In the years following the passing of a great Torah figure, it’s not uncommon to see a shift in how their views are represented, or repurposed. Once a towering scholar no longer speaks for themselves, students, communities, and critics may read their own agendas into their legacy. A Gadol seen as a consensus figure becomes the object of debate, reinterpreted to suit the needs and assumptions of a later generation.

This tendency is especially prominent with figures whose thought is dialectical or multifaceted. The legacy of the Rav (Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik) provides perhaps the most striking example. (See the now-classical article, “Revisionism and the Rav,” by Lawrence Kaplan, in Judaism 48:3 (1999): 290-311.) He often offered divergent advice to different Talmidim, and his dialectical thought offered unresolved tensions rather than synthetic harmonies. It’s only natural that interpreters, well-intentioned or otherwise, would focus on one particular strand or another and treat it as exhaustive of the Rav’s thought, on both the left and the right.

With Rav Aharon Lichtenstein (1933-2015), also a Gadol even if less colossal than his father-in-law, one might have thought that we could avoid this challenge. Rav Aharon was a Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshivat Har Etzion and one of the leading exponents of Modern Orthodoxy in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. He was renowned for his synthesis of deep Talmudic scholarship, broad literacy in the Western canon, ethical sensitivity, and spiritual humility. Rav Aharon’s writings and teachings are marked less by dialectic than by a drive for synthesis. He avoids contradictions not by eliding complexity but by directly engaging tensions and working them through to principled resolution. Over the decades, in so many areas of his Lomdus, Hashkafa, and general approach, Rav Aharon remained remarkably consistent in both tone and substance.

Yet even that was apparently insufficient to prevent revisionism. Rav Aharon’s stature, moderation, and intellectual refinement make him a tempting mirror in which people see what they want to see. By some, he is cast more as a projection of a progressive Orthodox hero, by others as a champion of unyielding fidelity, rather than as an actual Gadol who held particular views that we know – views that were often more moderate than these extremes, and that sometimes staked out more “liberal” and other times more “conservative” approaches, even as Rav Aharon clearly integrated both an open approach and traditionalist reflexes.

This essay considers a case study where Rav Lichtenstein’s views have been distorted or oversimplified, both in his lifetime and posthumously. This case, of violating Shabbos in order to save a non-Jewish life, fits squarely within the challenge of balancing Halacha and ethics in general, introducing a particular, high-stakes scenario.

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein on the Relation between Ethics and Halacha

A useful entry point into Rav Lichtenstein’s thought on ethics and Halacha in general is his landmark essay “Does Jewish Tradition Recognize an Ethic Independent of Halakha?,” originally published in Modern Jewish Ethics, ed. Marvin Fox (Ohio State University Press, 1975), pp. 62–88. There, he stakes out a position against the claim that Halacha exhausts the domain of the good. Rav Lichtenstein insists that Judaism acknowledges ethical imperatives beyond the bounds of codified law, citing Aggadic sources and the notion of lifnim mishuras hadin as exemplars. However, he is equally clear that this ethic only supplements Halacha and never overrides it:

[A]t most, we can only speak of a complement to Halakha, not of an alternative. Any ethic so independent of Halakha so as to obviate or override it, clearly lies beyond our pale. There are of course situations in which ethical factors… sanction the breach… of specific norms. However, these factors are themselves halakhic considerations, in the most technical sense of the term, and their deployment entails no rejection of the system whatsoever. (“Ethic Independent,” p. 67)

Halacha retains its primacy, and no external moral sentiment can override a binding Halachic ruling, although Halacha itself includes certain ethical factors that at times override the usual Halacha in extreme cases. Still, the question remains what to do in cases of a conflict between Halacha and ethics, a question that is largely avoided in that seminal article.

Rav Lichtenstein does deal with cases of clashes between ethics and Halacha elsewhere. In “The Source of Faith is Faith Itself” (re-published in Tradition 47:4 (Winter 2014), pp. 188-91), he acknowledges having had a crisis of faith surrounding issues of ethics and Halacha in his youth:

At one point, during my late teens, I was troubled by certain ethical questions concerning Amalek, ir ha-nidahat, etc. I then recalled having recently read that Rav Chaim Brisker would awaken nightly to see if someone hadn’t placed a foundling at his doorstep. I knew that I slept quite soundly, and I concluded that if such a paragon of hesed coped with these halakhot, evidently the source of my anxiety did not lie in my greater sensitivity but in my weaker faith. And I set myself to enhancing it. (p. 190)

Rav Lichtenstein’s resolution was not to solve the moral-Halachic contradiction but to strengthen his faith. Not to dull his ethical concerns, and certainly not to undermine his Halachic commitments, but to realize that he didn’t necessarily have all the answers. Epistemic humility, coupled with reliance on his great religious and ethical forbears, was in order.

Another good illustration of Rav Lichtenstein’s emphasis on epistemic humility emerges from an interview with R. Chaim Sabato in the book Mevakshei Panecha (Jerusalem: Yediot Aharonot, 2011; English version published as Seeking His Presence with Koren, 2016). Rav Lichtenstein clearly states that it is unequivocally wrong to own slaves on ethical grounds and simultaneously is unwilling to criticize pre-modern Jews who may have held slaves or the Halachic categories that allow for it.

Frequently, then, in cases of apparent conflict between ethics and Halacha, Rav Lichtenstein resorts to humility, the ability to admit one’s inability to solve a problem, without challenging Halacha or rejecting ethical values. However, he also leaves open a different approach, that of interpretation. As he writes in his primary Hebrew-language article on the topic, “Halakha ve-Halakhim ke-Oshiyot Musar” (published in Arachin be-Mivchan Milchamah, Jerusalem 1985, pp. 13-24), a duly authorized Posek may at times interpret texts in attempting to resolve this sort of conflict, offering an analogue to the case of the Akedah:

Indeed, a Jew is obligated to respond, “Here I am,” when confronted with the command, “Offer him there as a burnt offering” (Genesis 22:2). Yet, before unsheathing the knife, one is both permitted and required, to the best of his ability, to ascertain whether this is truly the command he has been given: Is the message unequivocal? Is the ethical conflict so stark and direct? If there is room for interpretation – and this must be thoroughly investigated – a sensitive and discerning conscience becomes one of the factors shaping proper discretion . . . (pp. 20-21)

Of course, he goes on to clearly state that this sort of interpretation must be carried out within the Halachic system, which remains authoritative in all cases. Great caution must be taken, and only a great Posek should suggest such novel interpretations. Thus, throughout all relevant articles on Halacha and morality, Rav Lichtenstein consistently avers that any conflict between Halacha and ethics must either be avoided, or, if the conflict ultimately persists, be resolved in favor of Halacha.

This is not a glib assertion that “the Torah is moral.” Rav Aharon’s approach is more textured: he accepts the theoretical possibility of moral discomfort with Halachic norms, yet holds that humility and sophisticated interpretation can often alleviate such tension. Where conflict remains, Halacha overrides, but only after the interpreter has exhausted interpretive pathways, evaluated the nature of the obligation, and reaffirmed the basic premise that God, as Commander, binds us to His law. (For those interested in a fuller account of Rav Lichtenstein’s views on these issues, see my essay in the most recent Tradition issue, “Recognizing Rav Aharon Lichtenstein’s Contribution to Ethics and Halakha” (Tradition 57:2, pp. 25-63).

Saving a Non-Jew on Shabbos

Possibly the most striking and morally fraught example of tension between Halacha and ethics is the apparent prohibition against violating Shabbos to save the life of a non-Jew. The Mishnah (Yoma 8:7) makes a distinction between saving a Jew and a non-Jew, which is often understood to mean that, at least in principle, one is not permitted to desecrate Shabbos to save a non-Jew. This seems morally challenging on its face – I have seen children raise a moral objection upon encountering the Mishnah.

Later Halachic authorities attempt to mitigate this ruling. In a sugya running from Avodah Zarah 26a to Orach Chayim 330 and through various responsa (e.g., Igros Moshe, O.C. 4:79), multiple authorities argue that, in practice, one may and must save the life of a non-Jew, due to eivah, the concern that failure to do so would endanger Jewish lives through political or social backlash. While this resolves the practical issue, it seemingly reinforces the principle that non-Jewish lives are of lesser Halachic value, protected only instrumentally, to avoid harm to Jews.

This formulation has prompted considerable discomfort. Some modern interpreters have sought to reinterpret eivah (and similarly with darkei shalom) as an intrinsic moral category, asserting that the Halacha recognizes all human life as equally sacred. But these readings are difficult to sustain textually and contextually, failing to account for the language and logic of the Halachic sources.

An alternative path, taken by Rav Ahron Soloveichik among others, argues that the rules regarding gentiles in the time of the Talmud do not apply to gentiles today, because they qualify as a ger toshav, a resident alien, and Ramban (Shichechei Asin, 15) and others assert that there is a mitzvah to save such gerei toshav, even on Shabbos. (See his article “בענין מבקרין חולי עכו”ם מפני דרכי שלום” in his Sefer עוד ישראל יוסף בני חי (Chicago: Yeshivas Brisk, 1993).) However, this is not the most prevalent explanation of the relevant Halacha, and Rav Lichtenstein does not develop this idea in writing anywhere.

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein on Saving a Non-Jew on Shabbos

Instead, in his article “‘Mah Enosh’: Reflections on the Relation between Judaism and Humanism” (TUMJ 14 (2006), pp. 1-61), Rav Lichtenstein offers a remarkably original, yet textually grounded, interpretation that reconfigures how the Halachic framework itself is to be understood. Drawing on a different position attributed to the Ramban (at Toras ha-Adam, sha’ar ha-sakkanah), Rav Aharon argues that we do not desecrate Shabbos to save a Jewish life because a Jew’s life is more valuable than Shabbos. Rather, we do so to preserve future Shabbos observance: cḥalel alav Shabbos acḥas kedei she-yishmor Shabbosos harbeh (see Yoma 86b). We desecrate Shabbos to save a Jew’s life not because that life outweighs Shabbos but because it enables the fulfillment of Shabbos in the future.

From this standpoint, the prohibition to desecrate Shabbos for a non-Jew’s life is not because their life is worth less than that of a Jew. In truth, all lives are valued equally in principle, and for all areas of Halacha they equally override even biblical prohibitions. Performing melacha on Shabbos, because it is among the most stringent prohibitions (what we might call the arba chamuros), is not overridden by saving a life. Violating Shabbos can only be overridden by a later fulfillment of Shabbos, hence the rule of challel Shabbos achas… Since that is only relevant for Jews, only Jews are saved on Shabbos, in principle.

Two things should be clear about Rav Aharon’s approach to anyone familiar with this sugya: First, it is a radically creative approach that is brought to bear in interpreting the sources to equate in principle the value of a Jewish and non-Jewish life, a deeply humanist position. Second, it does not solve in practice the morally challenging aspects of this Halacha and therefore one would need to rely on an alternate approach to justify violation of Shabbos in order to save a non-Jew, in practice.

This approach follows Rav Lichtenstein’s broader methodology in the relation between Halacha and ethics. He refuses to dismiss Halacha, distort the sources, or elevate moral instinct above law. But he also refuses, on ethical grounds, to accept an interpretation that would degrade non-Jewish life. Instead, with wide-ranging creativity, Rav Lichtenstein offers a principled, source-based resolution that maintains fidelity to Halacha and affirms moral equality.

Urban Legends and Revisionism Regarding Rav Lichtenstein on Saving Gentiles on Shabbos

Despite its conceptual elegance and moral force, this interpretation has not received wide attention, and it largely remains obscure in the broader discourse on this issue. One reason may be that Rav Lichtenstein’s approach does not lend itself to soundbites. It is Halachically subtle and morally serious, but not catchy. In an age of algorithmic outrage and viral quotes, complexity can be a liability.

Instead, we see various distorted versions of Rav Aharon’s view on saving gentiles on Shabbos gaining traction. Perhaps the most pervasive is an urban legend cited in R. Mayer Lichtenstein’s recent book (Musar Avi, self-published, 2025, p. 192), presented as a question posed to Rav Aharon at an Orthodox Forum over two decades ago:

I heard that you said that you would save the non-Jew, violating Shabbos, and then bring a chattas offering for having violated Shabbos. Is this true?

This version suggests that Rav Aharon sanctioned violating Halacha to follow his moral conscience, accepting the sin and its punishment in form of a sin-offering in the (future) Temple.

But this understanding is deeply flawed. First, if one believes something to be the proper course of action, that would presumably either be mezid or not a sin at all, but presumably not qualify as the shogeg sin required for incurring a chattas? (If you know what you are doing is omer muttar, it is presumably no longer omer muttar.) More importantly, the idea that the “correct” path involves knowingly violating Halacha is foreign to Rav Lichtenstein’s entire worldview. As we saw above, Halacha is binding and absolute, and in a conflict between moral intuition and Halachic obligation, Halacha wins. Rav Lichtenstein writes in many places about how he relates to Hakadosh Baruch Hu primarily as “the Commander” (see, e.g., “Mah Enosh,” p. 24), a Being whose directives, once clear, cannot be challenged or sidestepped.

[Parenthetically, this urban legend is a close relative of another urban legend regarding Rav Lichtenstein’s view on what he would do if stuck on a desert island with only pork and human flesh. Rav Lichtenstein’s actual view was that he would eat the human flesh, a lesser prohibition than eating the pig, while some have propagated the idea that he would consume the pork but then do teshuvah for it. A similar problem applies to this view, which Rav Lichtenstein himself never endorsed.]

So what is the real story? In the same volume, R. Mayer cites Rav Aharon’s response to this query (Musar Avi, p. 192):

אומנם כן, הייתי מציל את הגוי אף אם זה היה כרוך בחילול השבת. הייתי מרים את עיניי למרום ואומר לקב”ה, חיללתי שבת להציל גוי כי אני חושב שזה רצונך: כך פסק מו”ר הרב אהרן סולובייצ’יק

It is indeed true, I would save the gentile, even if it would be tied up with desecration of Shabbos. I would raise my eyes to Heaven and say to God ‘I desecrated Shabbos in order to save a gentile because I believe this is Your will’; so ruled my teacher and master Rav Ahron Soloveichik.”

Stated as a corrective against the perspective that he should sin and bring a hattat, Rav Lichtenstein clarifies that his approach in saving the non-Jew is not a defiance of Halacha but rather a fulfillment of it, based on the view of Rav Ahron Soloveichik noted above. As R. Mayer notes, Rav Aharon would not have acted without a Halachic basis. He was not violating Halacha to serve morality. He was relying on a Halachic ruling that such an act is permissible, and even obligatory, within the Halachic system. This is a ruling, R. Mayer notes further, that Rav Soloveichik gave to doctors to apply in practice. It may be that Rav Lichtenstein did not find Rav Ahron Soloveichik’s view to be the majority, authoritative view (although it is certainly also possible that he did); in a theoretical vacuum with no relevant ethical issues, he might not have adopted it. However, given the ethical stakes at hand – saving a human life! – there was good reason to follow Rav Ahron Soloveichik’s position. Rav Lichtenstein has argued that in a situation of a clash between the prima facie Halacha and a clear humanist ethical principle, such as this case, he was willing to rely on a minority view, bish’as ha-dechak. (See “Mah Enosh” and “The Human and Social Factor in Halakha,” Tradition 36:1, pp. 1-25, on reliance on minority positions, which he also applied in practice.)

However, this subtlety is often lost, and even this corrective offered by Rav Aharon Lichtenstein in this story has been misinterpreted by those seeking to derive more simplistic or shocking views from Rav Aharon’s ethically based approach.

Recently, some have put forward a novel interpretation of the passage in Rav Mayer’s Musar Avi. Ignoring Rav Aharon’s justification of his action by reference to R. Ahron Soloveichik’s view, and instead emphasizing the words “חיללתי שבת,” they instead read Rav Lichtenstein’s statement as a theological protest: I will do what I believe is right, even against Halacha , and justify myself to God. This highly implausible reading is described as “so incredibly radical, almost Iszbitz’esque,” dubiously asserting a linkage to those antinomian ideas, and offered as evidence that Rav Lichtenstein, troubled by the clash between Halacha and ethics, must have secretly adopted this antinomian Hasidic approach, against all his other writings on this topic.

This interpretation is as fallacious as it is fanciful. Its problems are numerous, and will be delineated below (even such an exercise should not be necessary). First, this approach takes the fact that Rav Aharon said the words חיללתי שבת to mean that he broke Halacha in antinomian fashion, ignoring the fact that the phrase מחללין את השבת is routinely used in rabbinic literature to do an act that is generally prohibited but here permitted (see, e.g., Mishnah Rosh Hashana 1:4). Or, as Rav Aharon himself put it in the related context of avera lishmah, “the term avera refers, then, to an act which is proscribed under ordinary circumstances.” Of course, he is very clear that “the currently popular [in 1975] notion of avera lishmah (idealistic transgression) has no halakhic standing whatsoever.” (For citations above, see “Ethic Independent,” p. 84 n. 25 and p. 67.)

Moreover, as laid out above, Rav Lichtenstein explicitly and consistently rejected any approach that elevates moral intuition over Halacha. His essays on submission to God’s will, on autonomy and heteronomy, and on the centrality of command all point to the same conclusion. He does not break Halacha for ethics. He does attempt to interpret Halacha, using its internal tools, in a way that preserves ethical integrity; if that fails, he submits to the divine will, out of a stance of humility. And, of course, this dubious interpretation ignores the fact that Rav Lichtenstein, immediately after saying he would violate Shabbos, says he would do so in following the view of his Rebbe, Rav Ahron Soloveichik! It is hard to see how ignoring that clear statement is anything but willful illiteracy. And, of course, this reading ignores how the story is interpreted by Rav Mayer, Rav Aharon’s son and our source for the story in the first place.

We actually possess another account of Rav Aharon Lichtenstein’s views where he clarifies the connection between Rav Ahron Soloveichik’s view and his own view. Rav Dov Karoll, a loyal talmid of Rav Lichtenstein, wrote an article entitled “Laws of Medical Treatment on Shabbat” that appeared in Verapo Yerape: And You Shall Surely Heal (Ktav, 2009, pp. 211-30), which sets up two approaches to saving a life: that of eivah and one based on the inherent value of a gentile’s life, attributed among others to Rav Ahron Soloveichik:

Rav Lichtenstein said that were he to be confronted with a case of violating Shabbat to save the life of a gentile, he would act to save the life of the gentile on principle, relying on those views that allow for it in principle, not based on societal concerns alone. (pp. 218-19)

Despite all the confirmations as to Rav Lichtenstein’s true view and consistent perspective across his writings over six decades, this revisionism sadly persists. We live in a world where depth is easily mistaken for ambiguity and those who seize upon the most shocking interpretation are unfortunately rewarded and thus persist in their misinterpretations.

Revisionism and Rav Aharon Lichtenstein

While this example above focused on a progressive distortion of Rav Lichtenstein’s views, there is also revisionism from “the right.” We might note Rav Lichtenstein’s general view on ethics and Halacha, which some dubiously have interpreted as rejecting moral intuitions as binding absent a clear Halachic source stating them. Or there is his nuanced view on organ donation, which has occasionally been presented for its technical Halachic content while minimizing his commitment to ethical issues.

For a real life example of revisionism I saw with my own eyes, I was once present when someone introduced Rav Lichtenstein by noting that he is a great champion of Torah Umadda, and kal va-chomer he would supports Torah UParnasa, only for Rav Lichtenstein to respond that, in his actual view, increasing one’s standard of living did not justify bittul Torah. We could multiply the examples, on both sides of the ledger. Rav Lichtenstein’s short article on “Women in Leadership” (Tradition 49:1 (2016), 31–35) might be a good example of a text interpreted by revisionists on both the right and the left. I may well develop further some of these other examples on a future opportunity.

Rav Lichtenstein’s Halachic, ethical, and intellectual integrity resists simplification in either ideological direction. Engaging his thought demands the hard work of interpretation, the humility of submission, and the courage of honest engagement. As the years pass since Rav Lichtenstein’s death, it becomes ever-more important to safeguard the richness of his legacy. That means resisting distortions, even well-meaning ones. It means reading his writings carefully, understanding his principles deeply, and quoting him fully, not selectively.

The greatest tribute we can offer is to take Rav Aharon Lichtenstein at full depth, to resist the urge to remake him in our image, and instead to let his commitment to Hashem, to Torah, to ethics, and to complexity continue to shape ours.

We are now in the period of Shovavim, which spans from the week of Parshas Shemos until Mishpatim. Traditionally, these weeks are associated with self-improvement, particularly in the area of taharah (purity). In recent years, especially in Chassidic circles, there has been an increasing emphasis on using this time to strengthen ourselves in maintaining our kedushah (personal sanctity), particularly in overcoming challenges related to forbidden relationships. And while no one has ever accused me of being a Chassid, there is never a bad time to address what is undoubtedly one of the greatest challenges for bnei Torah today.

At the same time, there is another powerful force that competes for the hearts and minds of bnei Torah—sports. If baseball was once America’s national pastime, today, football has become America’s religion. I’d rather not invoke the Torah’s terminology for incorporating another faith alongside serving Hashem. And while sports are around year round, the biggest sporting event of the year happens to take place during shovavim.

What is the common denominator between these two areas? Both exploit human emotion—one by appealing to base desires, the other by creating an intoxicating sense of excitement, identity, and passion. If so, we should be asking: How should Bnei Torah contend with these powerful forces?

I raised the question of kedushah on a recent episode of Shtark Tank, my podcast about the challenges and opportunities of being a ben Torah in the workforce. My guest was Rav David Lapin, a Rav and business consultant, and one of the deepest thinkers I know when it comes to Torah values in the modern world.

He suggested that our focus should not be on simply building resistance against temptation. Programs like Vayimaen, which encourage spending time each day strengthening oneself against the yetzer hara, have value. But if our entire approach assumes that the yetzer hara will be a constant, daily struggle, we may be setting ourselves up for failure. It’s the equivalent of always reminding someone to not think of pink elephants.

Instead, our strategy should be to minimize the battleground as much as possible. How? By filling our lives with deep, engaging, and emotionally fulfilling Torah learning. If we cultivate a passionate connection to Torah, the pull of external distractions naturally weakens. When a person is deeply invested in something meaningful, he doesn’t need to fight off lesser temptations—he simply isn’t drawn to them. (This idea can also be applied to other creative, engaging and useful pursuits. But when applied to Torah we gain siyata dishmaya, a deep connection to Hashem, and an infinite subject matter.)

This idea is not new. Chazal and the Rishonim teach this principle explicitly. Avos D’Rabbi Nosson states that someone whose mind is filled with Torah will not struggle with the desire for foolishness and promiscuity:

מסכתות קטנות מסכת אבות דרבי נתן נוסחא א פרק כ
רבי חנניה סגן הכהנים אומר כל הנותן דברי תורה על לבו מבטלין ממנו הרהורין הרבה. הרהורי רעב. הרהורי שטות. הרהורי זנות. הרהורי יצר הרע והרהורי אשה רעה. הרהורי דברים בטלים. הרהורי עול בשר ודם

“Rabbi Hananiah Sgan HaKohanim says: whoever puts the words of Torah on his heart, many thoughts are removed from him. Thoughts of hunger. Thoughts of foolishness. Thoughts of fornication. Thoughts of the evil inclination and thoughts of a bad woman. Thoughts of idle things. Thoughts of the yoke of flesh and blood.”

The Rambam, in Hilchos Issurei Biah, offers the same advice:

רמב”ם הלכות איסורי ביאה פרק כב הלכה כא
וכן ינהוג להתרחק מן השחוק ומן השכרות ומדברי עגבים שאלו גורמין גדולים והם מעלות של עריות, ולא ישב בלא אשה שמנהג זה גורם לטהרה יתירה, גדולה מכל זאת אמרו יפנה עצמו ומחשבתו לדברי תורה וירחיב דעתו בחכמה שאין מחשבת עריות מתגברת אלא בלב פנוי מן החכמה, ובחכמה הוא אומר אילת אהבים ויעלת חן דדיה ירווך בכל עת באהבתה תשגה תמיד. סליקו להו הלכות איסורי ביאה בס”ד

Similarly, a person should distance himself from levity, intoxication, and flirtation, for they are great precipitators and steps [leading] to forbidden relations.

A man should not live without a wife, for this practice leads to great purity. And [our Sages gave] even greater [advice], saying: “A person should always turn himself and his thoughts to the words of the Torah and expand his knowledge in wisdom, for the thoughts of forbidden relations grow strong solely in a heart which is empty of wisdom.” And in [Solomon’s words of] wisdom [Proverbs 5:19], it is written: “It is a beloved hind, arousing favor. Her breasts will satisfy you at all times. You shall be obsessed with her love.”

The Ritva, at the end of Kiddushin, expresses the same idea. After discussing the importance of maintaining personal safeguards in interactions with women, he concludes by emphasizing the protective power of deep Torah immersion:

חדושי הריטב”א מסכת קידושין דף פב עמוד א
…ואשרי מי שגובר על יצרו ועמלו ואומנתו בתורה, שדברי תורה עומדים לו לאדם בילדותו ונותנין לו אחרית ותקוה לעת זקנתו, שנאמר עוד ינובון בשיבה דשנים ורעננים יהיו

“And blessed is he who overcomes his inclinations and labors in Torah, for the words of the Torah stand firm for a person in his childhood and give him a future and hope in his old age, as it is said: “They will again flourish in their return, they will be fertile and fresh.”

This approach is just as relevant to the pull of sports culture. Today’s society fosters a deep emotional connection to teams, players, and championships—a form of passion that mirrors the excitement Torah is meant to provide. The same Torah strategy that applies to forbidden relationships applies here as well: Instead of focusing on fighting the desire, we should be filling our lives with something more compelling.

The more alive our connection to Torah is, the less we will feel the need for external excitement. As Chazal teach: “אין לך בן חורין אלא מי שעוסק בתורה”—true freedom comes from Torah immersion, not from chasing fleeting thrills.

So the real question isn’t just about avoiding these distractions—it’s about whether we’ve built the kind of thrilling Torah life that minimizes our desire for cheap, shallow and meaningless experiences. If not, perhaps that’s where our real avodah lies.

Sometimes a story hits so close to home that it shakes you to the core. A family I knew—a ger tzedek and his family—recently went completely off the derech. It’s a sad tragedy, one that leaves a person with a heavy heart and no small amount of questions.

The husband, a sincere convert in my opinion, began his journey through a Conservative beis din but later pursued a proper geirus l’chumra to be mekabel the ol malchus Shamayim in earnest. It took five long years  to complete the geirus—years filled with challenges, sacrifices, and endless waiting. In retrospect, maybe this was necessary? After finally becoming fully part of Klal Yisroel, they opened a kosher pizza shop. It was their livelihood, their life, their chance to build something holy. But when it shut down, they felt they received no real support from the community. Feeling abandoned, they moved elsewhere to try again, opening another restaurant. That too failed. And now, rachmana litzlan, they’ve turned their backs on everything they once fought so hard to embrace.

It’s a situation that’s all too familiar in certain circles, and it raises uncomfortable questions for us as a community. Could this have been prevented? Is it even fair to blame the community? Maybe this is just the way things are in this mundane world, where everyone is busy with their own struggles. But what if we could have done more? What if this tragic outcome reflects not just their challenges, but a failing on our part as well?

The Painful Reality of Geirus

Geirus is a act of unparalleled mesiras nefesh. To abandon everything—their family, culture, and sometimes even their identity—to accept Torah and mitzvos is no small thing. But for many gerim, the journey doesn’t end with the geirus; it only begins. And for too many, that beginning is filled with tzaros.

The challenges of geirim are manifold:

1. Parnassah Difficulties: Many gerim start with limited financial resources, and finding a sustainable parnassah in the frum world can feel nearly impossible.

2. Social Isolation: Without natural family ties in the community, they often feel like outsiders, no matter how much they try to integrate.

3. Unrealistic Expectations: While we praise gerim for their mesiras nefesh, too often we take it for granted, expecting them to carry the burden alone without offering real assistance.

What Can Be Done?

The Torah tells us no fewer than 36 times to love and care for the ger. It’s a mitzvah so central that it defines our entire identity as a people. If we fail in this mitzvah, it’s not just the gerim who suffer—it’s a flaw in our entire role as a mamleches kohanim. So what can we do?

1. Structured Kehillah Support

Every local community should have a dedicated va’ad to support gerim, whether it’s connecting them with families for consistent Shabbos invitations, providing chavrusos, or simply being a point of contact for guidance. A ger should never feel like they’re navigating this alone.

2. Parnassah Resources

We need to recognize that financial struggles are often the breaking point. Communities could establish funds to help gerim get on their feet or provide guidance for parnassah options that align with their unique challenges.

3. Real Chesed, Not Just Lip Service

It’s not enough to give a polite “yasher koach” and move on. Gerim need real relationships—people who care, who invite them not as guests but as part of the family. It’s the difference between being tolerated and being truly welcomed.

4. Empathy Education

The community needs to understand the struggles gerim face, from feeling like outsiders to dealing with the weight of starting from scratch. This awareness can foster more sensitivity and a willingness to go the extra mile.

5. Follow-Up from Rabbonim

Rabbonim involved in the geirus process must stay involved afterward. A rav or dayan who helped a family join Klal Yisroel should remain a source of support and guidance, ensuring they don’t fall through the cracks.

A Call to Action

The sad reality is that not every story will have a happy ending. People have free will, and not every challenge can be resolved. But this much is clear: If a family leaves the derech because they feel abandoned by the community, it reflects on all of us. The Torah commands us: “V’ahavtem es hager, and you shall love the convert” not just with words, but with actions that show we value them as full members of the community.

This family’s story is heartbreaking, but it’s also a wake-up call. Let us take this tragedy and turn it into a merit, one of ahavas Yisroel and of making sure that no ger ever feels like a stranger in our midst again. May we merit to build a community where every neshama is cherished, and where the mitzvah of “v’ahavtem es hager” is fulfilled in its fullest sense.

Yaakov Wolff is the host of the popular Shtark Tank podcast for Bnei Torah in the workforce. He learned in Kerem Byavne hesder program and kollel, and received semicha from the Rabanut.

Shlomo and his squad were taking cover behind a pile of debris. On the commander’s signal, they quickly moved out from behind their cover and began to approach the next building. A dark figure emerged from the building, a long weapon slung over his shoulder. The terrorist quickly dropped to one knee, aimed the RPG launcher at Shlomo’s group, and fired.

The grenade sailed over the heads of the Israeli force, landing harmlessly in an abandoned building. The Hamas fighter disappeared into a tunnel, and the mission continued. Later that evening, a discussion broke out amongst the soldiers. One religious soldier proclaimed, “What a miracle we just experienced!” Another comrade cynically responded, “Was that a miracle, or just bad aim?”

On the holiday of Chanuka, we talk a lot about miracles. We say the Al HaNissim prayer over thirty times, recite the full Hallel eight times, and remember the miracle of the oil each evening when we light the candles. In fact, the expressly defined purpose of the holiday is “to recognize and praise God” for these miracles (see the end of Al Hanissim prayer, and Shabbos 21b).

But do we know how to identify a miracle? If a miracle happened tomorrow, would we recognize it? And what if we have already seen miracles but failed to appreciate them?

Many people long to experience miracles. They yearn to see the open hand of God, to feel His loving embrace expressed through supernatural occurrences. Some even latch onto unverified or exaggerated stories to fulfill this urge. But a closer look at the Chanuka story allows us to shift our perspective on this issue.

When we think about miracles, our minds usually race to the miracle of the oil—the iconic story that forms the heart of the Chanuka narrative (Shabbos 21b). This story captivate us as children and beyond. The reason for this is twofold. First, the suspension of natural laws is a striking signal of divine intervention, breaking the predictable order of the world in a way only God could achieve. Second, the lack of human involvement removes any ambiguity about its source, making it unequivocally clear that this was an act of God. Based on these characteristics, we can draw a parallel to the splitting of the sea, where God also intervened with a supernatural miracle.

But on Chanuka, there was another miracle: the military victory of the Chashmonaim. This is the main focus of the Al HaNissim prayer, which gives only a brief nod to the oil and the candles. This story is markedly different from the miracle of the oil. The military victory was not supernatural; it was a combination of God’s salvation and human effort. We can compare this type of miracle to the story of Purim, another miraculous event that requires us to say “Al HaNissim.” Like the military victory on Chanuka, the events of Purim involved human effort—Esther’s bravery and Mordechai’s leadership—woven with divine intervention hidden behind the scenes.

The distinction between the two parts of the Chanuka story is made by the maharal (cited below). With this broader definition of a miracle, we are invited to reflect: are we able to recognize and appreciate miracles unfolding before our eyes, even when they are less obvious? We don’t even have to go back far in history. An article in the Times of Israel this past week stated that the war against Hezbollah was far more successful than anticipated. Both Israeli and American intelligence agencies predicted heavy Israeli losses and difficulty in crippling Hezbollah.

While there were no obvious supernatural miracles in this war, the extraordinary success achieved under challenging circumstances prompts deeper reflection. The IDF fought brilliantly, after years of training, gathering intelligence, and covertly producing beepers. But as we see from the military victory on Chanuka, none of these efforts deny the possibility that this was a miracle.

This idea is challenging, as it forces us to confront both psychological and theological complexities. On one hand, our minds gravitate toward straightforward explanations. On the other, the hidden nature of miracles presents profound spiritual questions.

Firstly, there are psychological factors that influence how we perceive and interpret events. Daniel Kahneman, in his bestselling book Thinking, Fast and Slow, discusses how humans prefer simple ways of thinking about the world. In Chapter 19, “The Illusion of Understanding,” he writes that it is much easier to grasp a narrative where human effort leads to success. This is why business books often analyze successful companies and attribute their achievements to specific strategies, suggesting these strategies can be replicated. Alternatively, a narrative that focuses exclusively on God’s influence is also simple for us to internalize. But the truth is that success always results from both human effort and external factors.

This basic fact is difficult for the human mind to internalize because it requires complex thinking. We prefer a simple narrative with one cause and effect rather than wrapping our heads around the idea that both human effort and God’s help played essential roles.

Another thing to keep in mind is that a miracle doesn’t always lead to a fairy-tale ending. A person might look at today’s political, military, and religious landscape and see many challenges and imperfections. But the expectation that a miracle will provide a perfect solution to all our problems is misplaced. One need look no further than the Exodus from Egypt and the splitting of the sea, which did not prevent the sins of the golden calf, the spies, and many other challenges and controversies throughout the journey in the desert. So the fact that we still have a long road ahead does not negate the possibility of a miracle.

On a hashkafic level, there is one more issue we need to grapple with. Hidden miracles, by their very nature, elude easy identification and invite us to probe deeper into their meaning. A soldier looking through his scope and seeing a suspicious bush might be seeing an enemy with branches taped to his helmet, but he might empty his magazine only to find he eliminated an actual bush. Similarly, is there any way to know for sure that a hidden miracle has taken place?

In fact, the maharal (Ner Mitzvah Part 2, Inyanei Chanuka ד.ה. ועוד יש לומר) writes that this challenge was the reason for the miracle of the oil. Salvation from a brutal enemy is a cause for celebration, far more so than the ability to light the menorah for seven extra days. But if the only miracle that took place was the military victory, many would attribute it exclusively to the strength, bravery and cunningness of the Chashmonaim. Therefore God revealed himself with the supernatural miracle of the oil, so that we should realize that the military victory was also from Above.

So where does that leave us today? Are we living in a time of hidden miracles? It is far beyond my paygrade to give definitive guidance. But I think this is a question we must take seriously, as reflecting on it can deepen our gratitude and strengthen our connection to God’s presence in our lives. As Jews we are obligated to recognize and thank Hashem for His miracles. Therefore, a deep analysis of what constitutes a miracle and how that aligns with our current reality would be a worthwhile discussion for this Chanuka.

Every year, around Chanukah time, we follow the drama of Yosef–from pampered young boy to lowly slave, then master of Potiphar’s house, once again a lowly prisoner and finally the second most powerful man in Egypt. At the same time, as if in mirror image, another drama of ups and downs plays itself out in the life of Yosef’s brother Yehudah. At first he is the acknowledged leader of his brothers, but in the aftermath of the Yosef debacle, he is diminished and estranged from the family.^[1]See Rashi Bereshit 38:1. He re-emerges as the leader of the family in his confrontation with Yosef over the imprisonment of Binyamin, and Yehudah’s ascendance is underscored by Yaakov singling out Yehudah and charging him with the task of laying the foundation of their new home in Egypt. Ultimately, Yehudah’s leadership role is established in Yaakov’s parting blessings to his sons by confirming royal status upon Yehudah’s descendants. The story of Yehudah’s reformation is complex and multi-layered, but part of it hinges on two words, which are relevant not only to the transformation of Yehudah, but to Chanukah and to contemporary life.

Yehudah’s Reckoning

Yehudah’s downfall begins when he suggests selling Yosef into slavery rather than murdering him outright or allowing him to languish in a pit until death: “What gain [mah betza] will there be if we kill our brother and cover up his blood?” (Bereshit 37:26). Yehudah’s deficient salvation of Yosef is roundly condemned by the Tanna, R. Meir (Sanhedrin 6b): Anyone who praises Yehudah is considered a blasphemer about whom it is said, “u-botze’a berech ni’etz et Hashem” (Tehilim 10:3), which R. Meir reads to mean: “and he who blesses the one who said ‘mah betza’ has blasphemed Hashem.” Maharsha (loc cit) contends that R. Meir’s criticism is not pointed at one who praises the act of salvation itself, limited as it was, for we find that even Yaakov praised Yehudah for this.^[2]See Rashi Bereshit.49:9. Rather, it was Yehudah’s rationale for not killing him, i.e.,“mah betza” – “what gain will there be,” that drew such a strong censure. Yehudah’s words imply that had there been some material gain, then this would have justified the murder of their brother. Such a proposition is tantamount to blasphemy. It is the fear of God that countermands murder, under all circumstances.

Yehudah’s failure was in asserting the materialistic, self-interested, utilitarian philosophy of mah betza. His redemption, therefore, would be to reject that flawed philosophy, something that takes place at the climax of the Yosef story. However, even before that, the Torah hints at Yehudah’s moral awakening.^[3]I thank Micha Berger for encouraging me to include this point. After the sale of Yosef, the Torah interrupts the story of Yosef’s descent to Egypt with the story of Yehudah and Tamar. Tamar was the wife of Yehudah’s eldest son Er, who was “evil in the eyes of Hashem and Hashem slew him” (Bereshit 38:7). Tamar is subsequently married to Er’s younger brother Onan, in accordance with the laws of yibum,^[4]See Devarim 25:5-6. but “Onan knew that the seed would not be his,^[5]See Ramban loc cit, verse 8 for an explanation of the esoteric concept of yibum. and it came to pass when he went in unto his brother’s wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest he should give seed to his brother. And the thing which he did was evil in the eyes of Hashem and He slew him also” (Bereshit 38:9-10). Rashi (verse 7) points out that the Torah’s formulation “And He slew him also” suggests that Er also sinned by spilling his seed, albeit for a different reason, to prevent Tamar from becoming pregnant, thereby preserving her youthful beauty. We have here a description of the mah betza philosophy taken to an ugly, selfish conclusion. As the story continues, Yehudah, afraid for his third son, isolates Tamar, who in accordance with the laws of yibum, is still bound like a wife to Yehudah’s family, and, in her desperation, she dresses up as a prostitute, lures Yehudah into impregnating her and takes several identifying objects from Yehudah as a security. When her pregnancy is discovered, Yehudah assumes that she has committed adultery and sentences her to be burned to death. As she is led out to be executed, Tamar sends a messenger to deliver the previously secured object to Yehudah, asking him to recognize who they belong to and then sends a separate messenger stating that the owner of the objects is the father of her unborn child. Rashi (verse 25) notes that Tamar was prepared to die before publicizing Yehudah’s guilt. From here we derive that it is better to be cast into a fiery furnace rather than embarrass someone in public.^[6]See Bava Metzia 59a. Tamar’s fearless moral stance is the antithesis of the mah betza philosophy. Perhaps Yehudah was impressed by her selfless act and this generated the process of introspection that led to his ultimate repentance. Indeed, Yehudah revoked Tamar’s death sentence and publicly acknowledged his paternity, an act which gained him no benefit and may have even brought him some reputational harm.

Yehudah’s opportunity to fully redeem himself came later, when the food the brothers had purchased on their first trip to Egypt ran out. The brothers could not return unless they brought their younger brother Binyamin with them to appease Yosef, who they only recognized as the capricious viceroy of Egypt. Again and again Yaakov refused to endanger his youngest son until Yehudah turned to his father and proclaimed, “Send the lad with me, and let us arise and go, so we will live and not die, we as well as you as well as our children. I will personally guarantee him [anochi e’ervenu]; of my own hand you can demand him. If I do not bring him back to you and stand him before you, then I will have sinned to you for all time.” (Bereshit 43:8-9). Later when Yosef threatened to take Binyamin as a slave, Yehudah repeated his promise, “For your servant guaranteed [arav] the youth from my father saying, ‘If I do not bring him back to you then I will have sinned to my father for all time.’ Now, therefore , please let your servant remain instead of the youth as a servant to my lord, and let the youth go up with his brothers” (ibid. 44:32-33).

Yehudah’s selfless act, to offer himself in place of Binyamin, is considered by the Talmud (Bava Batra 173b) to be analogous to the legal category of Arev– Gaurantor, a third party who agrees to repay a loan for a borrower if the latter defaults on his loan or in some cases, to repay the loan outright.^[7]The Talmud seems to conclude that Yehudah was in this second category known as arev kablan. See, however, Masoret ha-Shas loc. cit., who cites an alternative textual version of this Talmudic passage … Continue reading Rambam writes^[8]Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Mechirah 11:15 that even though an arev receives no benefit and does not make any legal affirmation, he effects his obligation to repay the loan simply by verbalizing his commitment. The Talmud does speak of an immaterial benefit, namely that the arev gets the satisfaction that the loan was transacted due to his guarantee, but Rambam seems to understand that even this benefit is only necessary to solve a secondary problem, namely, the possibility of a lack of resolve (asmachta) on the part of the arev.^[9]In Kehilot Yaakov, Kiddushin #10 R. Yaakov YIsrael Kanievski catalogs the differing approaches of other authorities, that the arev is considered to have received the monies himself or that the … Continue reading An arev receives no material benefit and is fundamentally unconcerned with his own personal gain. He does not ask- “mah betza?” Yehudah, by offering to guarantee Binyamin’s protection, did not ask “mah betza?” By acting selflessly, and in fact, to his own detriment, Yehudah repented for his earlier callous moral calculation regarding Yosef’s fate.

Original Cynicism

The origin of the mah betza philosophy can be found at the dawn of mankind. A superficial reading of the biblical story of the first sin, yields an untenable conclusion: prior to the sin, man was without intellect and it was only as a consequence of his sin that he attained the knowledge of tov and ra, good and evil. How can the attainment of intellect be construed as a punishment or a negative consequence? In the second chapter of the Guide to the Perplexed, Rambam deals with this question. Most readers of the Guide understand Rambam to say that before the sin man viewed everything in purely cognitive terms of true and false and that after eating of the tree he came to view matters in ethical terms of right and wrong, but R. Soloveitchik contends^[10]Worship of the Heart, Ktav, 2003. The quotations from this work are found on pp. 37-50. R. Soloveitchik’s point is not to reject the aesthetic model completely, but only to argue that it must be … Continue reading that Rambam’s interpretation is identical with the more explicit formulation of Ramban (Bereshit 2:9). The change within mankind was not one of true/false vs. right/wrong, rather “an opposition between the cognitive-ethical truth and falsity, on the one hand, and propriety and impropriety, what is pleasing or displeasing in an aesthetic sense, on the other hand.” R. Soloveitchik argues that the terms tov and ra, while sometimes meaning good and bad in the ethical sense, are understood by Rambam in this context to refer to the aesthetic:

Maimonides translates the words tov va-ra, in the story of the original fall, as meaning the pleasant and unpleasant, the comfortable and the uncomfortable, or the delightful and ugly. He says so explicitly when he continues, in explaining the fall: After man’s disobedience…he began to give way to desires that had their source in his imagination and to the gratification of his bodily appetites, as it is said, “And the wife saw that the tree was good for food and delightful to the eyes…” (Gen. 3:6) (Guide 1:2) (p.47).

Rambam took his cue from Gen. 3:6, where the word tov is clearly used in its aesthetic sense. The consequence of disobeying God’s command was that Man’s ability to intellectually and morally interpret his universe became sullied and confused by subjective and often fanciful or false perceptions.

R. Soloveitchik develops a dialectical approach to the human experience in which there are two world views: the cognitive-ethical and the aesthetic. The cognitive-ethical persona is “engaged in the search for truth.” He follows the dictates of his conscience which is guided by an “ethical law, unaltered” that “persists in her majestic dignity forever.” He “decides in favor of the norm many times a day and does not become bored or tired of repeating the same act hundreds of times, whenever his conscience commands him to do so.” The aesthetic persona, on the other hand, pursues beauty and sensuousness. He “rejects all objective, fixed, self-repeating experiences and searches for the mutable, the new and the unknown.” While R. Soloveitchik’s main purpose is to describe two perceptional modes that exist both concurrently and alternatingly within each person, it is also clear that one of the two modes will assert itself as the dominant philosophy and outlook within a given individual. The deeply religious person lives by an unaltered ethical law. He does not ask, “What gain is there for me?” He is not interested in pleasing himself, but in living up to an objective, transcendental truth. However, the superficially religious person is often an aesthete who “represents only himself; the entire creation centers around him.” The aesthetic model is essentially the materialistic, self-interested philosophy of mah betza. Murder is only wrong because it is ugly and unpleasing. If there is something to gain, it becomes a tantalizing possibility. The cognitive-ethical person will remain true to his principles even under external pressure, but the aesthete will begin to make cynical calculations and ask, “Mah betza?”

The incongruity between the mah betza philosophy and religion is highlighted by the careful wording of Rambam. In the third chapter of Hilkhot Teshuvah, Rambam categorizes different groups of unbelievers. For example, in halakhah 7 Rambam writes that anyone who believes in multiple gods or in a corporeal God, or even one who worships other powers as intermediaries between man and God, is labeled a min (heretic). Later in halakhah 9 the Rambam defines the category of meshumadim (apostates): “An apostate with respect to the whole Torah is one who at a time of religious persecution converted to the idolaters’ religion and clings to them saying, ‘What gain [mah betza] is there to me to cling to the Jewish People, who are lowly and persecuted. Better to join these nations who are powerful.’ Such a person is an apostate with respect to the whole Torah.”

There are two questions that the classical commentaries raise regarding this passage. First, why does Rambam limit apostasy to a time of religious persecution (and, we could add- why was it necessary to dramatize the apostasy by verbalizing the apostate’s cynical thoughts)? Second, Raavad points out that according to Rambam’s own words in halakhah 7 above, a person who converts to idolatry, believes in their gods, and should be categorized as a min. What need is there for the meshumad category? In response to the first question, R. Yosef Karo^[11]Kesef Mishneh loc. cit. explains that it is obvious that one who converts to another religion without external pressure is an apostate. Rambam only writes about a time of persecution because his novel claim is that even one who converts under duress is included in this category. R. Karo proposes several possible answers to the question of why the category of meshumad is necessary. Perhaps, Rambam is speaking of one who converts to those religions that are not considered idolatry. Alternatively, Rambam is asserting that one who converts to idolatry is both a min and a meshumad, compounding his negative status, although the ramifications of this double status are unclear. Finally, R. Karo contends that Raavad’s presumption, that one who converts to idolatrous practice necessarily believes in its theology, is mistaken. One who believes in idols is a min. However, one who merely goes through the motions of external worship is a meshumad.

R. Moshe Avigdor Amiel suggests^[12]“Yoma Tava le-Rabbanan.” Sefer ha-Yovel le-khevod R. Shimon Yehudah ha-kohen Shkop, pp.38-44. a different understanding of this passage in Hilkhot Teshuvah which solves all the difficulties in Rambam’s formulation. Earlier in Mishneh Torah^[13]Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah 5:4 Rambam writes that even though one who is coerced to worship idols must forfeit his life, if he does not do so he is not punished because he acted under duress. It follows that, since one who was pressured to convert and did so out of fear is not held entirely accountable for his actions, he should not be placed in any of the categories of unbelievers. Furthermore, the Kesef Mishneh’s assumption, that it is obvious that one who converts without any external pressure is an apostate, is also incorrect. Such an individual is certainly a min because they have willfully accepted idolatry, but the category of apostasy signifies something else. Rambam’s construction of the meshumad classification in Hilkhot Teshuvah is very exact. Only one who converts during a time of persecution, not because he believes in idolatry, but also not out of fear, rather because of the cynical calculation “What gain [mah betza] is there to me to cling to the Jewish People?” is an apostate. It is the materialist, the cynic who abandons God and the Jewish people over a question of what there is to gain, who is labeled a meshumad.

Judaic vs. Hellenic

In the early days of the Second Temple, the prophet Malachi rebuked his generation forthrightly: “Your words have become harsh against Me,” says God. But you say, “How have we spoken against You?” You have said, “It is useless to serve God! And what gain [mah betza] is there for having kept His watch and that we walk submissively before Hashem, Master of Legions?” (Malachi 3:13-14). R. Amiel writes that while the statement “it is useless to serve God” may seem more shocking, it is the materialistic philosophy expressed in the words mah betza that is the greater problem. With someone who does not appreciate the value of divine service, we can argue and debate. However, the entire discussion is undermined by framing the question purely in material terms. If someone does not see the world through the prism of spirituality, but only in terms of earthly profit, then there is no common language and there can be no conversation. It was because of this materialistic orientation that Malachi’s generation concluded, “So now we will praise the wicked. Evildoers will be built up; they have even tested God and escaped.” (ibid. 15). If immediate material success is the only gauge by which to evaluate the world, the conclusion is inescapable.

Sefer ha-Makavim I paints a picture of the Jews in the pre-Hasmonean period, which echoes the words of Malachi: “In those days there came forth out of Israel, lawless men and persuaded many, saying, ‘Let us go and make a covenant with the nations that are around us; for since we separated ourselves from them many evils have come upon us.’”^[14]Sefer ha-Makavim 1:11 The author of Sefer ha-Makavim concludes his preamble “And they joined themselves to the Gentiles, and sold themselves to do evil.”^[15]Ibid.1:15 It is possible that Malachi was not speaking only to his generation, but prophetically, to the future generations of Hellenizers who would arrive on the scene only a short time after Malachi’s time.^[16]Shem mi-Shemuel, Chanukah 5678, Leil 4 sees a causal and somewhat mystical connection between the attitude of the Jews of Malachi’s generation and the rise of Hellenism. The main motivation behind the process of Hellenization amongst all the peoples of the East, including the Jews of that period, was the advancement of economic and social status.^[17]“It can be said that the initiative towards Hellenization, that is, for partial or total adoption of the Greek way of life, originated unilaterally from the Semitic and Egyptian natives who … Continue reading The Jewish assimilationists cared little for the unique and eternal destiny of the Jewish nation because their only value system was “mah betza.”

To a great degree, the Jews under Hellenist rule were simply absorbing the materialistic culture around them. The Cambridge History of Judaism reports that, in general, religion was in decline during this time: “The most encouraged religion of this period was the pseudo-religion of ruler worship, the divinization of the ‘superman’ endowed by Tyche [the goddess of luck] with success.”^[18]Cambridge History of Judaism v.2, Cambridge, 1989, p.181 This is a description of materialism raised up as a deity. It is unsurprising that the author of Sefer ha-Makavim, drawing a contrast between the cynical materialism of the Hellenists and the idealism of the Chashmona’im, describes the beginning of the revolt against the Greeks with these words: “And Matityahu cried out with a loud voice in the city saying, ‘All who are zealous for the Torah and stand firm with the covenant – let them follow after me!’ And he and his sons fled into the mountains, and left all that they possessed in the city.”^[19]Sefer ha-Makavim 2:27-28. Matityahu and his sons gave no thought to their material possessions for the sake of God’s eternal law. Moreover, in doing so, they remained steadfast in viewing the world through the Torah’s cognitive-ethical lens.

The fundamental difference between the Judaic and Hellenic worldviews can already be seen in the character of their respective ancestors Shem and Yefet, the sons of Noach. The Torah recounts the post-flood scandal in which Noach became drunk and was found lying naked in his tent. His son Cham stared unabashedly and mocked the old man, but “Shem and Yefet took [va-yikach] a garment, laid it upon both their shoulders, and they walked backwards, and covered their father’s nakedness; their faces were turned away and they saw not their father’s nakedness” (Bereshit 9:23). One grammatical point that is glaring in the text is that while both Shem and Yefet performed this filial service, the verb used to describe their noble act is in the singular, with Shem as the antecedent. Rashi explains that Shem initiated the idea of covering up his father, whereas Yefet only acted after Shem. The Torah further contrasts the brothers in the sequel to this story. Upon waking from his drunken stupor, Noach blessed his sons, “Yaft Elokim le-Yefet, ve-yishkon be-ohalei Shem” (Bereshit 9:27), which Rashi translates as “May God give beauty to Yefet but may His divine presence dwell in the tents of Shem.”

What is the exact difference between Shem and Yefet and how were Noach’s blessings suitable to each brother? R. Solovetichik^[20]Rabbi Hershel Schachter, Nefesh HaRav, pp .272-273. explains that there are two categories that govern behavior: ethics and etiquette. Shem, the ancestor of the Jewish people, reacted to his father’s predicament based on a fundamental ethical principle. He did not care if anyone else was looking. He did not seek corroboration or approval from others. The ethical act is self-motivating and intrinsic. On the other hand, Yefet, the father of Greece, was a follower of etiquette, which is the practical expression of the aesthetic sense. Only after seeing what his brother Shem was doing and deciding that indifference would be ugly and participation, beautiful, did he join his brother in covering their father’s shame. The nature of the brothers’ rewards corresponded to their temperaments. The blessing of beauty, the aesthetic, was given to Yefet, but the source of morality, the divine presence was granted to the descendants of Shem.

Chanukah

Against this historical-anthropological backdrop we can understand one of the earliest moral instructions recorded in the Mishnah: “Antigonus, leader of Socho, received the Tradition from the Shimon the Righteous. He used to say: ‘Be not like servants who serve their master for the sake of receiving a reward; rather be like servants who serve their master not for the sake of receiving a reward. And let the awe of Heaven be upon you.’”^[21]Avot 1:3. Antigonus, bearing a Greek name and living during the early years of Hellenization in Israel, saw very clearly the materialistic nature of the Hellenists. He therefore sought to inculcate the Jewish people with the value of sincere worship and inoculate the nation against the influence of the mah betza culture. He preached that only the fear of Heaven should dictate behavior, not the hope of a reward. According to most commentators, Antigonus admonished against serving God even with the hope of a spiritual reward, a position that is contradicted by numerous statements throughout rabbinic literature.^[22]See Tosafot Yom Tov,loc cit. For this reason Abarbanel, in his commentary to the Mishnah, differentiates between serving God with the hope of a spiritual reward, which is consonant with the Jewish outlook, and worshiping with the anticipation of material compensation that turns the Torah into a coarse utilitarian tool. However, even if we accept that Antigonus censured serving God for a spiritual reward as well, perhaps he preached this extreme message in order to undermine the materialistic focus of his society. In another time or place, serving God to attain Olam ha-Ba might be virtuous indeed, but in Hellenist Palestine, such an approach to divine service would have been easily corrupted by the mah betza attitude that was everywhere in the air.

Understanding the zeitgeist that prevailed during and after Antigonus’ years helps to explain the strange and tragic story of two of his students, Tzadok and Baytus who transmitted their teacher’s instruction in a confused fashion so that their disciples drew erroneous conclusions: “They began to examine the words closely and demanded: ‘What did our Sages see to say such a thing? Is it possible that a laborer should work all day and not take a salary in the evening? Rather, if our Sages had known that there is another world and that there will be a resurrection of the dead they would not have said that.’ So they arose and abandoned the Torah and split into two sects…Tzadokim named after Tzadok and the Baytusim named after Baytus” (Avot de-Rabi Natan 5). How could they have so misconstrued Antigonus’ teachings as to lead them into complete heresy? If we keep in mind that these younger students had probably already imbibed the Hellenistic, materialistic perspective that was rampant throughout the culture around them, then it becomes much more understandable how they could make such an error. When the attitude of “what gain is there” is axiomatic, then to suggest serving without thinking of a reward is completely ludicrous. Their own preconceived impressions of the world left them little cognitive room to correctly understand Antignos’ lesson. So they concluded that religious service must promise no reward whatsoever.

The ideological battle between the Hellenists and the Chashmona’im was fought, therefore, not only in the open arena of ideas, but on an unseen, subtle level of axiological assumptions. The Hellenists viewed the world materialistically, predicating their actions on the answer to the question “what gain is there?” The heroes of Jewish history determined their behavior following an essentially cognitive-ethical model; doing what is right, simply because it is right. The Talmud (Shabbat 21b) records a debate amongst the Amorai’m as to whether one may derive benefit from the Chanukah candles. The Halacha follows the opinion of Rav that all benefit is prohibited.^[23]Shulchan Arukh Orach Chaim 673:1. This is the basis of the liturgical poem ha-Nerot Halalu, recited upon lighting the candles, in which we proclaim, “And during all eight days of Chanukah these lights are sacred, and we are not permitted to make use of them, only to look at them, in order to give thanks and praise to Your great name.” The medieval commentators debated the basis for the prohibition against making use of the light of the candles,^[24]See for example, Rashi loc. cit., s.v. ve-assur and Ran s.v. Hilkhot. See also Shu”t Binyan Shelomo 2:63 who discusses the different opinions, their practical ramifications and subtleties of … Continue reading however, the Chida writes,^[25]Devarim Achadim 32 as an additional suggestion, that the Chanukah candles serve as a model for the performance of all mitzvot: without regard to reward or benefit. Indeed, if the Chanukah candles symbolize the victory of the Torah’s worldview over that of the Hellenists, it is crucial that there should be no material gain from the candles.

The question mah betza appears three times in Tanakh: in the story of Yehudah, in Malachi and in the thirtieth chapter of Tehillim entitled “Mizmor Shir Chanukat ha-Bayit le-David” – “A psalm, a song for the inauguration of the Temple by David.” It is the custom of many communities to read this psalm during the week of Chanukah^[26]See Masekhet Soferim 18:2 and among the many themes of this psalm that make it relevant to this holiday is David’s plea to Hashem to spare his life: What gain [mah betza] is there in my death, in my descent to the pit? Will the dust acknowledge You? Will it declare Your truth?” (10-11). David does not seek material gain. He asks for his life, not for himself, but in order to spread the moral truth of the Torah and increase the glory of Heaven in this world. David’s mah betza is completely different from the selfish question posed by Malachi’s contemporaries and by Yehudah. We read this psalm on Chanukah, in part, because we are celebrating the rejection of the cynical, material betza of the Hellenists and their cohorts, for the selfless, spiritual betza of which David speaks and which is symbolized in the untouchable candles of the menorah.

Contemporary Lessons

The Chanukah candles remind us that the laws and moral values of the Torah are sacred because they are true. Truth is not what we want it to be, but what is actually true, and morality is not what looks or feels moral to our aesthetic sense, but what really is moral. Modern Western culture is rooted in a hedonistic, materialistic worldview and it is therefore unsurprising that moral judgments are often rendered by subjective, aesthetic preference, rather than by an objective divine moral standard. The tragedy of Jewish history is that the surrounding culture subtly and unconsciously influences our axiomatic assumptions, which in turn corrupts our ability to interpret and ultimately accept the Torah’s doctrines and code of conduct. The influence is insidious precisely because it is subtle, shifting our whole way of thinking about reality, so that the Torah’s worldview seems foreign and, often, chalilah, immoral.

Adam and Chava were driven from Paradise because they allowed the aesthetic sense to dominate the cognitive-moral one. Shem, son of Noach, merited the company of the divine presence because he asserted his ethical perception over the subjective and often whimsical system of etiquette favored by his brother, Yefet. In the persona of Yehudah, the fight between these two facets of human behavior is spread out across the riveting saga of Yosef and his brothers. And again and again throughout Jewish history, there have been some who have adopted the philosophy of Yefet against that of Shem and have sold Jewish destiny and holiness for the price of an elusive benefit in this world. The flickering of the Chanukah lights and the echo of Matityahu’s cry, “All who are zealous for the Torah and stand firm with the covenant – let them follow after me!” must strengthen us in our resolve to be true to God’s will and His moral and religious law.

The acceptability of turkey as a kosher bird is on the one hand “simple” and on the other hand a mystery. It is “simple” because Jews have been eating turkey for hundreds of years, all major kashrut organizations certify turkey,^[1]There are individuals who do not consume turkey, but it does not (yet) appear to be a growing phenomenon. and for many years Israel has been the number 1 consumer of turkey per capita.^[2]https://worldpopulationreview.com/country-rankings/which-country-consumes-the-most-turkeys-each-year-per-capita But it is a mystery because turkey is a New World bird, which is very significant when it comes to the kashrut of birds. As will be explained, birds require a mesorah, a living, unbroken, oral and visual tradition,^[3]This was reiterated in a letter written in Rav Moshe Feinstein’s name by his secretary to the author and to Dr. Ari Greenspan in 1984 regarding a different bird, in which he wrote: “The halacha … Continue reading in order to be considered kosher, something theoretically not possible for a New World bird. How are these two facts to be reconciled? Detailed history and analysis with sources can be found elsewhere^[4]See Darkei Tshuva YD 82:34 (https://hebrewbooks.org/pdfpager.aspx?req=14568&st=&pgnum=187 ); Zivotofsky, Ari Z. “Is Turkey Kosher?.” The Journal of Halacha and Contemporary … Continue reading; here I present common proposed solutions and comment on them. But first the background.

Unlike fish and quadrupeds, for which the Torah provides anatomical/physiological indicators of kashrut, for birds the Torah lists 24 (see Hullin 63a) categories (not “species” in the modern taxonomic sense) of non-kosher birds (Lev. 11:13-19; Deut. 14:11-18). By a process of elimination, whatever is not in the list is kosher. Because of the obvious significant halachic ramifications of the list, neither Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (d. 1888) nor the late 20th century Artscroll-Stone attempted to translate/identify the listed birds, but rather transliterated the names in the list. In order to make use of the list to deem a bird kosher, one must be able to recognize all 24 categories of birds listed in order to be certain that the bird in question is not on the list.

Owing to the difficulty in perpetuating accurate identification of all 24 categories (a prerequisite for using the list to identify kosher species), a problem exacerbated by the global dispersion of the Jews, the rabbis provided physical signs in addition to the list. The Mishna (Hullin 3:6 [59a]) gives three signs of a kosher bird and one of a non-kosher bird. A huge debate developed amongst the rishonim exactly what the signs are and how to utilize them, topics upon which much ink has been spilled. The Meiri, in introducing his explanation, stated that the explanation of this Mishna is all confused by the commentators. As a leniency, if one does not know the list and does not know the signs, the Gemara offers that a tradition that a bird is kosher is sufficient and may be relied upon.

With time, a new difficulty was noticed. The mishna’s “negative sign” is that a bird that is a dores, a “predator”, is not kosher. The problems are that the definition of dores is hotly debated by the commentators and that it is non-trivial to accurately characterize a bird’s habits. In the Talmudic period an error occurred and a type of bird, the “tarnegplta d’agma”, was thought to not be a predator and was thus treated as kosher was later found to be a predator and declared to be non-kosher. This led Rashi (Hullin 62b) to opine that we must always be concerned that any unfamiliar bird is a dores and therefore birds may only be treated as kosher if there is a mesorah to that effect. He says that any bird that our forefathers told us is kosher may be eaten and If not, it may not be eaten.

The Shulchan Aruch and the Rema (YD 82) both rule like Rashi and require a mesorah. There is no distinction between the Sephardic Shulchan Aruch and the Ashkenazik Rema; both say that for a bird to be kosher, signs are not sufficient and a mesorah is required. The Shulchan Aruch makes one exception and is willing to be lenient and accept the “goose-comparison” as evidence that the bird is not a dores. That is, a bird with a wide beak and webbed feet like a goose physically cannot be a dores, hence Rashi’s concern does not exist, and that together with the mishna’s three physical signs, is sufficient to permit the bird as kosher. The Rema rejects that leniency. Other than that, the Shulchan Aruch and the Rema agree that there is no way to accept a bird as kosher except for a mesorah. And note that the turkey does not meet the requirements of the goose comparison.

The Beit Yosef (=Shulchan Aruch author) quotes and agrees with Rabbenu Yerucham that for mesorah, names of birds may not be relied upon. Thus, someone testifying, orally or in writing, that a bird with a particular name is kosher is insufficient evidence by which to permit it; one must actually see the bird. So too the Beit Yosef quoting the Rosh was concerned about relying on mesorahs from locales without a history of strong rabbinic authorities because perhaps some random person relied on his own intellect todecid that a bird was kosher.

With both the Shulchan Aruch and the Rema ruling that a mesorah is needed to consider a bird kosher, it seems that it would be futile to try to introduce a mesorah-less bird into the Jewish menu; so how did the New World turkey (Meleagris gallopavo), sneak in and get accepted as kosher? Turkey was introduced to Europe in about 1519, was clearly well-known by late 16th century as Shakespeare mentioned it at least twice (Henry IV, Part I, Act II, Scene I and Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene V) and it seems to have been mentioned in the halachik literature for the first time in 1646.

There are thus really two questions: How was turkey initially accepted and why do we continue to eat it today. The two questions may have the same answer or different explanations. Interestingly, although some European Jews seem to have been eating turkey already in the 17th century, I am not aware of any responsa from that time asking “is turkey kosher”. Only in the 18th and more so in the 19th century do there appear many responsa addressing “why is the turkey kosher”, and some questioned whether, as in the Talmudic story about the error, the ruling should be reversed.

Now to the explanations. Some of these were offered in legitimate responsa; some are popular notions. It is very important to keep in mind that many of those given by poskim were given in response to “why is turkey kosher” (as opposed to “Is turkey kosher”) and are thus post-facto justifications that those poskim would in all likelihood not rely on to ab initio permit a new, unknown species.

I will not provide references for who made these suggestions, but simply present them with comments. The order will be more or less from weaker to stronger in terms of acceptability of the arguments (in my opinion).

1. Claim: Turkey is a New World bird and because Moshe Rabbenu was familiar with all the birds in the Torah’s list of forbidden birds, turkey could not have been on that biblical list and ergo must be permitted.
   Analysis: This claim is fallacious as the list is not a list of species in the modern taxonomical sense, but rather 24 broad categories of birds. Thus, it is likely that the New World birds the American bald eagle, the California condor, and the crested caracara are all non-kosher and had Moshe been presented with them he would have subsumed them under one of the 24 listed names. So too, it is theoretically possible regarding the turkey, and its being New World does not prove it is kosher.

 

2. Claim: We rely on a mesorah of the South American Indians because they are the Ten Lost Tribes.
   Analysis: Unfortunately, there are serious people who actually make this strange claim. In reality there is very little evidence that any of the ten tribes are in the New World. And the South American Indians were certainly not keeping kashrut to the extent that any of the people who make this claim would actually rely on them.

 

3. Claim: We rely on the mesorah of the Jews from where the turkey came – India.
   Analysis: In the first centuries that the turkey was consumed in Europe, many people indeed believed it originated in India. Hence the Hebrew and Yiddish names – “tarnegol hodu” and “indike hen” (“Indian chicken”). And there are various ancient communities of Indian Jews (Cochini, Bene Israel, Benei Menashe). But the turkey did not come from India so even if the European rabbis were willing to rely on the Jews of India, they had no such mesorah.

 

4. Claim: Ashkenazi Jews do not rule like the Rema in this halacha.
   Analysis: As noted abive, it is not only the Rema who rules that a mesorah is required; the Shulchan Aruch rules that way as well. To claim that Ashkenazim do not require a mesorah is to say that they reject(ed) the halachah as decided by both of the major codifiers. In light of this, most of the later authorities reject this idea and rule like the Rema that a mesorah is required.

 

5. Claim: Ashkenazim accepted the turkey as kosher prior to the time of the Rema, who required a mesorah.
   Analysis: The Rema, Rabbi Moses Isserles, lived 1530-1572 and the turkey was likely introduced to Europe in the early 16th century. It is difficult to know if Jews started to eat the turkey before the Rema published his work, but even if they did, it is hard to imagine that such a recent practice would have gained traction once the Shulchan Aruch and Rema issued their rulings. Furthermore, the Rema did not initiate this requirement. His main stringency was rejecting the “goose comparison”. Most previous authorities had already accepted what Rashi (d. 1105) had stated many centuries earlier, that a bird can only be accepted with a mesorah. Thus, there is no reason to think Ashkenazim would have accepted a mesorah-less bird even before the Rema.

    

6. Claim: Turkey was first accepted by Sephardim (it was Ottoman explorers who introduced it to Europe, hence the name Turkey) and Ashkenazim aaccepted it via the Sephardim.
   Analysis: It is highly unlikely that anyone, Sephardim included, would have accepted a mesorah-less bird. After all, the Shulchan Aruch rules (as do earlier Sephardim) that a mesorah is required.

 

7. Claim: Turkey is essentially a “big chicken” and is thus subsumed under the mesorah for chicken.
   Analysis: Chickens and turkeys are related, but not very closely and don’t much resemble each other. Using modern taxonomy as an indication of the distance of their relationship, they are not even in the same genus, although they are usually considered to be in the same family – Phasianidae. To permit turkey as a “type” of chicken would open a huge pandora’s box as there are many species of birds more closely related to the chicken.

 

8. Claim: According to some authorities, the ability of a bird to hybridize with a known kosher species demonstrates that that bird is also kosher. And since turkey hybridizes with chicken it must be kosher.
   Analysis: Turkeys and chickens do not naturally hybridize. With difficulty, such hybrids have been produced in the lab but they are not fertile. This is likely not what was meant by hybridization proving a close enough relation for the mesorah of one species to suffice for another species.

 

9. Claim: Since we know that previous generations ate turkey, to stop treating it as kosher would be impugning the earlier generations.
   Analysis: There is indeed an halachik concept of “motzi la’az al harishonim” – slandering the earlier generations, explained in detail in Encyclopedia Talmudit (ET) 37:258-269. Regarding birds, this concept might be invoked in two scenarios.

   It might be invoked regarding a bird that was known to have been eaten in prior generations but is no longer treated as kosher because of lack of a living mesorah, and now there are those who want to permit it again based on this principle, arguing that to continue forbidding it is motzi la’az al harishonim. This principle is not relevant in such a case, as the current prohibition in no way casts aspersions on the behavior of the earlier generations. It would be like asserting that because rice was eaten on Pesach in Talmudic times, for Ashkenazim to refrain today is wrong because of this principle. This is a mistaken application of the principle because when it is known that a gezeirah was accepted, the current prohibition does not malign the earlier generations. Anytime the contemporary prohibition has a reason that was not applicable in the earlier generations, there is no concern of “motzi la’az al harishonim”.

   The second scenario in which it might be invoked would relate to a bird that is treated as kosher when logic would dictate the initial permissibility was erroneous, such as turkey. One might then argue that stopping its consumption would violate motzi la’az al harishonim. It is known that turkey consumption by Jews was commenced subsequent to the mesorah requirement and thus seems to have been “erroneous”. However, ET quotes sources that if it is clear that the earlier generations actually erred in halacha then one may (or must) actually change the practice and doing so would not violate “motzi la’az al harishonim”. The need to change the practice is only when it can be proven that the initial decision was wrong such as if turkey were indeed determined to be a dores. Thus, this principle certainly does not explain why Jews started eating turkey and would also not justify its continued consumption.

 

10. Claim: In general, a mesorah is required in order to permit a bird because of the concern that even with positive kosher signs, the bird may be a dores but the predatory behavior has not been observed. Turkeys have been raised and observed for centuries, their behavior is very well known, they are known to not be dores and therefore they can be permitted based on the other physical indicators.
    Analysis: That is indeed the reason a mesorah was initially required. And that is why some authorities permitted the “goose comparison”. But the Rema rejected the “goose comparison”, or any other means of circumventing a mesorah, and required a mesorah for all birds. Furthermore, even for the mechaber, the “goose comparison” was the only accepted alternative to a mesorah. This suggestion is a valiant post-facto justification offered by some serious poskim but would never fly ab-initio, and thus may explain why we continue to treat turkey as kosher but would not explain its initial acceptance.

 

11. Claim: There is a mesorah on turkey. Ask almost anyone from the older generation and they will confirm that they and their family and their community ate turkey without hesitation.
    Analysis: I think this is the most persuasive argument for the continued treatment of turkey as kosher. There is indeed a mesorah and no one questions its existence. It is not our job to ask our grandparents from whence the mesorah. We in general rely on the previous generations for all Jewish traditions, and this one should be no exception. The burden of proof is on those who want to prohibit turkey rather than on those who want to maintain its status quo as kosher. Thus, the existence of a mesorah explains the continued treating of turkey as kosher; it does not explain the big questions of how and when that mesorah originated. Those are indeed fascinating questions in the realm of “history of halacha”, questions for which I have no satisfactory answer.

Rashi is indisputably the most popular commentator on Humash. Evidence of his renown is found in the hundreds of extant manuscripts of his commentary, in the wide distribution of his work during his all-too-brief lifetime, in the many scholarly articles and books – which continue to be produced into the 21st century – dissecting his methodology, in the appellation of an Italian font (that Rashi could never have seen as it was developed in the era of printing) as “Rashi script” because it was used in the first generation of the printing press to set off the text (square, Ashkenazi font) from the commentary – even in the fact that the first Hebrew book to be printed (Reggio c. 1470) was Humash with Rashi’s commentary. Rising above all of these attestations to the impact that R. Shlomo Yitzhaki had on Jewish (and even non-Jewish) study of Torah is the immense collection of Rashi supercommentaries.

A “supercommentary” is essentially a commentary on a commentary. R. Eliyahu Mizrahi, Maharal of Prague, R. Shlomo Luria, R. Shabbetai Bass and hundreds of other rabbinic scholars composed books whose raison d’etre was to challenge, explicate and refine our appreciation for the French master’s exquisite guide through the Humash. (It is prudent to note here that beyond the many proper “supercommentators”, dozens of commentators who were authoring their own exegetical works incorporated Rashi into their work, often as a starting point after which they would part ways with his approach. Ramban is perhaps the most well-known example). Although each of the nearly 200 supercommentaries on Rashi published over the centuries has its own style, approach and lexicon, the common goal is to challenge Rashi’s choice of rabbinic explanations, his wording and even his omissions. These are all undertaken, broadly speaking, within the context of what the author and his readership already know about Rashi’s style, available library etc. In other words, each of these authors perforce must approach his critique with a set of assumptions about Rashi’s methodology and, within that rubric, to challenge, distill and ultimately explain the master’s choices.

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902-1994) was the seventh Lubavitcher Rebbe, taking the reins of leadership in 1951, a year after the passing of his father-in-law. He is properly credited for turning Habad from a relatively small Hasidic group into an international force for spreading Judaism and establishing hundreds of outposts to spark Jewish life in the most remote corners of the world. His leadership skills, personal charisma and oratorial sophistication are legendary. He is still referred to, by Lubavitch Hasidim as well as legions of admirers outside of that community, simply as “The Rebbe.”

Over the forty-plus years of his leadership, Rabbi Schneerson delivered thousands of public talks, most of which were given on Shabbat afternoon within the context of the farbrengen. Astute Hasidim, chosen for their phenomenal memories, would gather immediately after Shabbat to review each talk as others committed these reviews to writing. In some cases, these written versions were then publicized within (and beyond) their community as “Sichos” in their original Yiddish; in other cases, they were properly reviewed, edited and annotated for publication, such that what was originally an oral presentation became a stylized written version – still in Yiddish. Beginning in 1964, Rabbi Schneerson would incorporate an analysis of one of Rashi’s comments on that week’s Parashah into his talk, such that within a few years, there was already a collection of his analyses of numerous comments of Rashi available in print.

Over a decade ago, Kehot (Habad’s central publishing house) began to translate a select analysis from each Parashah and, one Humash at a time, to publish these selected articles. In 2023, the entire set of five volumes was made available to the public. Although the volumes are a bit uneven in style and presentation, it makes for a handsome set and includes engaging material that can be both engaging as well as inspiring.

One of the unusual features of this work is the inclusion, in the introduction of each volume, of “Rashi’s General Principles” which purports to be an authoritative presentation of rules guiding Rashi’s methodology that then inform the analyses. The list ranges in length from 16 distinct “principles” (in Bamidbar) to 23 (Devarim). The reason for this fluctuation seems to be based on the articles selected for that volume – only “principles” which are utilized in the selected essays used in that volume are listed. It would have made for a more even and persuasive presentation if this list were presented once in the set. I will return to these principles towards the end of the review.

First, here is a thumbnail sketch of three of these articles (due to space limitations, we will limit it to one from each of the first three Humashim) to give the reader a “forshpeis” (an appetizer) followed by some brief observations about the work as a whole – including revisiting the methodology and the “principles.”

“Up To Timnah” (Parashat Vayeshev) (vol. 1 pp. 224-244)

Rashi addresses the report given to Tamar that Yehudah is “ascending” to Timna, and explains that Timna was on a slope, such that going to it could be either “ascending” or “descending”, depending on the starting point. This helps explain the discrepancy between the report here and that involving Shimshon who “descended” to Timnah (Shoftim 14:1). Rabbi Schneerson raises several questions about this comment, all based on either his “principles” or on what he presents as Rashi’s source for the comment – a passage in BT Sotah 10a. Since that passage made three suggestions as to how to reconcile the apparent contradiction – and the “built on a slope” was the third of those solutions – he asks why Rashi selected that one. Arguing that within the context of the text, since “ascending” was already mentioned in the previous verse, Rashi should have commented at that point. He then distinguishes between the previous verse, which is the narrative and our verse, which is a quote from someone reporting to Tamar where Yehuda has gone. Using this insight, he builds a case for rejecting the other two explanations in the Gemara as less likely candidates for “Pshat”, thus explaining why Rashi preferred the last one. Some of the arguments are internally brilliant and he concludes with a message about the importance of ascent in our Divine worship.

As impressive as the arguments may be, they rest on several assumptions which may be challenged and should have been addressed and supported. First of all, Rashi does not indicate his source for his interpretation and there are several versions of the “Timnah-slope” Aggadah – including in the Yerushalmi as well as Beresheet Rabbah – which deviate somewhat from the Gemara that the Rebbe cites. Secondly, and more to the point, his argument is premised on the assumption that Rashi never references later potentially contradictory sources. Thus, his mentioning of the Samson verse is awkward. He maintains that we would have expected Rashi to “wait” until Shofetim 14 to address the contradiction. It is hard to substantiate this claim as Rashi’s commentary is replete with references to later verses which apparently contradict the “local” verse and he reconciles them at the earlier verse.

Despite the impressive presentation, those familiar with Rashi’s commentary are left wondering as to the basis for the questions which drive the essay. In other words, why would we think that Rashi would “wait” until Shoftim to comment on the “ascent/descent” problem. And why do we assume that when a series of answers are offered in Rabbinic literature, precedence equals preference, such that Rsahi’s choice of the third answer is surprising.

“God Descended On Har Sinai” (Parashat Yitro) (vol. 2 pp. 130-154)

Rashi, commenting on the verse “God descended on Mount Sinai” (Ex. 19:20), addresses a seeming contradiction in the aftermath of the Revelation: “You have seen that I have spoken to you from the heavens” (ibid. 20:18). His solution is based on a passage in the Mekhilta – “this teaches that He bent down the upper and the lower heavens and spread them upon the mountain like a bedcover upon a bed, and the Throne of Glory descended upon them.” The author suggests that if Rashi’s intent were merely to reconcile the apparent contradiction between the descriptions, he would have prefaced his comments in a terse manner. In addition, he (again) assumes that Rashi will wait until the contradictory passage appears to reconcile them. Therefore, he argues, Rashi is trying to clarify an uncertainty in this verse itself. He then develops a theory about the relationship between the fire and the reported smoke on the mountain that indicates that the Divine Presence didn’t actually touch the mountain but was in close proximity to it. This is based on several additional assumptions for which he does not provide proof. His supposition is based on the notion that there was ample vegetation on the mountain; if the Presence had touched it, that vegetation would have burned and there would have been fire, not just smoke. But why would we think that there was vegetation on this desert mountain – considering that the one remarkable bush, which Moshe had encountered at least a year earlier, had been at some low point on the mountain? Rabbi Schneerson goes on to describe in nearly material terms the “upper heavens”, “lower heavens” and several other phrases used by Rashi. He concludes with a mystical note, implying that the kabbalistic lesson was part of Rashi’s agenda.

Beyond these local issues, there looms a larger question. Why would we expect to treat a passage about God’s descent on Har Sinai with the same analytic tools as we do a passage about Yehuda ascending to Timna? It was certainly clear to the authors of the Midrash and to the medieval commentators that the entire scene at Har Sinai was a mystical, otherworldly experience where the text can only use borrowed terms from our mundane existence to explain it, allegorically, to the anticipated future audience. To assume that Rashi is addressing this text with the same tools and approach that he brings to the legal sections of Vayyikra, to the travelogues of Bamidbar or to the narratives of Beresheet is a supposition that begs for validation. In the same vein, to apply the term “simple meaning” to a concept as abstruse as “the upper/lower heavens” does a disservice to the reader, especially the novitiate who may not have a traditional understanding of the multi-layered nature of the literature of the Tanakh.

Again, the Rebbe’s essay here is intriguing and, within the bounds of its own logic, somewhat compelling. When viewed through the wider lens of traditional exegesis and the inherited sense of reading different genres through different lenses, it has the feel of a mechanically deft but superficial contribution. Readers are left wishing that the editors would have taken us more deliberately through the Rebbe’s thinking, giving some background and foundation to the Rebbe’s ideas, instead of leaving us feeling that they are mechanically deft, but superficial.

“On The Day of His Purification” (Parashat Metzora) (vol. 3 pp. 116-132)

The opening verse in Vayyikra 14 reads: “This is the law of the metzora on the day of his purification, he shall be brought to the Kohen.” Rashi’s opening comment includes the lemma: “This is the law of the metzora etc.” and his comment is: “This teaches that his purification does not take place at night.”

The conventional understanding of Rashi’s comment is to highlight the apparently unneeded word “day” in the middle clause of the verse and to point to its Midrash Halakhah – that the Tohorat haMetzora is one of those many ceremonies which must be done during the day. This is a brief synopsis of the lengthy opening comment in the Torat Kohanim ad loc., identifying all of the procedures involved in his purification as daytime-only rituals.

The author challenges this understanding of Rashi’s comment on two interrelated grounds. First of all, the lemma only reads the first clause, followed by the word “vekhulei” (etc.). If, he contends, Rashi was focused on the word “day”, he should have 1) quoted it and 2) not left it to the elliptical vekhulei. He therefore suggests that Rashi is not commenting on the word “day” and is, instead, inferring the “daytime only” rule from the first clause in the verse – “this is the law of the Metzora”. He suggests that the word Metzora in the verse is perceived as potentially superfluous, since the immediately previous text speaks about the Metzora, that classification shouldn’t need to be repeated. The analysis goes on to suggest that the word “day” in Torah doesn’t necessarily refer to daylight hours and, therefore, “the day of his purification” cannot automatically rule out nighttime. I will leave it to the interested reader to read the rest; suffice it to say that there is enough here to both interest us and raise some concerns. We are intrigued by the careful and exacting way in which the Rebbe reads Rashi’s comments and takes what most people would see as a negligible detail and notices the possibility of added insights and exegesis.

Yet, again, there are concerns. It is a staple of rabbinic interpretation that we read legal texts with a different eye than other texts. To our point, the “day” mentioned in the narrative of Creation (“it was evening, and it was morning a third day”) is used in the more “colloquial” sense, whereas “And on the eighth day, he shall circumcise the foreskin” (Vayyikra 12:3) is to be read more narrowly and thus disallow Berit Milah at night. We also recognize patterns within the legal system, specifically in Vayyikra and Bamidbar, where a set of instructions for a particular ritual is introduced (or summarized) Zot [tih’yeh] Torat haX – whether X is “Ha’Olah” (Vayyikra 6:2), “HaMinhah” (ibid. v. 7) or “haQena’ot” (Bamidbar 5:29). Indeed, we would be surprised if our text didn’t begin with Zot [tih’yeh] Torat haMetzora!

In sum, we have seen in these three examples some brilliant insights, deft movement of the constituent parts of Rashi’s commentary and, as usual, Rabbi Schneerson’s well-known encyclopedic knowledge of rabbinic sources brought to the fore. To someone unschooled in traditional exegesis, the read is enticing, and the method compelling. Yet to the student trained in studying Humash with traditional exegetes, these analyses raise serious questions about perspective and whether a more nuanced reading of these comments of our master, Rashi, would lead us to a different set of conclusions and a more textured set of assertions about his method.

As noted above, each of these handsome volumes contains a listing of some of “Rashi’s Principles.” These are all taken from a Hebrew work “K’lalei Rashi” composed by Rabbi Tuvia Blau and published in the Rebbe’s lifetime. It includes a detailed list of rules of Rashi’s method; each is gleaned or directly quoted from one of the Rebbe’s talks – which makes the list here somewhat self-referential. Some of these principles are taken from Rashi’s own comments – the most famous, of course, being his comment that “I have only come to explain P’shuto Shel Mikra…” (the ellipsis is telling) (Beresheet 3:8); yet, as many scholars have pointed out – Sarah Kamin has an entire book devoted to the topic – this statement can hardly be taken at face value.

As Eric Lawee, Mordechai Z. Cohen, Sarah Kamin, Avraham Grossman (among others) have noted, Rashi was indeed a trailblazer; in a clear departure from commentators who preceded him, he turned his focus to the meaning of the text, rather than the spirit of the text – i.e away from seeing the text as a launching pad for Midrash and analyzing it on its own terms. Relative to the commentaries that preceded him (if such could be said), Rashi was a pashtan; however, when he says “I have only come to explain P’shuto shel Mikra…” he doesn’t mean it in the same way as is used today – which is closer to the Rashbam-ibn Ezra approaches. Rashi continues to use Midrashim liberally and is not bound by such strict definitions as the “principles” that seem to undergird this study.

The glory of Perush Rashi, that most revered and precious commentary on Humash is enhanced as more discussions revolving around his astute observations are published; I hold in my hands another flagpole that raises Rashi’s esteem. It is an impressive work, a series of brilliant tours-de-force which is both easy to read and accessible. As I read through it, I could not help but think…what would Rashi think about it?

The Permissibility and Purpose of the Tzadik v’Ra Lo Query

(continued from here)

III. RAMBAN’S APPROACH TO TZADIK V’RA LO

Tzadik She’eino Gamur

As noted, the Gemara (Berachos 7a) records Moshe’s request for an understanding of the enigma of Tzadik v’ra lo. The Gemara assumes he was answered and proceeds to discuss the details of God’s response. It is initially suggested that God responded that tzadik v’ra lo is a case in which the afflicted tzadik is the descendant of wicked people; the rasha v’tov lo is a wicked individual who descends from righteous ancestors. However, the Gemara promptly rejects this approach, for children cannot be punished for the actions of their parents, unless they uphold the same evil practices.

As such, the Gemara suggests a different answer: tzadik she’eino gamur and rasha she’eino gamur. The tzadik who undergoes suffering is not a complete tzadik, rather he has flaws for which he deserves retribution. Likewise, the perceived rasha has some merits which are repaid in this world.

Understandably, Ramban mainly focuses on this final answer of the Gemara. He explains that the tzadik’s minimal misdeeds are punished in this world so as to guarantee and secure his ultimate next-worldly reward for his overwhelmingly righteous life. The afflictions, then, are not unwarranted, but rather punishment for the slight missteps of the incomplete tzadik.

Yisurin Shel Ahavah

Although he addresses them in two separate stages in Shaar HaGemul, Ramban’s approach to tzadik v’ra lo is consistent with his explanation of the concept of yisurin shel ahavah – afflictions of love. The Gemara (Berachos 5a) teaches that if a person sees afflictions visited upon him, he should examine his ways and attempt to identify (and resolve) his sins. If his search yields no recognition of sin, he should attribute his suffering to inactive violations, namely, a disregard for positive mitzvos (bitul mitzvos aseh).^[1]The Gemara points to bitul Torah in this case. Whereas others understand the Gemara to be saying that the individual can attribute his suffering to the particular sin of bitul Torah (see, for … Continue reading If it should happen that he has never so much as missed an opportunity to fulfill a positive commandment, he can rest assured that he is experiencing “yisurin shel ahavah.”

Rashi (ibid.) explains that the afflictions are due to God’s love for this individual. He tortures him so as to increase his ultimate reward in the world to come. While Rambam understands this Gemara in an identical fashion, he rejects it, claiming it is inconceivable and thus certainly not representative of the mainstream opinion in Jewish thought.^[2]See Moreh Nevuchim (3:24). Rambam argues that it is very difficult to assume a God whose ways are just and free of any perversion should punish someone undeservedly, even if it results in boosted reward in olam habah.

Ramban similarly cannot tolerate such an opinion. Due to the difficulty, however, he rejects this interpretation of the Gemara entirely and suggests an alternative understanding. Ramban interprets yisurin shel ahavah not as baseless suffering but rather as punishment for sins for which a person simply cannot account. Some transgressions are so minor or so tangential that they remain overlooked, no matter how scrutinous a self-examination is performed. The crime may have been performed so unknowingly that the possibility of recognition and repentance is essentially precluded. Ramban notes that the unwitting sinner still needs atonement, either on account of his negligence, or due to the metaphysical damage caused to him by the objective performance of sin. It is as atonement for these misdeeds that yisurin shel ahavah are visited upon a person.^[3]Ramban does note that there do exist certain inconsequential afflictions which are not attributable to any sins. Everyday aches and pains – “ההוים בנוהג של עולם, והבאין על … Continue reading

These punishments are referred to as “yisurin shel ahavah” because it is out of His great love for man that God offers the opportunity to cleanse oneself even from unknown transgression. It is a great gift on His part to afford us atonement even in a situation in which we simply cannot recognize our sins and repent for them.

Like in the context of yisurin shel ahavah, Ramban assumes that the tzadik v’ra lo is experiencing his afflictions due to some transgressions which need atonement. Ramban is consistent in his general assumption that suffering is correlated with sin.

Tzadik Ben Rasha

Ramban subsequently suggests that in some instances the tzadik may suffer because of his ancestry. This comment is challenging since the Gemara proposed and rejected it in favor of the previously mentioned answer of tzadik she’eino gamur.^[4]R. Sperka (n185) notes this difficulty and offers a lengthy resolution which is beyond the scope of this essay.

It is worth noting, however, that when Ramban offers his concise summary of his tzadik v’ra lo analysis, he omits this answer, focusing exclusively on tzadik she’eino gamur.

Ta’am Ne’elam

Ramban notes that the Gemara (Berachos 7a) comments that the aforementioned answers are incompatible with the opinion of Rebbe Meir.^[5]Shaar HaGemul, #77 Rebbe Meir assumes that God responded to Moshe in the negative, declaring that he will never grasp the depth of tzadik v’ra lo and rasha v’tov lo, rather they will remain eternally enigmatic.

Ramban comments, though, that Rebbe Meir does not entirely disregard the previous suggestions, rather he assumes that there will always remain some number of inexplicable cases.^[6]Shaar HaGemul, #81 Even Rebbe Meir agrees that tzadik she’eino gamur will account for many cases of tzadik v’ra lo, but he assumes that there are still instances which will be inscrutable and unanswerable; namely, there may be a case of a completely righteous person who still suffers afflictions. Ramban refers to this as a “ta’am ne’elam” – “a hidden reason.”

Sod Ha’ibur

Ramban’s final suggestion is the most esoteric and elusive, but perhaps the most all-encompassing as well. Ramban notes that in addition to the previous three explanations for tzadik v’ra lo, there are instances of inexplicable yisurin suffered by a tzadik gamur which are attributable not to his actions in this lifetime, nor to the actions of his ancestors, but rather to the actions of his soul in a previous lifetime.^[7]Shaar HaGemul, #85. Though it is somewhat vague, we are assuming that this final suggestion – sod ha’ibur – is separate and distinct from the previous one – ta’am ne’elam. It may be that … Continue reading

Ramban refers the reader to the concept of “sod ha’ibur,” colloquially referred to as “gilgul neshamah,” wherein the soul transmigrates and inhabits different bodies throughout history.^[8]Ramban initially notes and subsequently expands on how this explanation is contained within the cryptic soliloquy of Elihu in Sefer Iyov. A fuller treatment of this complex analysis is beyond the … Continue reading Since one’s neshamah may be the reincarnation of a now deceased individual’s neshamah, it is always possible that one’s suffering is not due to his sins during his current lifetime, but rather retribution for the transgressions committed by his soul in a previous lifetime.

This answer is especially necessary for the tragic cases of the suffering and untimely deaths of babies, young children, or pure tzadikim.^[9]Ramban comments that this reason accounts for the still more common case of rasha v’tov lo, as well. Though rare, Ramban notes that we do witness such events occurring.^[10]Shaar HaGemul, #131 It is impossible to argue that an infant is being punished for his transgressions.^[11]See Michtav Me’Eliyahu Vol. 2, p. 225 The only humanly fathomable reason – should one exist – must be the concept of sod ha’ibur.

Ramban is noticeably secretive about the sod ha’ibur, unwilling to divulge its truths and explain the matter publicly.^[12]It is worth noting that later authorities – among them, successors to the Ramban’s school of thought and learning – were more open about discussions of gilgul neshamah. These thinkers include, … Continue reading More than once, he claims that only one who has a clear, authoritative tradition on the concept should study it intimately. It very well may be that Ramban felt this was a part of sisrei Torah – the secrets of an esoteric Kabbalistic tradition which are not meant to be engaged in by the masses. He is thusly discouraging pursuit of a topic beyond the reach of popular readership.

R. Netanel Wiederblank suggests another reasonable explanation for Ramban’s concealment.^[13]This is found in R. Wiederblank’s hitherto unpublished third volume of “Illuminating Jewish Thought.” One natural byproduct of knowing the sod ha’ibur is that a person might jump to absolve himself of guilt. If one’s afflictions might be attributable not to their own actions but to the actions of some now deceased previous version of their soul, there is little to no accountability nor demand for repentance on the sufferer’s part. Ramban is secretive and terse in discussing this explanation, because he is telegraphing that it is a last resort answer, in the quite rare instance in which a person has absolutely no sins whatsoever. Hiding the truth of this secret encourages the individual to focus on introspection and not blame his troubles on others.

IV. A POINTLESS PURSUIT?

Why Ask Why?

The pursuit of a metaphysic of suffering – grappling with theodicy – is a unique area of study due to the inherent impossibility of the task. As R. Yanai stated unequivocally in Maseches Avos (4:15), we can never know why the wicked experience tranquility nor why the righteous suffer. Even so, a list of Jewish thinkers too long to enumerate did indeed engage with the question. Knowing full well that the mystery was insoluble, the great philosophical minds struggled mightily with the question.

This is a curious phenomenon. Why engage with a problem which has no resolution? For what purpose should one trek through an obviously endless intellectual maze? What does one stand to gain from searching for the bedrock of a bottomless pit? Ramban notes that there were those who leveled this criticism and argued that it was more sensible to disengage with the study of theodicy.

ואם תשאל עלינו כיון שיש ענין נעלם במשפט, ונצטרך להאמין בצדקו מצד שופט האמת יתברך ויתעלה, למה תטריח אותנו ותצוה עלינו ללמוד הטענות שפירשנו והסוד שרמזנו, ולא נשליך הכל על הסמך שנעשה בסוף שאין לפניו לא עולה ולא שכחה אלא שכל דבריו במשפט…

And if you will ask on us, since this matter is beyond comprehension within [the system of] justice, and we will perforce [resort] to believing in His righteousness as the True Judge, may He be blessed and exalted; why should you bother us and demand that we study the queries which we have explained and the secrets to which we have alluded? [Why] shouldn’t we [simply] rely completely on the final assumption that there is no perversion [emanating] from Him, nor is there forgetfulness, rather, all His ways are just…^[14]Shaar HaGemul, #124

Though we will return to Ramban’s answer to this question, let us first divert our attention to Rambam, in an attempt to glean a perspective on the purpose of studying theodicy.

Rambam’s Approach: Enhancing God’s Love for Man

In his brief analysis of the aforementioned verses detailing Moshe’s request for knowledge of His ways and God’s response, Rambam offers deep insight into the nature of the request and the purpose thereof.

דע כי אדון החכמים, משה רבנו ע”ה, ביקש שתי בקשות ובאה לו תשובה על שתי הבקשות. הבקשה האחת היא שביקש ממנו יתעלה שיודיענו את עצמותו ואת אמיתת מהותו. הבקשה השנייה – והיא זו אשר ביקשה ראשונה – היא שיודיענו תאריו. וענה לו יתעלה בכך שהבטיח להודיעו את תאריו כולם ושהם מעשיו. כן הודיעו, כי אין להשיג את עצמותו כפי שהיא… בקשתו לדעת את תאריו, היא מה שאמר: הודיעני נא את דרכיך ואדעך למען אמצא חן בעיניך… הודיעני נא כו’ ואדעך הוא ראיה לכך שהא-ל יתעלה נודע בתאריו, כי כאשר ידע את הדרכים ידע אותו

Following an impressive, convincing display of his parshanus capabilities in which Rambam distinguishes between two requests that Moshe made – knowledge of God Himself (kavod) and knowledge of His ways/attributes (derech), Rambam sheds light on the purpose of the pursuit of the Question of Questions, weaving it beautifully into the words of the verses themselves.

דבריו: למען אמצא חן בעיניך הם ראיה לכך שמי שיודע את הא-ל הוא אשר ימצא חן בעיניו, לא מי שצם ומתפלל בלבד. יתר על כן, כל היודע אותו הוא הרצוי והמקורב, וכל שאינו יודע אותו הוא השנוא והמורחק. לפי מידת הידיעה ואי-הידיעה יהיו שביעות הרצון והשנאה, הקרבה והריחוק…

His (i.e. – Moshe’s) words: “So that I will find favor in Your eyes” are proof that the one who knows the Lord is the one who finds favor in His eyes, as opposed to one who only fasts and prays. Moreover, one who knows Him is desired [by Him] and close [to Him]; and one who does not know Him is disdained [by Him] and distanced [from Him]. In accordance with the level of knowledge or ignorance will be the desirability or the disdain, the closeness or the distance.^[15]Moreh Nevuchim 1:54. It is fascinating to note how this closing line mirrors Rambam’s famous formulation in Hilchos Teshuvah 10:6: אינו אוהב הקדוש ברוך הוא אלא בדעת … Continue reading

According to Rambam, the pesukim are telegraphing the motivation for Moshe’s inquiry. “Please, show me Your ways, grant me deeper understanding of Your attributes, so that I may find favor in Your eyes.” Apparently, one who “knows” God finds more favor in His eyes than someone who is ignorant as to His actions. God’s love for man increases proportionately with the increase of man’s knowledge of Him.

And so, it seems, one should be motivated to understand God’s ways out of a desire to be beloved by Him. Though it is impossible to obtain complete knowledge as pertains to the question of tzadik v’ra lo, the more one understands, the more beloved he is before God, making the pursuit a worthy one.^[16]Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim, ibid.) continues to offer yet another motivation to understand darkei Hashem. מפני שאלה הם המעשים היוצאים מלפניו יתעלה באשר להבאת … Continue reading

Ramban’s Approach: Partial Knowledge Empowers

Ramban assumes the need to plumb the depths of theodicy to be evident.^[17]Ramban argues that the study of theodicy is “chovas kol nivra” – “the obligation of every [human] creature.” Of course, intellectual capacity varies, thus the nature and extent of the level … Continue reading Of course, we can’t know everything, but one who searches and toils to understand will ultimately become a greater believer. Ramban’s explanation is somewhat cryptic:

נהיה מאמינים ובוטחים באמונתנו בנודע ובנעלם יותר מזולתנו, כי נלמוד סתום מן המפורש לידע יושר הדין וצדק המשפט…

Ramban argues that in the pursuit of ultimate knowledge we are bound to come up short, but we will benefit with the capability to “learn the inscrutable from the explicit.” R. Yoel Sperka understands Ramban’s intent to be that if we study the topic intensely, we will solve many problems. Though we will inevitably fall short of the goal of complete understanding, as certain topics are simply impenetrable, we will be more confident in our strength of belief due to the amount of knowledge we have gained.^[18]Shaar HaGemul, Chazon Yoel edition, p. 222 Namely, the more we know, the stronger we will be in the face of the unknown. Our limited knowledge protects us from wavering when confronting the unknowable.^[19]Alternatively, perhaps Ramban means that our obtained knowledge will necessarily shed light on even the more enigmatic situations for which we can achieve no answers. True, the topics will always be … Continue reading

V. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PRAYER

Ramban notes that if we assume that there are situations in which the reason for suffering is entirely inscrutable, it is quite understandable that prophets throughout the generation asked “why.” As explained, the “why” question on the part of the prophets was purely an intellectual pursuit, asked on the plane of thematic Halakhah and philosophy, not about any particular case of tzadik v’ra lo. Given their lack of understanding, they petitioned God to explain the concept of evil to them.

However, if we understand the Gemara to have offered answers to the query, and we accept the explanation of sod ha’ibur, one wonders why prophets the likes of Yirmiyahu, Chabakuk, and David would ask “why.” Do they not already know the answers?

Ramban addresses this question.^[20]Shaar HaGemul, #78 Though the prophets were fully aware that some minimal transgressions or sins of a past life account for tzadik v’ra lo, this knowledge did not preclude prayer. Their petitioning was not for an answer, but “rather, simply like the words of an ailing individual [who is] languishing in his illness, expressing the enormity of his sickness, and screaming about the distress and pain, wondering how this [pain] could happen to him.”^[21]Ibid. The question is rhetorical. The prophets feel the pain of the tzadik v’ra lo and cry out viscerally, petitioning God on their behalf, searching for resolution and healing. They call out to God not inquisitively, but prayerfully.

This explanation bears an important perspective. R. Soloveitchik eloquently distinguished between two levels of interaction with the question of tzadik v’ra lo: the practical and the theoretical. The theoretical plane is one of philosophy. On this level, one can and should ask “why.” However, the practical plane demands seeking a solution, asking “for what,” and repurposing the suffering for spiritual growth. Prayer, too, belongs to this practical realm. Just as self-improvement and hilchos aveilus are pragmatic responses demanded by halacha; so too, prayer. The correct, appropriate, encouraged response of one who suffers or one who witnesses suffering is to call out to God in prayer, petitioning Him and beseeching Him to display His ultimate benevolence.

Even as the Jewish thinker crafts theological answers to “why,” defending God’s benevolence and explaining away evil as a non-entity, the same Jew simultaneously prays to his Maker, begging for mercy. Prayer is a human experience. Wholehearted belief in the benevolence of God and the absolute truth that everything God does is for the better does not in any way preclude passionate, desperate prayer.^[22]This is an important perspective to keep in mind when considering the question of R. Yosef Albo and others: how may one pray for healing if God divinely ordained that we experience sickness? Many an … Continue reading

APPENDIX

R. Soloveitchik’s Distinction Between “Thematic Halakhah” and “Topical Halakhah”

R. Soloveitchik himself explicated and elaborated upon this sharp, nuanced distinction, encouraging both the philosophical pursuit and the practical response, each in their right place. He notes that any attempt to “explore therapeutic and redemptive qualities of the religious act” must be preceded by an initial examination of “the philosophy of suffering.”^[23]R. Soloveitchik, Out of the Whirlwind (ed. Shatz, Wolowelsky, Ziegler), p. 91

Therefore, prior to exploring the remedial redemptive potential of our Judaic religious act, we must spell out in articulate, precise terms the Judaic doctrine of suffering and define clearly our attitude vis-à-vis an unfriendly world replete with disorder and disharmony… The practical and functional motifs are undergirded by the theoretical ones…^[24]Ibid.

Hence, our immediate attention must be focused upon halakhic theodicy… As an equivalent for theodicy, we must focus on the halakhic metaphysic of evil or suffering…^[25]Ibid., p. 92

R. Soloveitchik continues to distinguish between two frames of reference with which the Halakhah always operates: the topical Halakhah and the thematic Halakhah.

[W]e would say that the topical frame of reference of the positive Halakhah is confined to the world of whose existence we are assured by our sense experience and which is bounded by time and space. The topical frame of reference is this physical universe… the universe of becoming and disappearing, of life and death. By contrast, the frame of reference of the thematic Halakhah, of halakhic axiology, of the halakhic universe of values, is not limited merely to this world, but envelops Being in its majestic totality as a whole… The frame of reference of the thematic Halakhah is not only a this-worldly one, but is transcendental as well.

The topical Halakhah or halakhic gesture thus fashions its interpretive axiological methods in the mold of finiteness and sensibility. It displays extreme modesty and sobriety in its approach to Being. The thematic gesture, however, is by far more bold and possessed by the spirit of adventure. It exceeds the boundaries of our own ontological awareness, which is imprisoned within a scientifically explainable universe, and attempts to relate itself to parts unknown, to link up the orders of things and events with the transcendental order of the ultimate. The thematic Halakhah opened up the closed frame of topical reference and accommodated infinity itself.

Judaism, then, operates with two frames of reference because Judaism is engaged in the dialectical method, in an antithetical approach to reality. One frame of reference is one sector of being, the this-worldly sector, and a second frame of reference is Being in its majestic totality.^[26]Ibid., p. 93

After distinguishing between “thematic Halakhah” which addresses themes and motifs beyond the physical world of practicality and “topical Halakhah” which is “anthropo-oriented” and pragmatic, R. Soloveitchik notes that each of these systems of Halakhah has its own unique approach to the problem of evil.

It is very certain that the thematic Halakhah – the Halakhah related to the outside… something beyond – even though it was embarrassed to the point of perplexity by the existence of evil, managed to somehow accommodate it within its frame of reference. The best proof that the thematic Halakhah – thematic Judaism, axiological Judaism – was embarrassed and even tormented, was confused and bewildered by evil or by Satan, is the Book of Job.

Within the thematic Halakhah, we find theodicy or, to be more precise, a metaphysic of suffering. Judaism, at the level of axiology or at the level of transcendental reference, did develop a metaphysic of evil, or, I would rather say, of suffering…^[27]Ibid. p. 95

In this context, R. Soloveitchik notes that the thematic Halakhah’s metaphysic of suffering embraced Rambam’s negation of evil, whereas topical Halakhah rejects such denial and engages a reality of evil head on.

The dominant idea which underlies this metaphysic of evil developed by the thematic Halakhah is basically that suffering as a subjective experience – an emotion, an affect, a feeling – and evil as a reality are not identical. The fact that people in distress… ascribe their misery to some outside agency called “evil” or “Satan”… and identify their subjective experiences with a destructive fiend or enemy of man, does not prove that evil actually exists and that it reveals itself through the pathetic mood or the passional mood. On the contrary, the thematic Halakhah’s metaphysic maintained that the passional experience represents the highest good.^[28]Ibid. p. 96

The topical Halakhah could not accept the thematic metaphysic which tends to gloss over the absurdity of evil… Realism and individualism, ineradicably ingrained in the very essence of the topical Halakhah, prevented it from casting off the burden of the awareness of evil.^[29]Ibid. p. 100

The topical Halakhah, which is particularly interested in real man… could not be content with a fine metaphysical distinction between evil and the pathos of being… The topical Halakhah lacked neither the candor nor the courage to admit publicly that evil does exist, and it pleaded ignorance as to its justification and necessity.^[30]Ibid. p. 101

After clearly delineating the roles and goals of these two aspects of the Halakhah, R. Soloveitchik emphasizes the importance of practical response in the approach of topical Halakhah.

Yes, the topical Halakhah has evolved an ethic of suffering instead of a metaphysic of suffering. While the metaphysic is out to discover the ontological objective reason of suffering from within, the ethic posits meanings from within and without. It is concerned not so much with pathos as such but with the pathetic mood of the person in distress, with the assimilation of pain into the total I-awareness, with man’s response to adversity and disaster… The metaphysic seeks to justify evil or deny its reality. The ethic of suffering seeks the transformation of an alien factum which one encounters into an actus in which one engages, the succumbing to an overwhelming force into an experience impregnated with directedness and sense.^[31]Ibid. p. 102

Thematic Halakhah rightfully engages in theodicy. Topical Halakhah adheres strictly to the practical response to the suffering. In this context, R. Soloveitchik is lucid in his formulation: a philosophically inclined metaphysic is not inherently wrong, it is just often misapplied. Thematic Halakhah indeed toiled to justify or nullify the existence of evil in this world, although without complete success.

However, God’s criticism of Iyov is due not to the wrongful nature of such a metaphysic, but rather to the gross misapplication thereof. When operating within the human experience, when real man encounters real evil – one must apply the topical Halakhah, a construct and theory which provides practical answers in the form of active responses to suffering.

It is through this lens of topical Halakhah which R. Soloveitchik is looking when he observes the futility and inappropriateness of the “why” question in Kol Dodi Dofek. Theodicy has its time and place, but it belongs not in the realm of the passional, human experience of a realistic evil.

The Permissibility and Purpose of the Tzadik v’Ra Lo Query

I. INTRODUCTION

The mysterious problem of evil in the world is a perpetual one.^[1]The use of the word “perpetual” here is intended bidirectionally. The problem of evil exists from time immemorial and may persist for all eternity. Though we are promised a clearer, more holistic … Continue reading Judaism struggles ceaselessly with the enigmatic incongruity of the tzadik v’ra lo phenomenon.^[2]The parallel opposite phenomenon of rasha v’tov lo is equally incongruous and, in some ways, even more prevalent. This question is dealt with in tandem with its abovementioned counterpart … Continue reading Why do the righteous undergo such cruel suffering? How can a benevolent God allow for the existence of wickedness? What justice lies in punishment of the innocent? Jewish thinkers throughout the ages have grappled with theodicy, the “Question of Questions.”

Though, in every instance, the answer is at best incomplete, many titans of philosophy have presented thoughtful theories. Ramban authored a fundamental essay on this topic, included in the “Shaar HaGemul” section of his greater work, “Toras HaAdam.” There, he suggests an organized model, culling from and juxtaposing many statements of Chazal to form a comprehensive approach to this perennial issue. Though Ramban admits to the impossibility of complete comprehension (or, “the Answer of Answers”), he does present an approach which addresses many of the relevant considerations.

A thorough analysis probing the depths of Ramban’s treatise is beyond the scope of my capabilities. However, this essay will culminate with a condensed summary and overview of his approach in the hopes of making a dense medieval work more accessible to the reader.^[3]Of course, the obligation then devolves upon the reader to utilize this mere overview in subsequently studying Ramban’s work carefully, armed with a basic familiarity with the terms and concepts … Continue reading In advance of said overview, I will put forth two insights related to the study of this topic, namely: what license do we have to probe these intellectual depths; and what purpose is there in studying an incomprehensible subject?

II. QUESTIONING THE QUESTION OF QUESTIONS

R. Soloveitchik’s Rejection of “Why”

Before engaging in the enduring question of “why,” we must note R. Yosef Dov Soloveitchik’s famous dismissal of this question. In his timely, timeless essay, Kol Dodi Dofek, R. Soloveitchik presents the problem of tzadik v’ra lo and proceeds to explain why investigation thereof is as inappropriate as it is ineffective.

Judaism determined that man, entrapped in the depths of a frozen, fate-laden existence, will seek in vain for the solution to the problem of evil within the framework of speculative thought, for he will never find it… Finite man, with his partial vision, cannot uncover the absolute good in the cosmos… In a word, the “I” of fate asks a theoretical-metaphysical question regarding evil, and this question has no answer. It is insoluble.

In the second dimension of human existence, destiny, the problem of suffering assumes a new form… The man of destiny is highly realistic and does not flinch from confronting evil face to face… His approach is an ethico-halakhic one, devoid of the slightest speculative-metaphysical coloration. When the man of destiny suffers he says to himself: “Evil exists, and I will neither deny it nor camouflage it… I am concerned about evil from a halakhic standpoint, like a person who wishes to know the deed which he shall do; I ask one simple question: What must the sufferer do so that he may live through his suffering?” In this dimension, the center of gravity shifts from the causal and teleological aspect of evil… to its practical aspect… The fundamental question is: What obligation does suffering impose upon man?… We do not inquire about the hidden ways of the Almighty, but, rather, about the path wherein man shall walk when suffering strikes. We ask neither about the cause of evil nor about its purpose, but, rather, about how it might be mended and elevated. How shall a person act in a time of trouble? What ought a man to do so that he not perish in his afflictions?^[4]Quotations in this essay are from the English translation of Kol Dodi Dofek, Fate and Destiny (Ktav Publishing House, 2000). The above excerpt is found there (pp. 5-8).

R. Soloveitchik expresses emphatic disdain for the question of “why,” favoring instead the question of “for what.” The innocent victim upon whom seemingly unbefitting suffering is visited is better served by deep introspection and self-examination in the hopes of identifying a character flaw which the divinely ordained miseries might motivate him to improve upon. In so asking, the victim transforms himself from “subject” to “object,” from “man of fate” to “man of destiny” – actively repurposing his afflictions as tools for his spiritual improvement.

This is the underlying theme throughout Sefer Iyov. Iyov is rebuked by God for asking “why,” until he eventually receives the message and pivots to the question of “for what.”

Consider: This was precisely the answer that the Creator gave to Job. As long as Job philosophized, like a slave of fate, regarding the cause of and reason for suffering, as long as he demanded of God that He reveal to him the nature of evil, as long as he continued to question and complain, asking why and wherefore afflictions befall man, God answered him forcefully and caustically, posing to him the very powerful and pointed question, “Dost though know?”… However, once Job understood how strange and inappropriate his question was, how great was his ignorance… the Almighty revealed to him the true principle contained in suffering… [Y]ou will never understand the secret of “why,” you will never comprehend the cause or telos of suffering. But there is one thing that you are obliged to know: the principle of mending one’s afflictions. If you can elevate yourself via your afflictions… then know full well that these inflections were intended as a means for mending both your soul and your spirit.^[5]Fate and Destiny, pp. 11-12

The Precedent for “Why”

Compelling and inspiring as his thesis may be, Rav Soloveitchik’s contention seems to be at odds with many millennia of Jewish philosophy. Rambam dealt with the question of evil at length. Ramban, as noted, toiled to systematically address the issue. In truth, prophet after prophet seems to have asked the burning question of “why,” perhaps none more prominently than the prophet of prophets, Moshe Rabeinu. In the immediate aftermath of the cheit ha’egel, Moshe pleads with God:

And now, if I have indeed found favor in Your eyes, make Your way known to me, so that I may comprehend You, so that I may find favor in Your eyes; and see that this nation is Your people… He said, “Show me Your glory.” He said, “I shall make My goodness pass before you… I shall show favor when I choose to show favor, and I shall show mercy when I choose to show mercy.”^[6]Shemos 33:13-19

The Gemara (Berachos 7a) elucidates that this encounter was a conversation about the Question of Questions. R. Yochanan says in the name of R. Yossi that Moshe requested that God reveal His ways to him and that God, in fact, acquiesced:

אמר לפניו: רבונו של עולם! מפני מה יש צדיק וטוב לו ויש צדיק ורע לו, יש רשע וטוב לו ויש רשע ורע לו? אמר לו: משה, צדיק וטוב לו – צדיק בן צדיק, צדיק ורע לו – צדיק בן רשע, רשע וטוב לו – רשע בן צדיק, רשע ורע לו – רשע בן רשע

Moshe begs God to reveal to him the mystery of the seemingly incongruous system of reward and punishment in this world. Why do some righteous individuals experience good, while others suffer? Why are some wicked people tortured, while others prosper? ^[7]Fascinatingly, Moshe Rabeinu does not only ask about tzadik v’ra lo and rasha v’tov lo. Rather, he inquires as to each and every permutation, including the righteous who are rewarded and the evil … Continue reading And Moshe was not the last to question divine providence in this manner. Ramban lists no less than four subsequent prophets who grappled with the matter: Yirmiyahu (12:1), David HaMelech (Tehillim 73:13), Yeshayahu (63:17), and Chabakuk (1:3-4).^[8]Shaar HaGemul, #68-71 (Chazon Yoel [Sperka] edition). Ramban notes that Iyov, himself a prophet, engages in an extended dialogue about this problem with his contemporaries, as recorded at length in … Continue reading

Does not the historical fact that many prophets posed the Question of Questions run counter to R. Soloveitchik’s vigorous rejection of the validity of the query?

Resolving the Tension: Judaism’s Dichotomous Reaction to Suffering

In truth, R. Soloveitchik’s seeming attack on theodicy is characteristically nuanced, in no way denying a tradition of the philosophical study of this subject. To explain, we must pivot momentarily to a related question.

In the course of his remarks, R. Soloveitchik points to a common intellectual trend in the philosophical quest of the sufferer, summarily discarding it as unsuitable for the Jewish approach.

After the psychic upheaval of the sufferer as the immediate reaction to evil has passed, there follows an intellectual curiosity which endeavors to understand the cosmos and thereby undergird man’s confidence and security… He tracks the intellectual foundations of suffering and evil, and seeks to find harmony and balance… and to blunt the sharp edge of the tension between the thesis – the good – and the antithesis – the bad – in existence… [H]e formulates a metaphysics of evil wherewith he is able to reach an accommodation with evil, indeed to cover it up. The sufferer utilizes his capacity for intellectual abstraction, with which he was endowed by his Creator, to the point of self-deception – the denial of the existence of evil in the world.

Judaism, with its realistic approach to man and his place in the world, understood that evil cannot be blurred or camouflaged and that any attempt to downplay the extent of the contradiction and fragmentation to be found in reality will neither endow man with tranquility nor enable him to grasp the existential mystery.^[9]Fate and Destiny, p. 4

While these words pose no inherent problem, the viewpoint which R. Soloveitchik seems to be rejecting belongs to none other than Rambam himself.

You know that he who removes the obstacle of motion is to some extent the cause of the motion… in this sense we say of him who removed a certain property that he produced the absence of that property, although absence of a property is nothing positive. Just as we say of him who puts out the light at night that he has produced darkness, so we say of him who destroyed the sight of any being that he produced blindness, although darkness and blindness are negative properties, and require no agent. In accordance with this view we explain the following passage of Isaiah: “I form the light and create (boreh) darkness: I make peace, and create (boreh) evil” (Isa. 45:7), for darkness and evil are non-existing things. Consider that the prophet does not say, I make (oseh) darkness, I make (oseh) evil, because darkness and evil are not things in positive existence to which the verb “to make” would apply.^[10]Moreh Nevuchim 3:10, trans. Friedlander, 1903

According to Rambam, there is no reality of evil. Rather, what we perceive as evil is simply the privation of good. Much like darkness is defined as the absence of light, perceived ra is simply the absence of tov; suffering, the lack of blessing. Could it be that R. Soloveitchik was dismissing out of hand the philosophical stance of his great hero, Rambam, in these few lines?

On many occasions, my rebbe, R. Mayer Twersky, explained that this is certainly not the case. R. Soloveitchik can wholeheartedly embrace Rambam’s argument for the nullification of suffering, while simultaneously advancing his prescription for acknowledging and engaging with an extant evil. The question is one of perspective.

There is certainly a place for theodicy in the study halls and classrooms of Jewish thought. In that setting and from that angle, one can posit theories which quash evil, relegating it to the world of imagined perceptions, inaccurate and incomplete in the grand scheme. God is wholly good. His world is entirely tov. Any evil which is experienced is a human misperception stemming from a deficient view of world history.

This, however, is only true in the realm of philosophy. The question of “why” has its place in the philosopher’s classroom, as well as in the machshavah works of Rishonim and contemporary thinkers alike. But when we enter the plane of human experience, when we encounter evil as it is perceived by living, breathing people, the question of “why” is no longer appropriate. In fact, on the experiential plane, the question of “why” is not even accurate. Here, R. Soloveitchik explains, the question mark on the existence of evil is removed and replaced with an exclamation point. The suffering certainly exists; painfully so. The only thing one ought to wonder is, “for what?” What message is being sent? Where must the victim improve and progress, using this tragedy as his motivation?

This clarification is crucial in our initial quandary, as well. We noted that R. Soloveitchik’s approach seems to fly in the face of a hallowed tradition of asking “why.” Ostensibly, he spurned what the prophets and philosophers of old embraced. However, upon further consideration, we realize there is no inconsistency at all. Moshe, the prophets, Ramban, Rambam, and so many great Jewish minds throughout the generations were grappling with theodicy in their intellectual writings and lecture halls. They were theorizing and philosophizing purely in the realm of intellectual academia, divorced of any connection to reality.

R. Soloveitchik does not criticize this intellectual pursuit. He merely notes that the question becomes moot, nay, unacceptable when applied in the realm of human experience. When living, breathing people endure hardships, their quest cannot be to solve the insolvable. Rather, they must seek out the cure, the spiritual mend which their divinely ordained suffering is intended to inspire. When sitting in the study halls of Jewish thought, we may ask “why.” But when standing in the hospital corridor, processing depressingly tragic news of some cruel affliction, the question of “why” is rendered inapplicable and inappropriate. When man faces the reality – as opposed to the theory – of evil in this world, he must engage with it, learn from it, and repurpose it for growth. Outward probing is frowned upon. Inward reflection is lauded.^[11]After developing this perspective, I discovered that R. Soloveitchik himself explicated and elaborated upon this sharp, nuanced distinction, encouraging both the philosophical pursuit and the … Continue reading

Precedent for this Distinction in Shaar HaGemul

Amazingly, Ramban himself appears to have drawn this very distinction between theory and practice, philosophy and reality.

וענין השאלה הזאת לא תקטן בהיות נכשליה מועטין, ולא תגדל בהיותם רבים, כי לא לאדם שיחנו, שנזכה מעשיו בהיות רובם טובים ולא שגה ולא טעה אלא במועט, אין טענותינו אלא על הצור תמים פעלו כי כל דרכיו משפט אין בהם נפתל ועקש

The significance of this query (i.e. – tzadik v’ra lo) is neither diminished by the scarcity of its victims, nor is it magnified should [its victims] be numerous. For our discussion [revolves] not around [any given] man, that he should merit if the majority of his actions are good and he made very few mistakes. Our inquiry is only regarding the Rock, perfect in His ways (i.e. – the benevolent God), since all His ways are just, devoid of any twisting or perversion.^[12]Shaar HaGemul, #132, translation my own.

Here, Ramban emphasizes that the quest for comprehending evil within the framework of divine providence is by no means an attempt to solve the problem on the plane of human experience. An increase in cases of tzadik v’ra lo would not intensify the question; a decrease thereof would not reduce its import. The question is not on the experiences of any given individual. Rather, it is a study of hashgachah, an endless search for a deeper understanding of God’s mysterious ways.

Manifestation and Reflection of the Dichotomy in Tanach and Chazal

This distinction – now seen in the writing of R. Soloveitchik as well as Ramban – is perhaps most clearly manifest in God’s reaction to various attempts at theodicy by the prophets. When Moshe Rabeinu requests an answer to the Question of Questions, his request may or may not have been granted, but he certainly was not rebuked for asking.^[13]See Gemara Brachos 7a for two opinions as to whether God heeded his request. We will, God willing, return to this later. Yirmiyahu, David, Yeshayahu, and Chabakuk were likewise not admonished for seeking a solution to the age-old enigma of tzadik v’ra lo.

It is only Iyov who is reprimanded for his line of questioning. Why? Did not Iyov make the very same inquiry of God as Moshe and the subsequent prophets? Why the harsh response to his attempt at uncovering a metaphysic of suffering? The answer, now, is obvious. Moshe asked about the idea of evil. The other prophets, too, focused not on any given individual’s suffering, but rather on the concept of tzadik v’ra lo. This is an appropriate, even encouraged pursuit of philosophical truth. It is only Iyov who asked about the human experience of evil. Iyov was not philosophizing about the existence of suffering in the thematic sense. Rather, Iyov was asking “why” on the human plane, when confronting real, raw evil. On this level, the question is never “why,” the question is only “for what.”

Case in point: Tradition has it that Moshe Rabeinu himself poses the identical question to God yet again when he witnesses Rebbe Akiva suffering a painful martyr’s death.

חזר לאחוריו, ראה ששוקלין בשרו במקולין, אמר לפניו: רבש”ע, זו תורה וזו שכרה? א”ל: שתוק, כך עלה במחשבה לפני. ^[14]Gemara Menachos 29b

Moshe Rabeinu sees Rebbe Akiva’s flesh being flayed by the enemy and he cries out, “Ribono Shel Olam, is this the reward he receives for his great devotion and mastery of Torah? Why would such evil befall such a righteous person?!” Here, God does not entertain the question. In fact, He does not even tolerate the question. “Silence! This is My divine plan! You have no understanding. You are not privy to My thoughts and intentions. Do not attempt to understand the mystery of tzadik v’ra lo.”

When Moshe asked God to “show me Your way,” God tolerated the question. He may even have acquiesced. When Moshe inquired as to the philosophical system – the inquiry was warranted. But when the very same Moshe asked the very same question of “why” about a particular human experience, he was rebuked and shut down. Here, the question of “why” is misplaced. Theodicy belongs in the study hall. When one enters the realm of human experience, in which the cold reality of evil is not denied but engaged, the “why” question may no longer be posed. In such situations, topical Halakhah steps in, prodding the sufferer and the onlooker to seek out practical, active responses to the great motivator, evil.

(continued here)

From Haman to Hamas:

Reflections on a 1959 Purim Shiur by R. Joseph D. Soloveitchik

Toward the end of a lengthy address dealing with various aspects of the Purim Megilla, the Rav asked a rather simple question: why is the festival called “Purim” (literally “Lots”, in the plural) and not “Pur” (in the singular)? After all, the Megilla records that Haman cast one lot – not many lots – to determine the date of his genocidal attack on the Jews. The Rav answered that the plural was intended to convey that the events of the Megilla were the forerunner of many similar historical episodes in Jewish history, many “Purims”, that were, literally, to become “the lot of the Jewish people,” when our enemies would seek, time after time, to destroy us as a nation.

Moreover, these repeated episodes were anticipated by the Torah itself when it mandated a specific mitzvah out of the 613 Mitzvot, not once but twice: i.e., the mitzvah to destroy Amalek, as found at the conclusions of Parshat Beshalach and Parshat Ki Tetze respectively, the latter of which we of course read every year on Parshat Zachor that precedes Purim. The difference between these two passages, the Rav explained, is that the Ki Tetze passage obliges the individual Jew to destroy Amalek, whereas that of Beshalach is directed to the nation of Israel, requiring it as a national entity to go to war against Amalek so as to remove it from the face of the earth.

The problem, however, is that, as the Gemara Brachot 28a explains, during the period of the First Temple, Sennacherib king of Assyria in creating his empire engaged in massive population transfers, mixing up the nations other than the people of Israel, such that ever since then we cannot know for sure as to who is descended from which early peoples or tribes. If so, how can we identify, and therefore wage war against Amalek in every succeeding generation? Surely this mitzvah cannot have lapsed in the intervening centuries? An answer to this question, says the Rav in a footnote to his essay Kol Dodi Dofek, in the name of his father, R. Moshe Soloveitchik, can be found in a careful reading of Rambam.

The Rambam, in Mishneh Torah Hil. Melakhim 5:4, codifies the obligation upon Israel to destroy the Seven Canaanite nations, and then adds the crucial phrase u-kvar avad zikhram (“but their identity was subsequently lost.”) In the next halacha, Rambam codifies the separate mitzvah to wage war against Amalek, but notably omits this key phrase. The question is why. Various answers have been put forth, but it is the view of R. Moshe, and of the Rav himself, that the term Amalek does not refer to a particular nation and its biological or blood descendants. Rather, as the Rav puts it, “Every nation that conspires to destroy the Jewish people is to be considered by the halakha to be Amalek.” Yes there was a people by that name who attacked the Israelites following the crossing of the Sea of Reeds, but the name did not apply to their direct descendants. Instead, it adhered to any nation or group at any time that, like Amalek, seeks the annihilation of the people of Israel. Therefore, in speaking of Amalek, the Rambam does not say that their identity was lost – we always know who Amalek is because of what they desire to do, i.e., commit the genocide of the Jews. Thus, for instance, said the Rav, the Nazis and all those who supported their genocidal goals were in fact halakhically (not just homiletically or figuratively) the personification of Amalek in their generation, hence properly to be destroyed and eradicated.

There is one caveat to all of this, said the Rav. What did lapse with Sennacherib was the mitzvah incumbent on the individual Jew in relation to Amalek, as formulated in in the singular in Ki Tetze. What did not lapse was the national, or corporate, obligation found in Beshalach which specifies that it is a mitzvah from generation to generation, continuing down through the subsequent generations.

Yet there is a crucial question that the Beshalach passage poses: why does the Torah refer to this commandment as milchama laShem be’Amalek mi-dor dor, “a war of God against Amalek in every succeeding generation”, instead of what one might have thought “a war of the Jewish people against Amalek in every generation?” If it is God’s war, why does He Himself not destroy them, just as he did to the Egyptians? The answer, said the Rav, is that when the Jewish people goes to war against Amalek it is fighting God’s war. For it is of the very essence of Amalek that even though he declares war on the Jews, and wants to destroy them, the reason he wants to do so is ultimately because of what the Jew represents. And what precisely is that?

The answer to this question, says the Rav, is found in Megillat Esther, when it says that what infuriated Haman was because u-Mordechai lo yichra velo yishtachaveh (“Mordechai did not bow down or prostrate himself”) before Haman. Was it simply Mordechai’s refused to kowtow to Haman? The Megilla tells us emphatically otherwise, when it records that in convincing Achashverosh to implement the genocide, Haman explains that it is not just this one individual but “am Mordechai” – all of his fellow Jews insofar as dateihem shonot mi-kol am (“they follow laws and customs that are different from those of every other people, including those of the King himself”) and must therefore be dispensed with. In other words, these people have a different value system, a different system of beliefs, different priorities and lifestyles, all based on their unique religion and faith commitments.

What was it exactly that those Israelites refused to adopt as their own? As the Rav explained in another lecture, there is a reason that the Megilla goes out of its way to describe the obscene debaucheries of the royal court, and the shocking treatment of Vashti the Queen who was executed for refusing to appear naked (as our Sages explain) before a drunken King and his courtiers, not to speak of the depraved manner in which multiple young women were groomed for the King’s sexual pleasure, or the later episode in which Queen Esther herself could have been executed as well for approaching the King without being summoned. Such debased values, such hedonistic decrepitude, and the necessarily resulting disregard for human dignity and life itself, were anathema to the Jews who understood that such vile pagan values were in diametric opposition to what the Torah had told Avraham Avinu (in the context of the similar immoral behavior of Sodom and Gemora) that his descendants would always follow what Avraham stood for, i.e., ve’shamru derekh Hashem la’asot tzedakah u-mishpat (“to keep the way of God by doing what is just and right.”)

And thus Haman declared a genocidal war against the Jews, but it was to be in essence a religious war, waged against the religion and culture that the Jews followed as a people apart, and ultimately against the God that they represented. And so the “am Mordechai” the people of Mordechai, had to respond, by waging God’s war against the embodiment of Amalek of their time, in accordance with what they had been commanded in the desert of Sinai “mi-dor dor,” for all time.

As a postscript to this analysis of the Rav, and in light of our own national experience in these dark days, we can add the following:

What was true in Persia in those days, and in the 1930’s and 1940’s in Europe, in the pagan, genocidal Third Reich of the 1930’s and 40’s, is surely true today, in Gaza, in Teheran, in Ramallah, and wherever genocidal anti-Semites and their supporters gather around the world, be it in the streets of Paris and London or New York and Berkeley, the hallowed halls of the UN, or the leafy campuses of what were once great universities, the terrorists and the supporters do not hide what motivates them. Their political and religious leaders, and the representatives of Hamas, Hezbollah, and Iran explicitly tell us that it is their religion, which they repeatedly invoke, by Koranic chapter and verse, or their battle cry of Allahu Akbar (“God is the greatest”) in their pursuit of the destruction not just of the State of Israel and its population, but of every Jew, unto death, for our temerity in wanting a Jewish state of our own, a place where we can live in freedom to practice our ancient ways, and to serve our God in accordance with the Torah and tradition. For unlike what some in the State Department or White House might think, for Hamas and its allies this is not merely a war over land or borders, or the establishment of an independent state “from the river to the sea.” It is in fact and in deed, a religious war, or if you will a civilizational confrontation, waged against us Jews, our religion, and our God, wherever we are. It is a hatred of the unique moral code that the Jew, the Jewish State, the Jewish army, and for that matter the unparalleled intellectual, financial, and cultural contributions of the Jews – no matter their level of observance or identification with our traditions, to the well-being of every society that they have ever been a part of – all of them a reflection of the derech Hashem, the way of God, to do what is just and right, a derech in peace and in war rooted in God’s Torah and in generations of rabbinic tradition, and a steadfast adherence to a code of conduct that sets us apart from a cynical, intolerant world. This they cannot abide. Not Haman then, not Hamas now.

And so let us be strong and of good courage as we rededicate ourselves together with our brave, holy, soldiers in Israel who today are fighting the war of the God against Amalek at risk of life and limb, in the knowledge that no matter the current difficulties, we the Jewish people in Israel and around the world will prevail, as we have in every generation before us, in this latest manifestation of that age-old disease, call it what you will – Amalekitism, antisemitism, pagan nihilism, or whatever – and that like in the days of Mordechai and Esther we too will be blessed to overcome and destroy our enemies, God’s enemies, to invigorate our people and our faith even as we mourn our dead, and comfort our injured and our violated brothers and sisters, to see our masses once more embrace the ways and the values of our eternal Torah, and return to our ancient homeland Israel, there to participate in the building of the Third Temple, and to witness the arrival of Mashiach ben David, may it come soon, bi-meheira be’yeimanu, amen.