Humans, demons and the depths of depravity

The indescribably brutal terrorist atrocities inflicted on Israeli communities a week ago are the sort of unfathomable events which leave many of us lost for words, despairing of humanity and the depths to which it is capable of plummeting.

Can people ever sink to such depths of depravity that they effectively lose their humanity? Or worse?

Such questions prompted me to recall a passage that I wrote in Judaism Reclaimed.

In yesterday’s parashah, the Torah describes Adam’s son Shet as being in the image of Adam — a term which Rambam (Moreh 1:7) links to the earlier description of Adam as having been created "betzelem Elokim" (in the image of God). Rambam then cites a Gemara which states that, from the moment of his sin until the birth of Shet, Adam bore offspring which were not in his image but rather were "ruchot" or demons.

Tzelem Elokim — the element of humanity that can be said to be Godly — is identified with the intellect. It is through this uniquely human intelligence that people can make moral judgments to distinguish right from wrong, subdue their negative impulses and thereby direct their sophisticated intellectual capabilities so as to benefit the world around them.

In Rambam’s understanding, those who fail in their human calling to use their intellect to refine and control the animalistic aspects of their personality are considered behema betzurat adam (an animal in human form) rather than betzelem Elokim. Membership of this unesteemed group therefore can cause people to forfeit their human privileges such as divine providence and a share in the World to Come.

Far worse than this, however, are those who take this divine gift to humanity of a powerful intellect and use it to subdue and terrorise others. As history repeatedly demonstrates, the greatest misery and hardship experienced by mankind is caused by people who have used their intellect to devise ways of furthering human suffering. These are the sorts of “demons” that, in Rambam’s understanding of the Gemara, were said to have been sired by Adam prior to Shet. It can be presumed that Rambam would offer a similar interpretation of Talmudic accounts of demons who dwell in uninhabited areas, damage unguarded buildings, and attack those who travel unaccompanied at night.

Humans who have fallen to such depths might be viewed as even worse than animals who typically only catch and kill prey out of necessity.

Notwithstanding all this, Rabbi Yisrael Lau – Holocaust survivor and former Chief Rabbi of Israel – warns strongly against the inclination to regard these evil and brutal acts as the work of some kind of “inhuman monsters from another world. In his Out Of The Depths memoir, Rabbi Lau records his own passionate response to one of the witnesses from the Eichmann trial:

“If Auschwitz were indeed another planet, it would be easier to accept the Holocaust. But in truth, the disaster of Auschwitz is that it happened on the very same planet where we had lived before, where we live now, and where we will continue to live. Those who carried out the cruel murders of the innocent where ordinary people, who returned home from their murderous acts to water the flowers in their manicured gardens. They tended the flowers lovingly and carefully so they would blossom, just after they had torn infants to pieces and shattered the skulls of men and women.

Just after shoving thousands of people into the gas chambers to their deaths, they came home to play with dolls together with their little girls, and listen to classical music, eyes closed, engrossed in the uplifting spirituality of Bach and Beethoven…Those were people just like you and me, and that’s the whole problem. When you transfer all those horrors to another planet, you minimise the issue. You are saying that something like the Holocaust can never happen to us again. In my humble opinion, you are wrong…”

In responding to such an outrage – as we must – with full force, we must retain a clear and unrelenting distinction between our use of military power and that of our enemies. Despite the best efforts of foreign media and anti-Semitic critics abroad to blur the boundaries.

On the one hand we have those who idealise the power of the sword and turn it into a national ideology. Describing the traits that typify Amalek, Rabbi S. R. Hirsch writes that it bore a spirit which:

“chooses the sword as its lot, seeks renown in laurels of blood, and strives to realise the ambition of “Let us make for ourselves a name” with which Nimrod began world history. This ambition is realised by destroying the welfare of nations and the happiness of men.

This seeking renown by the force of arms is the first and last enemy of human happiness and Divine Kingship on earth…Amalek’s glory-seeking sword knows no rest as long as one free man’s heart keeps beating and pays no homage to it; as long as one modest abode and happy home remains standing whose residents do not tremble before its might.”

We must remember that our messianic utopia is not a bloodletting of our enemies – it is being privileged to live in a world peace – among nations – in such security that weapons will no longer be necessitated. While we must be uncompromising in responding to such attacks in order to wipe out the evil in our midst, we long for an era in which our swords can be beaten into ploughshares…

The Jewish use of military power, on the other hand is that of a necessary evil. A war to root out evil or defend ourselves against enemies is a great mitzva. But we truly years for a time when the world embraces the truths and teachings of God so that “no nation will lift up sword against nation” and allowing us therefore to beat our swords into plowshares, and our spears into pruning hook.

Until then we continue to pray for the protection of our soldiers in battle, the full healing of our wounded and the return of our captured brethren.

First posted on Facebook 15 October 2023, here.

Talmud Reclaimed -- primary themes explored

 

I'm excited to invite you all to an interview and discussion with the Habura later today which will explore some of the primary themes in Talmud Reclaimed. The session will be recorded for those who cannot make it.

First posted on Facebook 29 October 2023, here.

A Judaism of intellectual achievement or experiential relationship with God?

Some of the most enjoyable and memorable parashah stories of my early school years told of the young Avram discovering God, challenging pagan authority, smashing idols and being thrown into a fiery furnace by King Nimrod -- but being saved by miraculous intervention. Imagine my shock and disappointment when I grew up to discover that these thrilling episodes did not actually feature in the Chumash. Why would such a narrative, seemingly so central to the Jewish People's formation and purpose, not be included in the Torah? 

Judaism Reclaimed examines two approaches to this question. The first cites Rabbi Ari Kahn’s excellent Explorations [an early inspiration in my Torah studies, more recently expanded and re-released], which adopts the approach of R Yehudah HaLevi in his Kuzari.

The Kuzari explains that, while Avram had successfully speculated about the world around him in order to find God, his primary achievement lay in his willingness to set aside this rational reasoning in favour of obedience to God’s revealed (and sometimes inexplicable) commands.

The significance of Avram’s choice of obedience over reason is twofold. First, rational speculation can never achieve the certainty imparted by a genuine Divine revelation. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, revelation replaces the cold, abstract, conceptual “God of Aristotle” with the a more meaningful, experience-based relationship with the God of the Torah (Judaism Reclaimed suggests how Rambam might have responded to these arguments).

On this basis we can understand why the Torah would choose to start its account of Avram with a revealed command, leaving Avraham’s prior intellectual accomplishments to be recounted by Midrashim.

The question is far more troubling however when viewed from the perspective of Rambam. If theological speculation and comprehension of divine matters are to be regarded as the ultimate goal of the Torah, how can one explain the Torah’s exclusion of the important achievements of Avram’s early years?

[Rambam clearly considers these Midrashic accounts to be conveying accurate historical information, based on his presentation of them at the start of Hilchot Avodah Zarah and Moreh Nevuchim. A later chapter investigates the different theological approaches to interpreting various forms of Aggadah and Midrash].

In attempting to propose an answer to this difficulty, Judaism Reclaimed argues that Rambam understood the Torah to contain a two-tier system. While the Torah’s ultimate goal is unquestionably intellectual excellence and the connection to God that this creates, Rambam recognises that such a pursuit, when taken by itself, is of practical relevance only to those endowed with exceptional intelligence and adequate resources. Concerning the vast majority of people, he writes:

“if we never in any way acquired an opinion through following traditional authority…this would lead to most people dying without having known whether there is a deity for the world … much less whether a proposition should be affirmed with regard to Him …” [Moreh 1:34]

The Torah’s role, according to Rambam, is therefore to guide the vast majority of people – not just the elite upper echelons – on their journey from religious-intellectual error and immaturity towards a more correct grasp of divine matters. This is strikingly consistent with Rambam’s approach to anthropomorphism and with the reasons he offers for mitzvot – all of which are intended to make Judaism a religion of the many, not the few as Judaism Reclaimed explores in further chapters.

Ultimately Judaism Reclaimed recognises that the Torah requires humans to develop a relationship with God based on both their intellectual dimension and their spiritual-experiential faculties. This point is made in the introduction to the book (viewable here) which cites an interpretation of Bereishit Rabbah made by Rabbi Mordechai Schwadron.

Rav Schwadron begins by quoting the Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 39:8) which explores a comparison of Israel with a dove. There we are taught that while all other birds rest on a rock or tree when they tire, when a dove is tired, it pushes itself with one of its wings, and flies with the other.

Based on this, Rav Schwadron explains that each wing represents a different way that we connect with God. The first, which we may call the philosophical approach, emerges from our own intellectual endeavours to comprehend and connect with the awesomeness of God, while the second - which is a more emotional and spiritual connection - is stimulated by religious and spiritual moments that God sends our way to uplift and inspire us.

By developing these complementary aspects of religious endeavor, a person who runs into difficulty with one approach can fall back and rely upon the other (just like when either wing is “tired”, the dove can “fly” with the other). Both intellectual and spiritual-experiential approaches are thus of crucial relevance in every individual’s religious quest, even though the extent to which each of these two approaches is drawn upon will necessarily vary from person to person.

First posted on Facebook 23 October 2023, here.

The angels who may have come to tea

The opening verse of yesterday’s parasha tells of God appearing to Avraham in the Plains of Mamre. The purpose of this appearance is not readily apparent, with the divine encounter seemingly cut short by the arrival of three unexpected guests. Writing in his Moreh Nevuchim, Rambam controversially explains that in truth there is no interruption since there was no arrival: the entire episode of the guests is a prophetic vision visited upon Avraham by God.

The primary reason for Rambam's explanation of the passage as a vision is that the three guests are angels, spiritual and ‘metaphysical’ entities which can neither be seen by humans nor engage in physical activities. Rather than being a simple dream or message, the interactive prophecy experienced here by Avraham is one of the highest levels of prophecy, involving Avraham thinking, speaking and responding to apparent events. Rambam cites Midrash Rabbah (as he interprets it) a source for his interpretation of the episode as a vision.

Judaism Reclaimed notes that one question that Rambam's concise explanation does not discuss, however, is at what point this prophetic vision ends and 'real life' continues. The Torah narrative of the guests' departure is immediately followed by Avraham's negotiation with God over Sodom, which is presumably also part of the prophecy. Then the narrative takes the angels to Sodom, where they appear to Lot. This appearance to Lot must also, according to Rambam's position on angels, be a prophetic encounter, leaving us with two possible approaches.

In the first possibility, the story of the angels in Sodom was still part of Avraham's vision. The Torah inexplicably interrupts its description of Lot's escape from Sodom to tell us "vayashkem Avraham baboker" (literally “and Avraham rose early in the morning”) — that Avraham is awakening. Could this awakening be from the prophetic vision that, in Rambam’s explanation, has encompassed the entire parashah so far? It is notable that the phrase “vayashkem … baboker” is used on three other occasions in this parashah, each of them denoting the end of a divine encounter.

Alternatively, one might explain that the episode of the angels in Sodom is a distinct vision experienced by Lot. This explanation is somewhat troubling in view of Rambam's principle that prophecy only rests upon someone of highly developed character and intellect, while the sages do not convey the general impression that Lot possesses those qualities.

Lot's suitability to receive prophecy does however receive some support from the Netziv, who suggests that Lot was initially a righteous disciple of Avraham, with the two parting company only for the purpose of avoiding the desecration of God’s name generated by their shepherds' arguments. Perhaps we can even suggest that Lot's decision to reside in Sodom and attempt to influence its residents positively was a failed effort to emulate Avraham's life mission of spreading God’s word among those ignorant of Him. Such an approach would be consistent with the more positive view of Lot which emerges from the commentary of the Radak, who suggests that Lot was so confident in his faith that he believed he could reside among the inhabitants of Sodom without being deleteriously affected by its sinful environment.

This second approach, based on the suggestion that Lot saw the angels prophetically, is the understanding of Rambam adopted by Ritva and Abarbanel. These commentators both highlight further midrashic support for Rambam in the discrepancy between the description of the angels' appearance (“nidmu”) as people to Avraham but as angels to Lot. The midrash attributes this discrepancy to the differential in (prophetic) 'power' between the two — a comment which is much easier to understand if each of these appearances was manifested within the context of a prophetic vision.

Judaism Reclaimed proceeds to use this discussion as a basis upon which to explore the different approaches of Rambam and Ramban to the existence and function of angels in the Torah.

For more information about these books see www.TalmudReclaimed.com

First posted to Facebook 5 November 2023, here.

Anachronistic Avot and time-travelling Talmudists

One burgeoning genre of divrei Torah which appears to be enjoying increasing popularity in recent years perceives revered biblical figures – typically the Avot – as having been bound by Biblical and Talmudic law, and then proposes ingenious resolutions as to why certain laws appear not to have been fully observed. This style of dvar Torah, which allows brilliant yeshiva students to draw upon their well-honed Talmudic reasoning even when studying the written Torah, can be traced back to a verse in yesterday’s reading:

“Because Abraham listened to My voice, and kept My charge, My mitzvot, My chukkot, and My Torot."

How are we to understand the meaning of mitzvot, chukkot and Torot?

Rashi, drawing on an aggadic passage, suggests that this means that Avraham observed – presumably with the aid of prophecy – not only the Torah’s Biblical commandments, but even later Rabbinic restrictions such as Eruv Tavshilin. The primacy accorded to Rashi in Torah interpretation has led to this position being viewed as mainstream or even unanimous. At a recent event I heard a learned rabbi introducing his dvar Torah with the words: “Everyone know that the Avos kept the whole Torah…”. He proceeded to examine how Avraham could have married Hagar, an Egyptian princess, despite the Torah’s later prohibition against such a relationship (perhaps, he suggested, Avraham had the status of a convert and was therefore not bound by this rule).

While this approach is certainly pursued by a number of commentators and has caught the popular imagination in recent times, it was not always seen as so mainstream. While the above speaker was confident that “everyone knows the Avos kept the whole Torah”, there was a time when this was quite openly disputed. A quick survey of traditional commentaries to this verse shows that Sforno, Chizkuni, Rashbam – and even Ramban in his “derech hapeshat” – all interpreted these terms to refer only to commandments and character traits which had been revealed to Avraham up until this point. Radak goes further, showing how the aggadic source which Rashi draws upon does not mean that Avraham observed all Rabbinic and Biblical ordinances which would only be legislated (and bear relevance) millennia later. Rather it teaches that Avraham acted strictly and set careful boundaries within those specific laws which he did observe.

This in turn leads us to more profound underlying questions, which are explored in Judaism Reclaimed and Talmud Reclaimed: What function and benefit might there be in the observance of various forms of mitzvot which had not yet been commanded – particularly observances which were only later commanded to commemorate national events which had not yet taken place (for example the Avot were said to have eaten matzot on Pesach). And how many of these finer details of Talmudic law are understood to have been transmitted from Sinai and which are likely to have been developed by later Sanhedrin-type courts? (see further www.TalmudReclaimed.com).

One style of Aggadah which would seem to bolster this genre of apparently anachronistic divrei Torah involves later Talmudic attempts to recast biblical episodes as relating to delicate details of Talmudic debate. In its chapter on Aggadah, Talmud Reclaimed cites a passage from Sanhedrin 19b which interprets an episode from the book of Shmuel as a prime example.

The subject of this passage is a promise made by Shaul to give his daughter, Michal, in marriage to David for the price of 100 Philistine foreskins. Shaul subsequently reneges on his promise, while David continues to demand that Shaul permit him to marry Michal. While the biblical storyline appears to revolve around palace intrigue, alliances and jealousies, the Talmud rereads it entirely as an intricate legal debate as to whether marriage can be formalized through forgiveness of a loan in combination with the provision of an object of some value.

After highlighting a number of other similar Aggadic accounts, Rabbi Yisrael Moshe Hazan (Iyyei HaYam #187) argues that such Aggadic traditions date back to an era when the Oral Tradition was not generally written down. Attaching intricate legal rulings and debates to popular biblical passages served therefore as a memory aid to recall these complex Talmudic principles.

It is striking that for many this situation is now turned on its head, with Talmudic scholars often only acquainted with biblical passages and verses that are cited in Talmudic discourse – along with the accompanying Aggadic interpretation.

First posted on Facebook 19 November 2023, here.

To boldly go where no angel has stepped before

Growing up in England, I was often bemused by the number of quaint and elaborate euphemisms that were employed to gracefully depict a person’s visit to a lavatory. My personal favourite was my grandmother’s way of telling us how she had “gone to the place that the Queen goes without her carriage”.

Imagine my amazement when I discovered that rather than just being a quaint old English phrase, our traditional sources actually contain the following prayer which is to be recited before entering a bathroom:

“Be honored, holy honorable ones, servants of the Most High. Help me. Help me. Guard me. Guard me. Wait for me until I enter and come out, as this is the way of humans.”

It is not only royalty, it would seem, that enters such unedifying places unaccompanied; every human being is similarly devoid of his or her angelic assistants.

When I posted last year on the subject of prayer to angels, at least one member of this group responded by citing how the above prayer is recorded by Rambam himself in his Mishneh Torah repertoire of appropriate blessings. How is this prayer to be understood within the context of Rambam’s broader approach to angels and his strict prohibition against addressing them in prayer?

When responding to this question, I believe that it is crucial to bear in mind Rambam’s conclusion to the Laws of Tefillin and Mezuza, where he demonstrates his approach to the notion of protective angels:

Whenever a person enters or leaves [the house], he will encounter [on the Mezuza] the unity of the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, and remember his love for Him. Thus, he will awake from his sleep and his obsession with the vanities of time, and recognize that there is nothing which lasts for eternity except the knowledge of the Creator of the world. This will motivate him to regain full awareness and follow the paths of the upright.

Whoever wears tefillin on his head and arm, wears tzitzit on his garment, and has a mezuzah on his entrance, can be assured that he will not sin, because he has many who will remind him. These are the angels, who will prevent him from sinning, as it states: "The angel of God camps around those who fear Him and protects them."

This teaching, which is analysed in Judaism Reclaimed, dovetails nicely with what Rambam writes towards the end of Moreh Nevuchim, that a person’s level of providential protection is a direct result of the quantity and quality of their mind’s focus on and therefore connection to God.

When entering a lavatory, however, a person is not permitted to entertain thoughts of God or Torah. The protective angels therefore do not “enter with him” into the bathroom. What this short prayer is intended to affirm, perhaps, is that just as the Queen returns from her short visit back to her courtiers awaiting patiently in the carriage, so too do we intend to return immediately to our pre-lavatorial meditations on divine matters upon our exit from the bathroom. We therefore anticipate and hope to find our protective angels waiting for us exactly where we left them.

For more information on Judaism Reclaimed and Talmud Reclaimed, visit www.TalmudReclaimed.com.

First posted to Facebook 23 November 2023, here.

Atheism vs. idolatry: can anything be worse than a cardinal sin?

I recently had a discussion with a member of this group on the subject of Rambam, idolatry and atheism. Jewish law and prophetic protest both focus strongly on the evils of pagan worship. Does this preoccupation confirm its status as the ultimate biblical sin? Or does it merely reflect the fact that polytheism (as opposed to atheism) represented the primary threat to the monotheism which the Torah was promoting? If the latter is true, how are we to regard the Torah’s respective attitudes to paganism and atheism in a modern world where atheism is widespread and growing?

It occurred to me that the answer to this question may depend on the approach that one takes to Judaism.

One position that I remember being advanced consistently in Yeshiva hashkafa classes emphasises the need for us to recognise that the world is truly run by spiritual forces which are closely impacted by our good and bad deeds. From this mystical outlook, a key component of Judaism is our need to acknowledge the limits of the laws of nature and concentrate instead on the spiritual dynamic which dictates to it.

From this perspective, I remember hearing one rabbi declare, bygone generations were vastly superior to our own. In those heady days, even non-Jews were fully aware that the world truly operates through spiritual forces. All that was left for debate was whether this force was Ba’al, Ra or the true God of Israel. Alas in our sinful days the spiritual dimension is increasingly derided and ignored by people who are focused exclusively on physicality and their worldly aspirations.

When viewed from this perspective it would appear that modern atheism is more distant than idolatry from Jewish beliefs.

[As an aside I remember this being starkly evident on my trip down the Nile 14 years ago. On the East side of the Nile, which housed the major population centres in ancient times, very little remains intact for archaeologists and tourists. The full focus of the Pharaohs was on the Nile’s West Bank, where the sun sets and from where the souls were believed to enter the afterlife. It is here that the magnificent Temples and pyramids, well stocked with mummies and treasures, were built to last for millennia. This, it seems, was the primary focus of the ancient world.]

When we weigh up idolatry and atheism from Rambam’s worldview, however, I’m not convinced that this conclusion holds true.

For Rambam, the problem with paganism is not simply that it represents an incorrect address for one’s prayers. Rather it represents the antithesis of Judaism – a wholly corrupted world view in which competing deities spar with one another over the fate of the world and its inhabitants, and must be appeased through supplication and sacrifice. Aristotle, whose belief came close to what might now be called atheism, was praised by Rambam for his understanding of the physical world – even if he resorted to “conjecture” when it came to the spiritual realm (Guide 2:22).

Would Rambam therefore consider atheism to be closer to Judaism and less damaging than pagan religion? Or perhaps even Rambam would consider bad religion preferable to the sort of denial advanced by Bertrand Russell who argued that:

“[Man’s] origin, his growth, his hope and fears, his loves and his beliefs, are but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms; no fire, no heroism, no intensity of thought and feeling can preserve the body beyond the grave…”

A further consideration is the extent to which the Torah’s campaign against idolatry is tied in with its prophetic vision of the need to establish a just, merciful and righteous society. Particularly since neither atheists nor pagans, in Rambam’s understanding, are likely to receive a share in the world to come, it is important to assess the extent to which they are able to provide a stable society for those who do pursue monotheistic faith. Is paganism assumed to be synonymous with human sacrifice? Is atheism associated with humanitarianism or rather the destructive atheist regimes which defined much of the past century?

A further question which must be addressed is what atheists truly believe regarding the origin of the world. If a person doesn’t believe in a creator-God, does that mean that something else other than God – some unstated force – must have created the world and guided its development?

Certainly there are some atheists who advance complex theories of how the world may have created itself from nothing. Some hold that the world has always been here and is perpetually expanding and contracting; others prefer to push aside the question of the origin of the universe entirely. It may be more accurate to consider that those who fall within the latter category are ignoring the possibility and implications of a creator-God rather than actually holding atheist beliefs. They may have considered the sorts of absurdities and atrocities that religious beliefs have produced through the centuries and concluded that life is better lived without dwelling upon such questions. Could it be that the Torah’s primary protest is against pagan worship rather than simply a lack of pure monotheistic belief?

I would be tempted to conclude, from Rambam’s telling, that atheism certainly is preferable to idolatry. This is because it typically involves a person possessing a broadly correct outlook in terms of the functioning of the physical world – just one that lacks recognition that laws of nature are divinely ordained. While this lacking will hold a person back from appreciating the wisdom and building a relationship with the God who put those laws into place, it avoids the damaging and magical falsehoods propounded by pagan beliefs in multiple competing deities which must be appeased through imagined rituals and sacrifices.

First posted to Facebook 29 June 2022, here.

Baba Kama: integrating halacha and Talmudic wisdom

One chapter of Talmud Reclaimed explores the complex relationship in Talmud study between the twin goals of determining practical halacha on the one hand and internalising Talmudic wisdom on the other. The chapter demonstrates how what was once an integrated and mutually beneficial approach to Talmud study has become increasingly bifurcated in recent centuries.

The pages which are currently being studied in the Daf Yomi cycle provide perfect examples of how the Talmud combines these two key tasks within its investigations and debates, which seek to clarify not only the practical laws which govern various forms of damage, but also their underlying conceptual characteristics. Tomorrow’s daf analyses aish – the heading of liability which governs damage to property caused by fire (or other wind-borne items that can inflict harm). The Torah imposes basic liability on a person who is responsible for a fire which causes damage to the property of another:

If a fire goes forth and finds thorns, and a stack of grain or standing grain or the field be consumed, the one who ignited the fire shall surely pay

Not satisfied with stating the practical laws which emerge from this verse and deriving the finer details of this form of liability, the Gemara presents a dispute between two early Amoraim from the Land of Israel which revolves around its underlying nature.

Liability for aish, explains Rabbi Yochanan, is mishum chitzav: belonging to the category of obligations that are imposed upon an individual by virtue of that person’s own act. Thus, in the same way as one is personally culpable for damage done by an arrow that he shoots, so too is the harm that results from a fire attributed directly to the person who negligently permitted it to spread into a neighbour’s property. 

A second opinion, that of Resh Lakish, considers instead that aish mishum mamono: liability for permitting a fire to spread out of control is more akin to failing to prevent one’s animals from causing damage to another person’s property. According to this opinion, one is not personally liable for fire damage, but only vicariously liable as owner of the property. The Talmud demonstrates that neither category is a perfect fit. The comparison of fire to an arrow is tenuous, since the damage that an arrow inflicts is caused directly by the human force which propelled it while a fire damages by burning rather than through human energy. Likewise, the comparison with damage inflicted by one’s property is challenged since, unlike livestock, fire is not considered to be something that one can acquire and own.

Despite acknowledging the substantial difficulties involved in fitting aish into either of these pre-existing categories of liability, the Talmud, is not prepared simply to record and clarify the law of fire as requiring compensation by the person who is responsible for its damage. Rather it insists that this apparently free-standing biblical law be conceptualised and then categorised in such a manner as to conform with broader principles – even if this requires an inelegant extension of the existing chitzov or mamono precedents.

This sort of attempt to analyse the underlying nature of laws and then to arrange them accordingly is one of the basic techniques that Brisk would later develop and popularise. At the conclusion of our passage from Baba Kama we even find one opinion adopting a trademark Brisk maneouvre of trei dinei, suggesting that liability for fire contains features of both chitzav and mamono, each one explaining legal details of aish that the other cannot.

Moving to a second example, which was studied in the daf earlier this week, it would seem that later Amoraim go out of their way to demonstrate the extent to which Jewish law applies its analytical principles consistently throughout the Talmud, deliberately clarifying practical laws on the basis of non-practical precedents:

Rava said: Whatever causes ritual contamination in [the activities of] a zav will in the case of damage involve full payment, whereas that which in [the activities of] a zav would not cause ritual contamination, will in the case-of damage involve only half damages.

The laws that determine the situations in which a zav causes defilement distinguish between scenarios where he was in physical contact with an object or person, and thereby contaminates it, and those where he throws an object and causes it to hit another. In this latter case, even though his force (kocho) makes an impact upon the second object, he does not cause it to become defiled. A zav can only transfer contamination through actual physical contact – even if this contact is quite remote, as occurs when the wagon in which he is sitting runs over an object. In the passage quoted above, Rava teaches that the laws of damages similarly distinguish between cases in which one’s animal causes damage by means of direct contact with the damaged object (where full compensation is payable) and where it causes a pebble to launch and thereby cause damage (where only partial compensation must be paid).

A parallel passage in Avodah Zarah (60b) sees Rav Ashi use the very same legal framework that governs the zav as a means of explaining the laws of yayin nesech – wine which, having been touched by an idolator, thereby becomes prohibited. Rav Ashi teaches that any wine with which an idolator comes into contact, even remotely, is subject to this prohibition. By applying the analogous case of the laws relating to the zav, he excludes from the scope of the prohibition a situation in which an object is thrown at the wine by an idolator. Significantly, the laws in these two highly practical areas of law are not taught independently. Rather, the later Amoraim identified Tannaitic precedent for how Jewish law defines the concepts of contact and force, even though that precedent is from an area of law which was no longer of practical concern even in the Talmudic era.

In building the laws of damages and the permissibility of certain wines upon a foundation of remote laws of ritual contamination, Rava and Rav Ashi can be seen as conveying a clear message: that the Talmud and its laws are one interrelated organic body which share the same underlying conceptual principles. Not only the commandment of Torah study but also the process of properly comprehending and determining practical law therefore require familiarity and expertise in all areas of the Talmud, not merely those of obvious practical relevance to contemporary Jewish society.

For more information visit www.TalmudReclaimed.com

First posted on Facebook 23 November 2023, here.