useful analogy here maybe to compare our situation to the field of medicine and the impact that the entry of women into the field has had. Before women were involved in the practice of medicine in large numbers, many medical studies simply ignored areas of disease research that women were particularly affected by, or did not include women in the sample when testing new medications, etc. They were simply not part of the conversation and issues and important data were simply not brought to the fore. In a similar vein, but closer to home, many of us are active supporters of programs like Kollel Eretz Hemdah in Israel that attempt to train dayanim (rabbinical court judges) who come from a more dati-leumi (religious-Zionist) background, who have served in the army, etc… We feel that such personalities, who have different upbringing and training and world-view, will more likely have positive interactions with and appreciate the perspectives of the general Israeli public whom they will encounter than the average dayan trained in haredi institutions who comes from a totally different world. Having women involved in some capacity in the makeup of a full congregational panoply of staff can have similar meritorious effects.
  3. If indeed we believe that the issues surrounding greater involvement of women in clergy-like roles and functions is not really about formal halakhic limitations then we run some serious risks in limiting access. In the spirit of Rav Aharon Soloveitchik zt”l’s psak (halakhic ruling) on women saying kaddish, we run the risk of losing many talented women and potential contributors to the community to other fields and God forbid to Orthodoxy as a whole, if these opportunities are stifled or not encouraged.
  4. If one maintains that fundamentally inclusion of talented women in various roles in the synagogue is not really prohibited by formal halakha, but stems from our either our discomfort or more amorphous categories of minhag or hashakafic (ideological) concerns, we have to seriously confront the competing values that we may be treading on.

A strongly conservative (with a lower case “c”) stance on these issues runs the risk of ignoring primal values of Torah and halakha such as kevod haberiyot, tzelem elokim, derakheha darkei noam, ve-asita ha-yasar ve-hatov and general moral principles of fairness and justice. (This is besides recognizing the need to take into account other less central, but nonetheless important values such as “ la-asot nahat ruah le-nashim” which writers such as Rav Lichtenstein and Rav Sperber have pointed to in various fora.) 

If we truly believe (as many do) that the issues here are not explicitly halakhic, then we have to really look in the mirror and ask ourselves these hard questions about justice and ethics and the right thing to do. As Rav Lichtenstein has so eloquently written (in an essay in Hebrew) on the sources of ethics: 

“the parameters of ethics and morality and its truths have an important role to play in understanding halakha and defining its boundaries. Of course, a Jew must be ready to answer the call “I am here” if the command “tro offer him up” is thrust upon him. However, prior to unsheathing the sword, he is permitted, and even obligated to clarify, to the best of his ability, if indeed , this is what actually has been commanded. Is the command so clear-cut and is the collision of values indeed so frontal and unavoidable. To the extent that there is a need and room for halakhic exegesis and this must be clarified-a sensitive and and insightful conscience (my bold, NH) is one of the factors that shape the decision making process. Just as Maimoidnes in his day, consciously, was assisted by a particular metaphysical approach to the world (Aristotilean thought, NH) in order to plumb the depths of the meaning of Biblical verses, so too one can make use of an ethical perspective in order to understand the content of halakha and to outline its parameters. Clearly this process requires extreme care and responsibility. It must be assured that-and this rooted in deep connection to authentic Torah and religious piety-one is attempting to understand the halakha and not God forbid to distort it.”¹   

If the ethical and moral dimension must be part of the shikul ha-daat is true when addressing questions of pure halakha, how much more so in areas that are much more related to hashkafah, meta-halakhic and tactical categories of discussion.                                     

        5. There is a grave danger if we are excessively conservative here on the perception of our own baalei battim and the broader community and the general kevod ha-Torah. In many of the discussions over the years on “women’s issues” some rabbanim and writers who viewed expanding women’s roles with a jaundiced eye have often raised questions about motivations and whether the people were le-sheim Shamayim etc. In recent years I believe that has died down. As Rav Lichtenstein noted a few years ago in a derasha, he never felt comfortable with those attacks on people and women who pushed for those innovations because what is good for the goose is also good for the gander. It very easily opens one up to charges about one’s own motivations. Continued rejection of expanded roles for women in the synagogue context without real halakhic grounds can unfortunately lead people to conclusions (which one hears already in the Modern-Orthodox “street”) about rabbis who have discomfort with opening their “guild” to new members, that we are concerned with power, misogyny etc. Let me be clear here, I am emphatically not saying that this is the motivation for those who are more conservative, but one opens oneself and institutional Orthodoxy to that kind of attack. This potential, is, I think is very detrimental to the future of Torah and yiddishkeit and is a real and present danger.

As Rav Ovadyah Yosef wrote in his teshuvah on Bat Mitzvah ceremonies (Yabiah Omer 6:29) in discussing those who were opposed to them because it would give support to the reform and anti-Torah forces by confirming them in their practices, he states just the opposite:

             “But in  truth, preventing girls from celebrating bat mitzvah ceremonies, strengthens the hand of the sinners to complain against the scholars of Israel (hakhmei yisrael), (to say) that they oppress the daughters of Israel, and discriminate between boys and girls.”