Wrestling with the Ketsot – Review of ‘New Heavens: The Ketsot ha-Hoshen and the Rise of Lamdanut’, by Noam Samet

Wrestling with the Ketsot

Review of ‘New Heavens: The Ketsot ha-Hoshen and the Rise of Lamdanut’, by Noam Samet

By Moshe Shochat

“…We also studied the Ketsot ha-Hoshen… The book was expensive, and my brother obtained a copy for consultation and decided to transcribe it in his fine handwriting. Only after prolonged arguments with me did my brother agree that we should first study it, and after each sugya and topic decide what was worth copying. We maintained this method throughout the two years we spent at Telz. Day after day we worked through the Ketsot ha-Hoshen, the Netivot ha-Mishpat, the novellae of R. Akiva Eiger, and several other books… My brother preserved the manuscript for many years; it was always for him a source of inner satisfaction and spiritual renewal, an occasion to resume his Talmud study…”[1]

— Ben-Zion Dinur (1884-1973)

“All the devotion of a Telz alumnus to the Gemara and its sharp nosei kelim – the Shita Mekubbetset, the Penei Yehoshua, the Ketsot ha-Hoshen, the Shev Shma’ateta, and works of that kind – a devotion that persisted even after he had turned to heresy and Haskalah – derived from the wisdom residing in the act of study itself, from the logic that bores down to the roots of things, dismantling and rebuilding. The capacity to hold one’s own in learned discourse (kennen redn in lernen) – that is the entire Torah. Where that is present, everything is present. The person who possesses it faces nothing beyond his reach, since everything else is acquired through labor, and it is of no consequence whether it has yet been acquired or not.”[2]

– Meir Shely (1893-1983)

These two descriptions fix the spirit of the Lithuanian yeshiva as it stood more than a century ago. But ask a yeshiva student today, and he will tell you that the hunger for the Ketsot ha-Hoshen – “Ketsoys” or “Ketseys” in Lithuanian-yeshiva pronunciation – has not abated, save for the fact that present-day students are no longer required to copy the book by hand, and copies circulate in abundance. But “why speak of others,” as the Simple Son asks in the Haggadah. Last Shabbat I found myself opening the Ketsot and paging through old notebooks from my yeshiva years – something I had not done in more than twenty years. I returned in my mind to the hours we spent wrestling with the lamdanut arguments of the Ketsot and the Netivot alongside the other commentators, and felt a sharp longing for an experience I have not had since. What accounts for the Ketsot’s hold? What historical and cultural situation produced it? What does it contain that has absorbed thousands of Torah students since it was first printed in Lvov some two hundred and thirty years ago?

It is this question that Rabbi Dr. Noam Samet sets out to answer in his newly-published book, New Heavens: The Ketsot ha-Hoshen and the Rise of Lamdanut.[3] Samet is a rare combination of research scholar and rosh yeshiva, a pairing that serves him exceptionally well in the analysis of the Ketsot’s lamdanut character. Throughout the book his deep investment in the Ketsot’s teachings is evident – a product of serious yeshiva study – alongside the scholarly discipline to organize and properly conceptualize both the novelty of the Ketsot’s work and the intensity of engagement it has drawn from successive generations of students. He addresses this openly in explaining his chosen appellations for his subject: “Choosing the family name or an acronym-based designation (such as ‘Ra’al’ or ‘Heller’) immediately situates the writing in a somewhat distancing register, one I feel is inappropriate to my relationship with the material. I shall therefore permit myself, with the reader’s indulgence, to employ various designations freely – Ra’al, ‘baal Ketsot ha-Hoshen,’ or ‘the Ketsot’ – in the hope that the learned reader will understand that in all cases the reference is to R. Aryeh Leib ha-Kohen Heller and his work Ketsot ha-Hoshen…”[4] For the same reason, I shall follow suit in the review below.

R. Aryeh Leib ha-Kohen Heller (1745-1812) was born and raised in Galicia. He served in the rabbinate of the small community of Rozhnyatov before moving to Stryi. In the year of that move, 1788, the first part of Ketsot ha-Hoshen was printed, accompanied by the Kuntres ha-Sefeikot composed by his elder brother R. Yehuda, later rabbi of Sighet. The second part appeared in 1796. Before going to press the book underwent extensive revision, with numerous passages excised for two principal reasons. First, upon discovering that R. Yonatan Eybeschütz had anticipated him in the Urim ve-Tummim, Heller deleted his own parallel formulations to avoid redundancy. Second, his brother R. Yehuda, who served as his editor, removed passages too heavily marked by the methods of pilpul and thus perhaps not qualifying as davar emet – a true statement. The accumulation of these revisions produced a curious phenomenon: a large proportion of the internal cross-references in the earliest editions are incorrect, reflecting the deletion of entire sections and the consequent displacement of section numbers.

According to Samet, these two editorial interventions together trace the intellectual coordinates within which the work positions itself. On one hand, the Ketsot regards itself as belonging to the nosei kelim literature of the Shulhan Arukh and thus as a natural successor to the Urim ve-Tummim. On the other hand, the removal of pilpul passages registers a methodological tension – between pilpul and halakhic ruling – that runs beneath the surface of the book.

A dedicated chapter in Samet’s study is devoted to the Ketsot’s celebrated introduction. “R. Aryeh Leib did us a service,” Samet writes, “by attaching to his work a searching introduction – a brief theological composition treating the hermeneutical tension, and in particular the gap between man’s finite capacity and the infinite divine Torah,”[5] The introduction centers on a passage from the Zohar according to which, when a person originates a hiddush in Torah, that word of innovation ascends before God, who kisses it, and the one who originated it becomes a partner in the act of Creation. These words elevate the creative act of Torah scholarship despite the tension between innovation and received tradition. The Ketsot proceeds, drawing on rabbinic teaching, to show that the Torah scholar does not merely transmit tradition but acts creatively within it – “and this is the covenant and the wondrous love that He gave us the Oral Torah as an outright gift, and ‘from the wilderness, a gift’ – in accordance with the rulings of the sages.” This wondrous love finds abundant expression in the Ketsot itself, through repeated registers of pleasure and satisfaction, particularly when the author notes that his reasoning coincides with a position of the Rishonim.

The Ketsot adds a further observation: God’s Creation is perfect; human beings are limited and deficient, and their engagement with divine truth is, from an absolute standpoint, error. Yet it is precisely this “error” that is accepted before God, and that even sustains Creation at every moment – and this is what is new in the descent of the Torah to human beings. Samet reads in these words a polemic against the Haskalah critique then being directed at pilpul and hiddush for their supposed falsity. But a competing tendency was also at work within the beit midrash itself – one that placed the recovery of original truth at the top of its agenda and admitted no other pursuit. This was the approach of the Vilna Gaon, as described by his disciple R. Hayyim of Volozhin: the Gaon worked to strip away corruptions and recover “original” truth through philological and critical methods. Samet connects the Brisker school to this same tendency, with its use of abstract conceptual analysis to locate the foundational source of a law. In this view, the quality of a hiddush is expressed not in its formal elegance but in its clarity and internal truth. The Ketsot took the opposing position: hiddush is a distinctive power and a central purpose of Torah study. This does not license falsity or remove all constraints – the indispensable condition for legitimate Torah innovation is mastery of the Torah’s proper methods. The scholar who recognizes that his innovations continue, rather than sever, the interpretive tradition of the Rishonim is the one whose Torah qualifies as truth.

Certain sections of the Ketsot have won particular standing in the batei midrash and are studied and cited repeatedly – it is not unusual to hear scholars say, “this is the Ketsots in lamed-dalet” or “the well-known Ketsot in resh-mem-alef.” In most sections the Ketsot follows the interpretive path of the nosei kelim without distinctive departure; but the sections that secured the book’s authority in the batei midrash are those in which he broke from his predecessors and proposed new insights and conceptualizations that opened fresh avenues of halakhic thought. The author devotes one chapter to the Ketsot’s treatment of the laws of testimony (hilkhot edut) and another to five examples drawn from different areas. To avoid leaving this review guilty of bittul Torah, I will select one of the shorter and more accessible examples from the book, through which some of the aspects the author wishes to illuminate can be seen at work.

In Bava Batra 149a, the Talmud recounts the case of Issur the proselyte, who transferred his assets to his son – who does not inherit him under halakha, owing to Issur’s conversion – by means of an odita, that is, a declaration of acknowledgment (hoda’a). The Rishonim debated the legal character of this mode of acquisition at length. The Ketsot addresses it in sections 40 and 194, and takes the position that odita is a fully independent mode of acquisition operating on the same footing as any other: “It is a complete act of acquisition, in no way inferior to any other mode of acquisition, whether for monetary matters or for ritual prohibitions” (194:4). The acquisition takes effect when a person declares before witnesses that a certain object belongs not to him but to another – the intended transferee. That declaration itself transfers the object, even if both parties know that the admission does not correspond to fact. The Ketsot’s engagement with this mode of acquisition grows out of a discussion of transfer of ownership to a gentile – for example, the sale of a firstborn animal (bekhor) to exempt it from the relevant sanctity, or the sale of hametz. Under halakha, a gentile cannot acquire through all the modes available to a Jew; he cannot, for instance, acquire movables (metaltelin) through the payment of money alone. Some proposed kinyan agav (acquisition incidental to real property), but the Ketsot was not satisfied that this mode applies to a gentile – nor does every seller possess land, and meshikha (formal pulling) is impractical for large quantities of hametz. His proposed solution was kinyan odita, but the mechanics of this mode had not been adequately worked out by the Aharonim; some had in fact restricted it to deathbed declarations (shekiv mera), or confined it to monetary matters and excluded ritual prohibitions – making it very difficult to press into service for hametz sales. This practical problem drove the Ketsot to undertake a lamdanut analysis aimed at clarifying and sharpening the mechanisms through which the acquisition operates.

The analytical discussion of those mechanics is found in section 40. Its foundation is the sugya of Ketubot 101b, concerning one who says to his fellow “I am indebted to you for a maneh.” In R. Yohanan’s ruling – which was accepted as normative – that statement binds him. Rashi and Tosafot understood the case to involve a written document, which they took to be the source of the obligation. The Rif and Maimonides, however, held that the admission itself creates the obligation. The Ketsot explains that kinyan odita is operative here and functions even for movables and in the absence of a written document. In this he also resolves a contradiction in the Shulhan Arukh that I will not pursue here; what matters is that the nosei kelim who addressed the Shulhan Arukh’s ruling kept their discussion within the sugya at hand, while the Ketsot alone saw fit to move outward to the sugya of odita and establish its halakhic principles from the ground up. The principle he extracts is that odita operates specifically through having witnesses attest to a declaration of prior obligation – not through a present-tense act of transfer. A declaration formulated in those terms is itself the act of acquisition. From this he draws a further ruling: kinyan odita requires witnesses; an admission made privately, or even before witnesses without the declarant’s having said to them “atem edai” – “you are my witnesses” – produces no acquisition. This holds despite the general principle that “la ivre sahade ela le-shakkarei” – witnesses exist only for the dishonest – meaning that where there is no suspicion of falsehood, witnesses are ordinarily unnecessary. That principle governs modes of acquisition in which witnesses serve only to document a transaction that has already occurred independently; in kinyan odita, by contrast, the presence of witnesses is constitutive of the transaction itself.

The discussion then turns to the Ketsot’s standing relative to the Rishonim and the pilpul tradition. The Ketsot presents his innovation as a resolution of a difficulty raised by the Tosafists in Bava Metsia 46a: why money cannot be transferred by odita. His answer is the absence of witnesses. R. Yaakov of Lisa, author of the Netivot ha-Mishpat, objects sharply: if Tosafot themselves did not resolve the difficulty in this way, by what right does the Ketsot depart from them? The Ketsot responds in his Meshovev Netivot, holding his ground: in kinyan odita, “as long as one has not said ‘atem edai’ before witnesses, there is no odita here, and if there is no odita there is no acquisition.” He further supports his position with a proof from Ramban, then returns to Tosafot. Committed as he is to the literature of the Rishonim, he insists that his position does not necessarily contradict Tosafot: the reason Tosafot did not themselves answer that witnesses were absent is that the case involves a threshing floor – a place where people are routinely present – but as regards his underlying account of the odita mechanism, Tosafot would, he maintains, concur.

As Samet summarizes, the Ketsot ruled by independent reasoning (sevara) that kinyan odita operates only before witnesses, and was prepared to legislate accordingly even against the surface implication of Tosafot’s words. The Netivot’s objection exposes the substantive disagreement between them over the role of reasoned argument and the degree of independence the lamdan may exercise against the rulings of the Rishonim. The Ketsot is prepared to follow sevara even when doing so forces strained readings of earlier authorities. The lamdanut sequence illustrates a dense interplay of practical necessity and conceptual ambition: the need to solve the hametz sale problem drives the Ketsot to define and conceptualize odita as a fully independent mode of acquisition, reconstructing that category through a series of earlier sources that he rereads and renegotiates in lamdanut terms.

This is a brief and compressed sampling of the work the author unfolds in a substantial book. My review has concentrated on the beit-midrash dimensions, but the book also engages the historical and legal context in which Heller operated – the dissolution of Jewish communal self-governance and the transfer of juridical authority to the state – and a dedicated chapter treats “Naturalism, Nominalism, and Lamdanut,” examining legal theories that may have shaped the development of study methods within the beit midrash. The book is not easy reading; it demands sustained intellectual effort. Yeshiva students and alumni will find a rigorous new account of a work they know well, while the book is structured to be accessible also to readers outside that world who want a serious introduction to the tradition of lamdanut. No copyeditor’s name appears on the book, and professional language editing would have broadened its reach. That aside, I owe the author an acknowledgment of genuine debt for returning me, if only for a few hours, to a part of my life I had set down a long time ago.

This article presents an English translation of a Hebrew review published by Moshe Shochat at his blog, Sefarim ve-Kitvei Yad, which originally appeared May 20, 2026, and available here.

  1. Ben-Zion Dinur, “Two Years at the Telz Yeshiva,” in Immanuel Etkes and Shlomo Tikochinski, eds., Yeshivot Lita: Pirkei Zikhronot (Jerusalem: Shazar, 2004), 250-251 (Hebrew).
  2. Meir Shely, “Shards of Telz,” in Immanuel Etkes and Shlomo Tikochinski, eds., Yeshivot Lita: Pirkei Zikhronot (Jerusalem: Shazar, 2004), 266 (Hebrew).
  3. Noam Samet, New Heavens: The Ketsot ha-Hoshen and the Rise of Lamdanut (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 2026; Hebrew).
  4. Ibid., 17n9.
  5. Ibid., 121.

 




Book Review: Yosie Levine, Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate

BOOK REVIEW

Yosie Levine. Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi and the Battlegrounds of the Early Modern Rabbinate. London: Littman Library, 2024. xiv, 266.

Reviewed by Bezalel Naor

Yosie Levine has tackled the enigmatic figure of Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi (1658-1718), a man whose title alone beggars the imagination. At first blush, the terms “Hakham” and “Ashkenazi” present an oxymoron. The term “Hakham” is generally reserved for Sephardic sages. (An outlier would be Hakham Isaac Bernays of Hamburg [1792-1849], but that is a discussion for another paper.) Hakham Tsevi went so far as to add to his signature the letters samekh teth, in typical Sephardic fashion. (Levine grapples with the significance of the suffix on pages 206-207.)[1]

Reared in Budin (today Budapest),[2] then under Ottoman rule, our protagonist lived at various times in the Balkans (Adrianople, Belgrade, Constantinople, Salonika and Sarajevo), Central Europe (Altona, Hamburg, Wandsbek) and Western Europe (Amsterdam and London). This straddling of Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities produced a hybrid: Hakham Tsevi Ashkenazi.

In the final chapter of the book, entitled “Afterlife: The Response of Modern-Day Posekim to Hakham Tsevi’s Early Modern Responsa,” the author demonstrates how certain positions of Hakham Tsevi which seemed outlandish and even revolutionary at the time, have come home to roost in the twenty-first century.

First, there is the Hakham’s responsum discussing whether an artificial man, a golem, can be counted in a minyan or prayer quorum of ten.[3] The Talmud (Sanhedrin 65b) recounted how Rava created a man by employing Sefer Yetsirah. The Hakham’s own ancestor, Elijah Ba‘al Shem of Chelm, created such a humanoid. (The Hakham’s son, Rabbi Jacob Emden, would later address this very issue in his responsa.)[4] In our own age of robotics and Artificial Intelligence, one anticipates a robust halakhic literature on the subject of the golem. (The golem of the Gemara was bereft of the power of speech, so in that respect, present-day robots are certainly superior.) An area of Halakhah that immediately comes to mind is Nezikin, torts or damages.

An outspoken responsum of the Hakham directed Diaspora Jews visiting the Land of Israel to observe but a single day of Yom Tov in conformity with local custom.[5] A the time it was written, Hakham Tsevi’s decision flew in the face of the accepted practice, whereby Diaspora Jews observed two days of the festival during their sojourn in the Land, in conformity to their place of origin. Writing from Safed in the sixteenth century, Rabbi Joseph Karo attested that pilgrims to the Land would assemble their own minyan, in which they recited the prayers for the second day of Yom Tov in exile, a practice sanctioned by the gedolim of old.[6]

Hakham Tsevi’s own son, Rabbi Jacob Emden, respectfully disagreed with his father’s opinion. In a lengthy responsum, he militated for the two-day observance.[7]

According to Levine, the 1903 decision of Rabbi Elijah David Rabinowitz-Te’omim (Aderet) in Jerusalem, invoking and inveighing with Hakham Tsevi’s responsum, was a first.[8] In Levine’s words: “This ruling represented a radical break with established norms and constituted a watershed in the reception history of Hakham Tsevi’s responsum” (page 197).[9]

Earlier, Levine writes that Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady (1745-1812) was “sympathetic to Hakham Tsevi’s ruling in principle” (p. 195). The footnote refers us to Rabbi Shneur Zalman’s Shulhan ‘Arukh 496:11. This reference requires some unpacking. While Rabbi Shneur Zalman’s ruling just happened to coincide with that of Hakham Tsevi, it was certainly not the basis of his ruling. Rather, he based his decision on a rishon, the medieval authority Rabbi Eliezer ben Nathan (Ra’avan) of Mayence. Ra’avan, in turn, followed in the footsteps of Rabbenu Hananel ben Hushiel of Kairouan.[10]

(An aside: Rabbi Abraham David Lavut of Nikolayev [1814-1890], a disciple of Rabbi Menahem Mendel Schneersohn of Lubavitch [Tsemah Tsedek], brought to the discussion a mystical element, whereby the “illumination” [he’arah] of the Festival takes a day longer to reach the Diaspora.[11] The late Rabbi Baruch Na’eh, of blessed memory, impressed upon this writer in no uncertain terms that the Alter Rebbe’s pesak was derived from Rabbenu Hananel—which is to say Ra’avan—and not from these mystical considerations.)[12]

Aderet’s contemporary, Rabbi Hayyim Soloveichik of Brisk, also maintained that visitors to Erets Yisrael should observe but a single day of Yom Tov, but unlike Aderet, he did not see the need to invoke the authority of Hakham Tsevi. Neither did he seek support in the work of the rishon, Rabbi Eliezer ben Nathan (as did Rabbi Shneur Zalman). As it is often quipped, “Reb Hayyim was a rishon!”[13]

In more recent times, Rabbi Tsevi Pesah Frank was open to the thinking of the Hakham Tsevi (though he countered that the law might devolve upon the individual, “a-karkafta de-gavra”).[14] On the other hand, Rabbi Shelomo Zalman Auerbach rejected the ruling of the Hakham Tsevi.[15]

This issue remains a heated debate to this day. Some Diaspora Jews keep two days in Erets Yisrael, while others observe but one day.

*

Perhaps the most infamous, and certainly the most traumatic of Hakham Tsevi’s controversies, was his confrontation with crypto-Sabbatian Nehemiah Hiyya Hayyon in Amsterdam in 1713. Hayyon, a man of dubious character, arrived in town from the East (he claimed to be from Safed), intent on publishing his literary oeuvre. Hakham Tsevi served at that time as Rabbi of the Ashkenazic community of Amsterdam. Upon perusal of Hayyon’s book ‘Oz le-Elohim, printed in Berlin earlier that year, Hakham Tsevi discovered that the work contained arch-heresy. (For a long time, it was thought that this was the theology of Shabbetai Tsevi. Today, the scholarly consensus is that ‘Oz le-Elohim is in fact an offshoot of the theology of Abraham Miguel Cardozo [1627-1706].)[16]

Hakham Tsevi proceeded to issue a broadside banning the book. (Levine provides a facsimile on page 168.) One would imagine that the preeminent sage would have easily prevailed over the rascal. Actually, the outcome was the exact opposite. Hayyon remained in Amsterdam and Hakham Tsevi was routed, beating a retreat to London. (Elisheva Carlebach treated this sorry chapter in Jewish history in her biography of Hakham Tsevi’s ally in the affair, Rabbi Moses Hagiz, The Pursuit of Heresy.) It turned out that the Sephardic Hakham of Amsterdam, Solomon Ayllon, was himself a crypto-Sabbatian. Presented with the political clout of the powerful Spanish-Portuguese Mahamad (or Ma‘amad), and ultimately, the Dutch authorities, Hakham Tsevi was forced to flee.

One finds it of interest that Hakham Tsevi’s broadside skirts the issue of the mistaken belief in the pseudo-Messiah Shabbetai Tsevi. (You might call that “the elephant in the room.”) Instead, it focuses on how scandalous is this strange notion that Levine felicitously refers to as Hayyon’s “belief in a First Cause that was decoupled from the revealed God of Israel” (page 167).

Since Levine has discussed the afterlife of Hakham Tsevi’s literary legacy, I should like to take this opportunity to explore the afterlife of Hayyon’s—or more precisely, Cardozo’s theology.

Today one puzzles over vestiges of the opposition of the Sibah Rishonah (First Cause) and Elohei Yisrael (God of Israel) that survive in the reputable works of Rabbi Baruch of Kosov (Yesod ha-Emunah)[17] and Rabbi Israel Hapstein, the Maggid of Kozienice (‘Avodat Yisrael).[18] Should we suspect these authors of being closet Sabbatians?

We need to disentangle theology from sociology. Espousal of this kind of theology does not necessarily connect one to the Sabbatian movement.

It is plausible (though unlikely) that even the way Cardozo himself came to his theology was coincidental to his attraction to the Sabbatian movement. Prima facie, what one observes in Cardozan theology is the convergence of two worlds: that of the philosopher and that of the kabbalist. The Marrano physician, educated at Salamanca in general philosophy, encountered, upon reentry to the Jewish fold, an opposed worldview of a particularistic Judaic nature. The valorization of Elohei Yisrael over the Sibah Rishonah is a celebration of Cardozo’s conversion (or re-conversion) to Judaism. The “decoupling,” or to use the Hebrew term, the pirud that so scandalized Hakham Tsevi, is an outgrowth of the maelstrom, and perhaps unresolved tension, within Cardozo’s soul.

Hakham Tsevi was outraged by the proposition of a First Cause without will (ratson) and intention (kavanah). Similarly irksome was the notion that on the ultimate level of divinity, chosenness disappears. The first proposition is articulated by Rav Kook.[19] The second, by Rabbi Dov Baer Shneuri of Lubavitch (Mitteler Rebbe).[20] Would Hakham Tsevi consider these writings beyond the pale? Perhaps not.

As long as unity (yihud)—for lack of a better term, monotheism—is maintained, one remains within the mainstream of Jewish belief. It was precisely the “decoupling” of these two elements—the universalist and the particularist—that provoked the defender of the faith. The Hakham recognized shtei reshuyot (dualism)[21] when he saw it. No amount of sophistry could camouflage an incipient idolatry.

Again, we need to distinguish between Cardozo’s Messianism and his theology. And even then, there is required a refinement before that theology can mainstream. (Just as Rav Kook entertained the thought that by a process of purification or tseruf, Spinoza’s pantheism might one day be rehabilitated. No longer would Spinoza be referred to as Maledictus but Benedictus.)[22]

Notes

  1. Hakham Tsevi’s son, Jacob Emden, continued the practice, signing responsa “Ya‘abets Samekh Teth.” Ya‘abets is the initials of Ya‘akov ben Tsevi.
  2. Also referred to in German as Ofen.
  3. She’elot u-Teshuvot Hakham Tsevi, no. 93.
  4. She’elat Ya‘abets II, no. 82.
  5. She’elot u-Teshuvot Hakham Tsevi, no. 167. He reasoned that should one observe an additional day in Erets Yisrael, one would thereby be in violation of Bal Tosif (Thou shalt not add). See Rosh Hashanah 28b, regarding one who sleeps in the sukkah on Shemini ‘Atseret.
  6. See Rabbi Joseph Karo, She’elot u-Teshuvot Avkat Rokhel, no. 26
  7. She’elat Ya‘abets, Part One, no. 168.
  8. See Rabbi Elijah David Rabinowitz-Te’omim, Kuntress Shevah ha-Arets, in Be-Shemen Ra‘anan, vol. 2, ed. Ben Zion Shapira (Jerusalem, 1991), p. 209, par. 35. The reference to Hakham Tsevi’s responsum should read no. 167 (not no. 147).
  9. Rabbi Elijah David Rabinowitz-Te’omim (known by the acronym Aderet) served as the assistant to Rabbi Samuel Salant, Rabbi of Jerusalem. Aderet was the father-in-law of Rav Kook, who would go on to become Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Erets Israel. Evidently, Rav Kook—unlike Aderet—did not accept the ruling of Hakham Tsevi. See Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak Hakohen Kook, Orah Mishpat, no. 125.
  10. See the commentaries of Ra’avan and Rabbenu Hananel to Pesahim 51b-52a. Rabbenu Hananel’s reading differs from our own. In our version, Rav Safra travels from Erets Yisrael to Bavel. In Rabbenu Hananel’s version, Rav Safra travels from Bavel to Erets Yisrael. The conclusion is that in places of habitation (yishuv), one must conform to local custom (and observe a single day of Yom Tov); in the desert (midbar), one maintains one’s original custom of two-day observance. See the letter of Rabbi Meir Don Plotzki published in Rabbi Shelomo Zalman Ehrenreich’s edition of Ra’avan. Unfortunately, Rabbi Ehrenreich terribly misunderstood the reference to Ra’avan in Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady’s Shulhan ‘Arukh. This misreading persisted in Rabbi Yitzhak Flakser’s Sha‘arei Yitzhak.
    See Rabbi Eliezer ben Nathan of Mayence, Even ha-‘Ezer/Sefer Ra’avan, ed. Shelomo Zalman Ehrenreich (Simleul, 1926), Pesahim, 162b (text of Ra’avan), 161d-162c (supercommentary of Even Shelemah); Rabbi Yitzhak Flakser, Sha‘arei Yitzhak, vol. 1 (Jerusalem, 1999), Hilkhot Yom Tov Sheni, chap. 3.
    In a stroke of originality, Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch suggested that this variant of Rabbenu Hananel might have been the source of Maimonides’ startling ruling (Hilkhot Kiddush ha-Hodesh 5:12) that in the desert of Erets Yisrael one observes two days of Yom Tov. See Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch, Mo‘adim u-Zemanim, Part III (Pesahim) (Jerusalem, n.d.), chap. 121 (62a).
    First published in Prague in 1610, Ra’avan was available to Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady. Rabbenu Hananel’s commentary to Pesahim, on the other hand, did not become available until 1868, when it was published in Paris (from a Munich manuscript) by Rabbi Yosef Halevi Stern.
  11. Rabbi A.D. Lavut, Sha‘ar ha-Kollel (Brooklyn, 2005), 1:2 (1b-2a).
  12. Rabbi Baruch Na’eh in private conversation with the writer (BN) before Pesah of 1987. He was the son of the famed Habad halakhist Rabbi Abraham Hayyim Na’eh, author of Ketsot ha-Shulhan (on Shulhan ‘Arukh Harav). Rabbi Barukh Na’eh authored two volumes of Gemara Shelemah Pesahim.
    Inter alia, see the reaction of Rabbi Meir Mazuz when presented with the Sha‘ar ha-Kollel. Recorded in She’elot u-Teshuvot Ish Matsli’ah, vol. 1, 2nd edition (B’nei Berak, 1989), Orah Hayyim, no. 40 (116b). Rabbi Matsli’ah Mazuz’s posture as a posek–similar to that of the Hakham Tsevi (Part One, no. 36)—was that the Kabbalistic perspective must never result in a bouleversement of the Halakhah. See Levine, pp. 84-86. Also, Rabbi Jacob Emden’s lengthy responsum in She’elat Ya‘abets, Part One, no. 47.
  13. See Rabbi Tsevi Yosef Reichman, Reshimot Shi‘urim, Sukkah (New York, 1990), p. 227; Rabbi Tsevi Schachter, Nefesh Harav (Jerusalem, 1994), p. 84; Levine, Hakham Tsevi, p. 198.
    Another Lithuanian posek who inclined to the one-day observance was Rabbi David Friedman of Karlin. See She’elat David (Piotrkow, 1913), Kuntress ha-Minhagim, 11b, footnote. One should not be surprised that he did not mention Hakham Tsevi. Reb Dovid Karliner was famous for his eschewal of Aharonim (later-day authorities)!
  14. Har Tsevi, Orah Hayyim, vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 1973), no. 78 (126b).
  15. See the letter of Rabbi S.Z. Auerbach to Rabbi Yitzhak Flakser in Sha‘arei Yitzhak, vol. 1 (Jerusalem, 1999), Hilkhot Yom Tov Sheni, chapter 17.
  16. See Yehudah Liebes, On Sabbateanism and Its Kabbalah (Hebrew) (Jerusalem, 1995), pp. 35-36.
    For a cornucopia of Cardozo’s literary output, see David J. Halperin, Abraham Miguel Cardozo: Selected Writings (Mahwah, New Jersey, 2001).
    Rabbi Yahya Kafah of San‘a, Yemen, mistook ‘Oz le-Elohim for a work of mainstream Kabbalah. Rav Kook set him straight that this is in fact a heretical work. See Rabbi Yahya Kafah, Milhamot Hashem (Jerusalem, 1931); RAYH Kook, Ma’amrei ha-Rayah, vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 1984), p. 520; idem, Haskamot ha-Rayah (Jerusalem, 1988), no. 41, p. 46; idem, letter and pesak din in front matter of anonymous Emunat Hashem (Jerusalem, 1937).
  17. See Rabbi Baruch of Kosov, ‘Ammud ha-‘Avodah (Chernowitz, 1863), Kuntresim le-Hokhmat ha-Emet, 128d. In the newer edition, Yesod ha-Emunah, ed. Ya‘akov Aharon Ilowich (Monsey, NY, 2007), Kuntresim le-Hokhmat ha-Emet, par. 206 (p. 488). And see Esther Liebes, Ahavah vi-yetsirah be-haguto shel R. Baruch mi-Kosov (Ph.D. dissertation, Hebrew University, 1997), pp. 279-280.
  18. In the Pe’er mi-Kedoshim edition of ‘Avodat Yisrael (B’nei Berak, 2013), 290b. The context is a kavanah for Rosh Hashanah.
    See the lengthy discussion in Bezalel Naor, Navigating Worlds: Collected Essays (New York, 2021), pp. 529-530.
  19. Siddur ‘Olat Re’iyah, vol. 1, p. 23, s.v. Le-shem yihud; p. 111, s.v. Atah hu ‘ad she-lo nivra ha-‘olam.
  20. Rabbi Dov Baer of Lubavitch, Imrei Binah (Brooklyn, 2018), Sha‘ar Keri’at Shema‘, par. 94 (120c); quoted in Bezalel Naor, The Project of Hasidism (New York, 2025), p. 108.
  21. Mutatis mutandis, we find in the Mishnaic era the heretic Elisha ben Abuyah (Aher) constructing a duality of the Unmoved One (“no sitting or standing”) and Metatron, the advocate of Israel (“sitting and writing the merits of Israel”). See Hagigah 15a; and the reading of Maimonides, Commentary to the Mishnah, Introduction to Perek Helek (Sanhedrin chap. 10), the third fundamental (Kafah edition, p. 141).
  22. Rav Avraham Yitzhak Hakohen Kook, Pinkas Rishon le-Yaffo, par. 117, in Kevatsim mi-Ketav Yad Kodsho, ed. Boaz Ofen (Jerusalem, 2006), p. 146.
    It seems such a purification of Cardozan theology was uppermost in the mind of Rabbi Pinhas Elijah Hurwitz of Vilna. See his Sefer ha-Berit (Brünn, 1797), Part One, ma’amar 20, chap. 15 (109a-111a). After presenting the opposition of the First Cause and the God of Israel (the hallmark of Cardozo’s theology), Hurwitz quotes the Italian kabbalist Rabbi Joseph Ergas (author of Shomer Emunim) in his polemic work, Tokhahat Megullah & Ha-Tsad Nahash (London, 1715) against Hayyon and Abraham Cardozo. The upshot is the integration of the two aspects of the divinity within an acceptable orthodox framework. Concerning Ergas’ anti-Sabbatian polemic, see Bezalel Naor, Post-Sabbatian Sabbatianism (Spring Valley, NY, 1999), pp. 145-149.Hurwitz has misquoted Tokhahat Megullah f.12. For “Hu mitparesh bi-fe‘ulotav ve-ne‘elam be-‘atsmuto,” read: Hu mitparsem bi-fe‘ulotav ve-ne‘elam be-‘atsmuto.

 




Review of Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, Jewish Women in Time and Torah

Review of Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, Jewish Women in Time and Torah

Ross Singer

Ross Singer received rabbinic ordination from Professor Rabbi David Weiss Halivni, Rabbi Shear Yashuv Cohen, and Rabbi David Bigman. He has an MA in Talmud and Rabbinics from the Jewish Theological Seminary and is a graduate of the Mandel Jerusalem Fellows. He has published articles in The Edah Journal, The JOFA Journal, Amudim, Lehrhaus, The Jerusalem Post, and The Times of Israel. He is the translator of Gideon Katz’s In Silence and Out Loud: Yeshayahu Leibowitz in Israeli Context.

Ross served as a rabbi in Vancouver, Canada and Baltimore, MD, and currently resides in Israel where he works as an educator and tour guide.

Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits has long been an outlier in the Orthodox world.[1] Over the past two decades, there has been a concerted effort by admirers of R. Berkovits to revive his thought and put it on the agenda. New commentaries to the Haggadah[2] and Megillat Esther[3] have been culled from the large corpus of R. Berkovits’ writings, a sampling of his important essays has been collected and published,[4] major works have been translated into Hebrew and published by Shalem Press, and new editions of his out of print books have been reissued including the subject of this review, his Jewish Women in Time and Torah.

On the backdrop of this trend to cultivate a reconsideration of R. Berkovits’ thought in the Orthodox community, it is important to note that a feature of R. Berkovits’ work may play a role in its marginalization. In the introduction to his English magnum opus, Not in Heaven, R. Eliezer Berkovits writes:

Finally may I be permitted a personal confession. While all my life I have endeavored to take my stand on the foundations of Halakhic Judaism, as it was handed down to me in my father’s house and as I have acquired it from my studies in Y’shibot and later from my great teacher, Rabbi Yehiel J. Weinberg, ז”ל, at the Hildesheimer Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin, in this my work I was determined to be guided exclusively by the traditional halakhic material as I found it and as I have learned to understand it over the years.[5]

While Rabbi Berkovits describes his return to the classic sources as a departure from the approach that he received from his teachers and based upon his own unique understanding, scholars of R. Berkovits’ work have found other halakhists who lay out kindred theories of halakhah. Some theorize that R. Berkovits may have been influenced by R. Moshe Shmuel Glasner, the father of one of his early teachers, R. Akiva Glasner,[6] and Rabbi Chaim Hirshensohn.[7] Despite his “confession,” R. Berkovits’ approach has powerful antecedents that a reader of Not in Heaven will not encounter there. It is not clear why they go unmentioned and unexplored by R. Berkovits. It is clear that a full appreciation of the place of his approach in the broader canvas of halakhic thought requires some filling in of gaps that his work leaves out.

This is particularly true of R. Berkovits’ final work, Jewish Women in Time and Torah. The recent republication of this volume affords us an opportunity to explore analogs of the book’s central thesis that R. Berkovits leaves unmentioned or underdeveloped, and to note some more recent work that picks up on its themes.

Before engaging in the endeavor to uncover the congruity of R. Berkovits’ thought in this work with the larger tradition, let us appreciate two features of this new edition. Firstly, it includes a moving introduction by R. Berkovits’ granddaughter, R. Rahel Berkovits. Her essay gives some important personal and ideological context. Secondly, this new edition uses footnotes as opposed to endnotes used in the earlier edition making it easier to turn to the various sources quoted by R. Berkovits without losing one’s place in the book.

The most significant contribution of the content of Jewish Women in Time and Torah is R. Berkovits’ distinction between “Torah-taught” and “Torah-tolerated.” This distinction lies at the center of the book’s agenda. R. Berkovits explains that the Torah was given into a particular cultural context and as such, it must take that context into consideration in legislating its norms. The Torah must, in certain cases, compromise its highest ideals for the sake of speaking to a particular generation who in their context are unable to understand and accept the fullest aspirations of the Torah. Using a pragmatic strategy, the Torah guides the community towards ever greater fulfillment of its ideals. In R. Berkovits’ own words:

The goals and the values are these forever. But they are taught and applied with the wisdom of understanding that time-conditioned reality cannot be changed overnight. The method of the Torah is to acknowledge reality, to take human nature into account and apply the eternal word to it so far as is possible, thus to teach values and guide behavior, indicating the goal towards which the guided change has to move.[8]

The Torah tolerates time-conditioned realities and they may seep into its norms, however one must distinguish between the Torah-tolerated and the Torah-taught. R. Berkovits asserts that the disparaging statements about women and halakhic inequalities that one finds in Jewish tradition stem from the ancient context into which Torah was given and in which it developed. Such evaluations of women were Torah-tolerated, however none of them were Torah-taught. While R. Berkovits had advocated for decades for adjustments in halakhah for women’s status, he had justified this approach in the past based on his understanding of halakhah’s prioritization of the ethical. In Jewish Women in Time and Torah, he introduces this historiosophy to his English language readers for the first time.[9] According to his read of the history of halakhah, the time is ripe to rid halakhah of what it had compromised on in the past:

It is our task to eliminate whatever remains from the Torah-tolerated, impersonal phase and to establish woman’s status completely on the Torah-taught and prescribed personal level.[10]

To appreciate the significance of this, it may be helpful to look at a question posed to R. Berkovits by R. Shalom Carmy. In a nuanced review of R. Berkovits’ approach, R. Carmy finds much to appreciate. Nevertheless, he echoes the common critique that R. Berkovits’ approach overreaches. R. Carmy notes R. Berkovits’ exasperation over a statement of the Ramban regarding the case of a woman who claims that her husband is repulsive to her without offering independent evidence. While reinforcing the strength of the position that allows the court to force the husband to divorce his wife, Ramban adds that whoever follows the stricter opinion that the court cannot force the husband “has lost nothing, and may be blessed.” R. Berkovits states that, “one remains astounded at such words. To be ‘strict’ in matters of divorce and overlook the happiness of the woman may often be extreme leniency in the implementation of the not insignificant commandment ‘And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” Rabbi Carmy takes issue with Rabbi Berkovits critique of Ramban:

We are obligated, as a simple matter of intellectual integrity and a measure of kevod ha-Torah, to understand why Ramban’s theoretical and practical judgements diverge markedly from ours. Such an exercise will yield a better understanding of Torah and a better self-understanding… Rolling one’s eyes in exasperation with the Ramban is not a philosophy.[11]

Rabbi Carmy’s point is an excellent one. How can R. Berkovits so easily discount the Ramban’s statement? Isn’t it too part of the Torah that must be understood and appreciated? If the priority of the ethical is so fundamental to halakhah, why doesn’t the Ramban recognize that? In Jewish Women in Time and Torah, R. Berkovits provides an answer to these questions. Ramban’s acquiescence to an approach in halakhah that diminishes women’s status before the court is a holdover of a Torah-tolerated approach. In our period such an approach should be left behind as we reassert the Torah-taught.[12]

The implications of R. Berkovits’ historiosophy of halakhah are tremendous and raise many questions. It introduces new dimensions to the subjective element of R. Berkovits’ thought. How is one to distinguish in the corpus of Torah between what is merely Torah-tolerated and what is actually Torah-taught? Where does R. Berkovits get such an idea about halakhic evolution and progression? Is this aspect of his thought also a deviation from the teaching he received from his family and teachers? What precedents exist for approaching Torah and halakhah in this way?

Indeed, it seems that R. Berkovits’ historiosophy of halakhah conflicts with the predominant way that Torah is presented in many orthodox circles. One of the opening statements of Bereishit Rabbah presents a conception of Torah that seems antithetical to R. Berkovits’ approach:

A king of flesh and blood who builds a castle does not do so from his own knowledge, but rather with the knowledge of a craftsman, and a craftsman does not build it from his own knowledge; he has scrolls and books in order to know how to make rooms and doorways. So too God looked into the Torah and created the world…[13]

In this depiction, the Torah precedes the world. The Torah then can be seen as pristine and untouched by human history and culture. In such a depiction, the Torah’s commandments cannot bear the taint of any human foibles. The Torah does not tolerate or compromise with or react to history because the Torah precedes history. In my experience, this is the dominant conception of Torah’s relationship to the world in Orthodox circles.[14]

Is there an alternative competing conception to this one upon which R. Berkovits can find precedent? To ground his position in the classical sources, R. Berkovits first quotes from Rashi’s interpretation of Psalms 29:4. Rashi comments, “At the time of the giving of the Torah, God limited His voice in accordance with the strength of the Israelites to receive.”[15] R. Berkovits elaborates explaining that each person received the Torah “in conformity with his own spiritual and moral capacity.” Building on this, R. Berkovits turns to the Rambam’s famous passage in his Guide for the Perplexed about the origin of the sacrifices:

… the prevailing custom in the world was to sacrifice animals… God’s wisdom counseled Him that to command the Jews to give up all that kind of service and annul it completely would have been something that their hearts could not have accepted… For this reason, God allowed the [generally practiced] sacrificial services to remain but directed them away from those created or imagined powers in which there is no truth, to His own name blessed be He.[16]

While R. Berkovits suffices with this one excerpt, the notion that God’s revelation to Israel took into account particular historical circumstances recurs throughout the Rambam’s writings. In a number of places in the Guide, Rambam explains that the Torah’s commandments and teachings are responses to and polemics against the practices and beliefs that had become prevalent among ancient idolators. For example, this is how he explains the reason for the Korban Pesach:

Scripture tells us, according to the version of Onkelos, that the Egyptians worshiped Aries, and therefore abstained from killing sheep, and held shepherds in contempt… For this reason those sects abstained from eating goats’ flesh. …This is [also] the reason why we were commanded to kill a lamb on Passover, and to sprinkle the blood thereof outside on the gates. We had to free ourselves of evil doctrines and to proclaim the opposite, viz., that the very act which was then considered as being the cause of death would be the cause of deliverance from death.[17]

This approach is not limited to the Guide. In his earlier popular works Rambam makes similar suggestions. In the Sefer HaMitzvot (Negative Commandments #43) Rambam already explained that the Torah’s prohibition of shaving off the corners of one’s head is in response to the practice of ancient idolatrous priests shaving that part of their hair. He repeats this explanation in the Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 12:1). The reason for the prohibition of mixing wool and linen together in garments is explained in the Sefer HaMitzvot (Negative Commandments #42) in the same way. In his Letter on Astrology, Rambam again articulates the broad use he makes of the approach:

I also have read in all matters concerning all of idolatry…I have read it and have understood its subject matter and have plumbed the depth of its thought. From those books it became clear to me what the reason is for all the commandments that everyone comes to think of as having no reason at all, other than the decree of Scripture.[18]

Given the claim that the Guide was written as an apologetic work to draw in those who had been lured away from traditional Judaism and therefore might include rhetorical passages that do not represent the most authentic positions of Rambam, these examples[19] are significant.

Another iteration of Rambam’s assertion that the Torah takes into account the exigencies of history found outside of the Guide is found in his Epistle on the Resurrection of the Dead.[20] After reaffirming his earlier pronouncements that the resurrection of the dead is a fundamental Jewish principle, Rambam addresses the absence of any explicit indication of the resurrection of the dead in the Pentateuch. He explains that the notion of the resurrection of the dead was so foreign and difficult to accept in the culture of Moses’ time, that were it to be mentioned, it would have made the acceptance of all the Torah’s other truths and instructions unthinkable. Therefore, God withheld the truth of the resurrection at that time in order to inculcate other more fundamental notions of prophecy and creation. Only after prophecy and creation were well established beliefs did God see fit to reveal the notion of resurrection and therefore we only find resurrection mentioned explicitly in later books of the Bible. Rambam explains that just as the Israelites were led out of Egypt in a circuitous route to avoid the land of the Philistines, “lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt (Exodus 13:17),” so too the revelation of the resurrection took a circuitous route lest the people reject the Torah. The metaphor of the circuitous path of the exodus is also employed by the Rambam in the Guide to explain his approach to the sacrifices in the passage mentioned above. The impact of the exigencies of human history not only shape the path of the Exodus and the establishment of the sacrificial rites, they also determine that certain information must be omitted from the content of the Torah.

In perhaps the most subtle but also the most profound example of this phenomenon, Rambam seems to hint that the very revelation of the whole of the Torah was a reaction to a particular historical moment. In chapter one of the Mishneh Torah’s Laws of Idolatry, Rambam recounts how all of the progress in creating a monotheistic community was nearly undone during the many years that the Israelites lived in Egypt.

When the Jews extended their stay in Egypt, however, they learned from the [Egyptians’] deeds and began worshiping the stars as they did, with the exception of the tribe of Levi, who clung to the mitzvot of the patriarchs – the tribe of Levi never served false gods. Within a short time, the fundamental principle that Abraham had planted would have been uprooted, and the descendants of Jacob would have returned to the errors of the world and their crookedness.

Seemingly in response to this deterioration, God

brought forth Moses, our teacher, the master of all prophets, and sent him. Once Moses, our teacher began to prophesize, and God chose Israel as His inheritance, He crowned them with mitzvot and informed them of the path to serve Him, and the law prescribed for idol worship and all those who stray after it.

In the Rambam’s retelling it sounds as if the superior level of prophesy bestowed upon Moses and the giving of the mitzvot of the Torah are prompted by a crisis in history – the potential loss of the monotheistic tradition that Abraham founded. As Rabbi Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch puts it in his commentary to this passage:

We find that Moses’ mission and the transmission of Torah and mitzvot guaranteed that the root that Abraham planted was not uprooted and would never be uprooted.[21]

Rav Shagar suggests that this first chapter of the laws of idolatry should be seen as just one example of a larger phenomenon in the Mishneh Torah:

In my opinion, one should explain the Rambam’s effort in the Mishneh Torah in his historical introductions to various halakhot, like his introduction to the laws of marriage for example, in this way (a historical understanding). The Rambam, in opposition to most of the Torah’s interpreters today, did not hide his conception of the Torah as constructed by history (among other factors) and as adapted to changing human consciousness.[22]

Deeply embedded in Rambam’s thought, and throughout his writings we find that the Torah was shaped by the exigencies of history.

Perhaps the greatest rabbinic figure since Rambam to articulate a similar approach to the impact of history on the formulation of the Torah was Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook. In a letter to the orthodox academic biblical scholar, Moses Seidel, R. Kook writes:

If we find in the Torah certain things which seem to be based on widely accepted ideas of the distant past, but are incompatible with the scientific knowledge of today, we cannot be sure if our current research has produced absolute truth. Even if current understandings are true, there certainly could have been an important and sacred reason for which these matters needed to be explained according to the popular notions of ancient times and not scientifically precise ones. This approach is taken for granted by certain spiritual notions and fundamentals of understanding scriptural narrative like, “the Torah addressed humanity’s evil inclination,” or “[The Torah is formulated] in order to explain in a way that it is intelligible to the [human] ear”, and these instances testify to beloved enduring Divine wisdom.[23]

In another letter to Seidel, Rav Kook writes:

Life must be understood through two parameters, how it is and how it should be… The Divine exalted Torah is that very beloved instrument that cultivates and directs life towards the state that it should be. However, you must be careful not to think that these two parameters have no relationship or connection to each other, for they are related matters just like the changing horizons that one who travels a long journey encounters.[24]

These two letters together produce an approach that is basically the same as R. Berkovits’ – the Torah takes into account “the popular notions of ancient time” even if they are not “precise”, and seeks to move life from “how it is” towards “how it should be” incrementally like “changing horizons.” These ideas find a later iteration in the posthumously published L’nevuchei Hador.

A similar notion can be found in R. Kook’s essay “Fragments of Light.” There he writes:

The long road of development, after man’s fall, also needs physical exertion, which will at times require a meat diet, which is a tax for passage to a more enlightened epoch, from which animals are not exempt…

This is the advantage of the moral sense when it is linked to its divine source. It knows the proper timing for each objective, and it will sometimes suppress its flow in order to gather up its strength for future epochs, something that the impatient kind of morality that is detached from its source would be unable to tolerate. When the animal lust for meat became overpowering, if the flesh of all living beings had been forbidden, then the moral destructiveness, which will always appear at such times, would not have differentiated between man and animal, beast and fowl and every creeping thing on the earth. The knife, the axe, the guillotine, the electric current would have felled them all alike in order to satisfy the vulgar craving of so-called cultured humanity.[25]

These and similar ideas on the consumption of meat in another essay were culled together by R. Kook’s student R. David Cohen into an essay entitled “A Vision of Vegetarianism and Peace.” In R. Berkovits’ terminology, R. Kook is suggesting that the eating of meat is Torah-tolerated but not Torah-taught. Though he never quotes from R. Kook, their approaches clearly share a similar understanding of the necessity for Torah to compromise its highest aspirations in the face of the exigencies of history.

And yet, even as we have seen that R. Kook and the Rambam both teach that the Torah includes elements that are the product of historical circumstances, one could still challenge the notion that this should have any practical ramifications. The same Rambam who in the Guide presents the sacrificial system as a compromise with historical exigencies, in the Mishneh Torah brings all of the details of the halakhah of animal sacrifice. As Rabbi Ira Bedzow articulates it:

Nevertheless, the obligation of sacrifices was never abrogated completely in favor of prayer. In his Book of the Commandments, Maimonides enumerates prayer as the fulfillment of the specific commandment of worshiping God. Yet he also enumerates each commandment of the sacrificial rite even though they could have been included in the general category since they are considered only a way-station on the path to proper worship. Their enumeration shows that as specific commandments, the performance of sacrifices is eternally valid, as is the rest of the Torah.[26]

We could also note that R. Kook was insistent that for his time it was inappropriate to implement the Torah taught vegetarianism. He explicitly discouraged his son from refraining from eating meat.[27] R. Kook was concerned that the time was not yet ripe and the consequences of implementing the Torah’s ideals could backfire. Moreover, even though R. Kook was very unconventional as a thinker, his practical halakhic decisions were often very conservative.

R. Kook’s and Rambam’s reticence to diverge from the Torah-tolerated halakhah towards what they believed was a more ideal Torah teaching is an important point to consider. However, most of what Rabbi Berkovits advocates for in this book is not analogous to the abolition of sacrifice or the wholesale prohibition on consuming meat. In most cases, Rabbi Berkovits is suggesting the adoption of one strain of the halakhah embedded in the Talmudic and post-Talmudic authorities over other strains. For instance, his proposals of women reading Megillat Esther for the community, making Kiddush in their homes, counting for the three that make up the Zimmun and leading the zimmun, all are based on classical sources.

And still, even regarding relatively minor adjustments, how can one be sufficiently confident that one strain is merely tolerated while the other is Torah-taught? Could both be Torah-taught and part of Rabbinic pluralism – a pluralism that R. Berkovits embraces in other contexts?[28] R. Berkovits insists that in these cases one position is a holdover with less legitimacy and the other is an ideal whose time has come. R. Berkovits traces a line from negative statements about women in ancient Greek culture and presumes that parallel statements in the Rabbinic literature must derive from this foreign source. R. Berkovits seems to presume that this is self-evident and does not feel a need to demonstrate causation. One wonders if there is a possibility of a more objective way of separating the “Torah-taught” from the “Torah-tolerated.”

At just about the same time that R. Berkovits was writing up these ideas,[29] R. Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch was sharing very similar thoughts:

The system of Torah and commandments is two-fold. On the one hand, it conveys concepts, instills eternal values, and directs people to the service of God at the highest levels and to the formation of a society worthy to be the bearer of God’s presence. On the other hand, it encompasses legislation and commands to combat the forces of evil and destruction that erupt within the individual’s soul and the nations’s spirit and to ensure that the necessary conditions for spiritual development are satisfied to the greatest possible extent, given each generation’s situation and the social, economic, and cultural circumstances prevalent at any given time and place. For the first objective, the Torah places before us lofty goals that challenge and motivate the generations, for even the noblest of people cannot attain them in full. At the same time it establishes, for the second objective, criteria for conduct that people can, as a practical matter, accept minimum standards that must be met to avoid endangering the survival of the individual and the society in which he is placed and giving up all hope of spiritual uplift.

R. Rabinovitch and R. Berkovits are laying out very similar ideas to each other at the same time without mentioning each other.

Like R. Berkovits, R. Rabinovitch asserts that halakhah indeed should respond and has responded to progress in history that allows for the raising of “minimum standards” towards “service of God at the highest levels.” He writes:

In the time of the rishonim, R. Gershom, Beacon of the Diaspora, saw that his generation was ready for a ban on divorce without the wife’s consent and for eliminating polygamy, at least within the communities of Western Europe. By now, his enactments have spread through all Israel. Certainly the Sages instituted such enactments – yet they did not draw them out of thin air, but advanced the values already determined by Scripture. In the biblical era, however, the time was not yet ripe, and people were not yet ready for the full realization of that vision. Only over time, as a result of training in the life of Torah, were people’s hearts made ready and did it become possible to draw closer to the goal established by the Torah.[30]

R. Rabinovitch sees in takanat Rabbeinu Gershom an example of the Torah-taught replacing the Torah-tolerated. He powerfully grounds his claim that monogamy is an ideal of the Torah and that polygamy is a compromise with reality, He allows the Torah to present its ideal in its own terms: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and cleave to his wife and they will become as one flesh” (Genesis 2:24). “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” (Song of Songs 6:2).

It is worthwhile noting some differences between R. Rabinovitch’s presentation and R. Berkovits. R. Rabinovitch’s seems to have a higher threshold for determining the Torah-taught.[31] He is less willing to intuit the Torah’s higher ideals and so all of his examples rely on broad constitutive statements. He also is much less programmatic and ambitious than R. Berkovits. R. Rabinovitch makes the case that this is how Torah works but he does little to lay out what our next steps should be. For those who are convinced of the basic theory of Torah-taught vs. Torah-tolerated, the continuum between the more programmatic and intuitive R. Berkovits and the more conservative modest R. Rabinovitch might provide margins to the discussion of how far one can or should go with this approach.

Before closing, we should note some very recent movement towards these ideas in another realm. While, for R. Rabinovitch, R. Berkovits, and R. Kook, these ideas primarily address ethical qualms that we might have over the discrepancy between our senses of morality and the tradition’s prescriptions, they have also been used recently to address issues arising from the discipline of Biblical Criticism.

In two recently published books, the ideas explored above are brought to shed light on Biblical criticism. R. Joshua Berman’s Ani Maamin and Yeshivat Maale Gilboa’s Gishat HaTemurot seek to address the discrepancies and contradictions in the Torah that scholars of the Documentary Hypothesis make so much of. Both of these books suggest that understanding the Torah’s relationship to historical developments and culture explains these discrepancies in ways that can be harmonized with reverence for the divinity of the text.

R. Berman titles the opening chapter of his book, “The Rabbinic Mandate to Understand the Torah in Ancient Near Eastern Context.” He justifies his approach by quoting the passages from The Guide mentioned above, the Letter on Astrology, Ralbag, and Rav Kook. R. Yehuda Gilad in his article in Gishat HaTemurot brings together Rambam’s passage about sacrifice in The Guide, Rav Kook’s Letter #89, and the Vision of Vegetarianism and Peace and offers an overarching analysis of the ramifications of this approach.

From all this we can see that R. Berkovits’ thesis in Jewish Women in Time and Torah is deeply grounded in the broad oeuvre of Rambam’s writings, and it reverberates with seminal passages in the writings of R. Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook. It was paralleled by the work of his younger contemporary R. Rabinovitch, and its methodology has been used in two important books to address the challenges of Bible criticism. Perhaps what might seem at first glance to run afoul of common attitudes towards the sanctity of the Torah’s text, should be considered a legitimate and well-trodden path of engaging with the Torah by some of our greatest lights. If so, this can open an exciting and vital debate about the potential ramifications for the proper adjudication of halakhah in our moment in history. The republication of Jewish Women in Time and Torah is an excellent springboard for this debate.

* * * * * * *

Notes

[1] His approach has been disparagingly associated with Conservative Judaism. See R. Chaim Twerski, Academic Journal of Hebrew Theological College 1:2 (April 2003), in the letters section page 101. His yirat shamayim has been called into question. See Allan Nadler, “Eliezer Berkovits’ Not in Heaven,” Tradition 21:3, (Fall 1984), p. 97. While his own teacher, Rabbi Yechiel Ya’akov Weinberg, wrote a glowing approbation of R Berkovits’ work Tnai Bernesuin UVaGet (For an analysis of the controversy around this letter, see Marc B. Shapiro, Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy, (1999), pp. 191-192, footnote 83), in private correspondence, Rabbi Weinberg wrote that an article of R. Berkovits’ “contains harmful ideas that cannot be accepted” (Shapiro, “Rabbi Jehiel Jacob Weinberg on the Limits of Halakhic Development” The Edah Journal 2:2 Tammuz 5762, p. 2). To be sure, in that same letter, R. Weinberg ultimately comes to the general defense of his devoted student, but the statement that R. Berkovits had gone too far in this particular article is telling. When publishing an article by R. Berkovits in 1965, Tradition felt the need to include the following disclaimer: “Although most of our Editorial Board disagree with the views expressed in this essay, Tradition is happy to provide a forum for the provocative ideas presented by Dr. Eliezer Berkovits (‘Orthodox Judaism in a World of Revolutionary Transformations’ (Berkovits 1965).” Gil Graff cites a letter where R. Berkovits himself felt he hadn’t found a place where he felt comfortable in American Jewish life (Gil Graff “Halakhah as Torat Hayyim, Journal of Modern Jewish Studies, April 16, 2019, p. 7).

[2] Reuven Mohl (ed.), Faith and Freedom Passover Haggadah with Commentary from the Writings of Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, (2019).

[3] Reuven Mohl (ed.), Faith Fulfilled: Megillat Esther and the Ma’ariv Evening Service for Purim with Commentary from the Writings of Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, (2022).

[4] David Hazony (ed.), Essential Essays on Judaism, (2002).

[5] Eliezer Berkovits, Not in Heaven, (1983) p. 2.

[6] Dr. David Hazony, Prof. Marc Shapiro and Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cordozo have all made this speculation. R. Cardozo writes, “Rabbi Berkovits received his rabbinical training (and semicha – rabbinic ordination) from Rabbi Akiva Glasner (1885-1956), who took over as Chief Rabbi of Klausenburg when his father, Rabbi Moshe Shmuel Glasner (1856-1924) left for Israel. The latter – a staggering, daring figure in the world of Halacha – authored Dor Revi’i, one of the most remarkable works ever written, suggesting an entirely different approach to Jewish Law. The elder Rabbi Glasner had a major influence on Rabbi Berkovits’s halachic thinking and approach” (R. Cardozo, “Faith and Freedom – a book review,” Times of Israel, March 27, 2019 https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/faith-and-freedom-a-book-review/). David Hazony writes, “Yet he had other teachers, as well, whose influence was no less evident than Weinberg’s, even if he does not tell us as much explicitly. Of these, probably the most decisive was Rabbi Akiva Glasner, under whom he studied and received rabbinic ordination during his years in Pressburg, and who officiated at Berkovits’ wedding—a traditional symbol of reverence and, presumably, influence. And though Glasner himself left little record of his views regarding the subjects Berkovits wrote about, we do know that he shared a close affinity with his father, Rabbi Moshe Shmuel Glasner, even succeeding him as chief rabbi of Klausenberg. The elder Glasner was renowned for two controversial beliefs in his time—beliefs that find powerful expression in Berkovits’ writings, and which do not have seemed to be emphasized in those of Weinberg, and which, knowing what we know about how rabbinic dynasties tend to function, are likely to have infused Akiva Glasner’s teachings as well and reached Berkovits through him” (Hazony, Human Responsibility in the Thought of Eliezer Berkovits – Thesis submitted to the Senate of the Hebrew University, July, 2011, p. 31). Professor Shapiro is much more reserved writing that, “Presumably, some of the elder Glasner’s ideas were carried forward by his son, although it is impossible to say if this influenced Berkovits, since he never mentions Glasner in his writings” (Shapiro, “Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits’s Halakic Vision for the Modern Age,” Shofar 31:4, p. 16). R. Glasner may have had explicit influence or subconscious influence on R. Berkovits or perhaps he had no influence at all. Whatever the case may be, R. Berkovits’ approach does have a powerful important antecedent.

[7] See Hazony, Human Responsibility in the Thought of Eliezer Berkovits – Thesis submitted to the Senate of the Hebrew University, July, 2011, pp. 35-36. See also R. Jonathan Sacks, Arguments for the Sake of Heaven, (1995), pp. 196, where R. Sacks puts R. Hirschensohn and R. Berkovits in the same ideological camp.

[8] P. 47.

[9] This idea appears in Hebrew in a less developed form in Berkovits’ article מעמד האישה ביהדות – הבט הלכתי-חברתי that appears in דב רפל (עורך) הפנינה: ספר זכרון לפנינה רפל which was published in 5749 (1988-89) – a year or so before the publication of Jewish Women in Time and Torah.
This article introduces a new element into Rabbi Berkovits’ historiosophy of halakhah. In Not in Heaven, he writes that, “halakha is the application of the Torah to life. But since there is no such thing as life in general, since it is always a certain form of life at a specific time in history, in a specific situation, Torah application means application to a specific time in a specific situation” (pp. 1-2). In his article “The Role of Halakhah,” he writes that “the concrete historical situation is forever changing. Halakhah therefore, as the application of Torah in a given situation, will forever uncover new levels of Torah-depth and Torah-meaning and thus make new facets of Judaism visible… authentic Jewry represents a single application of Torah to a specific constellation of conditions in which Jews find themselves at one time in their history (Berkovits, “Authentic Judaism and Halakhah,” Judaism 19 (1): 66–76). However, In Jewish Women in Time and Torah he goes a step further. It is not just that the adjudication of halakhah’s ideals must be applied and adapted to particular circumstances. Here he is saying that halakhah at times compromises on its ideals during historical periods in which its ideals are unachievable.

[10] Berkovits, Jewish Women in Time and Torah p. 71.

[11] R. Shalom Carmy, “Eliezer Berkovits’s Challenge to Contemporary Orthodoxy, The Torah u-Madda Journal (12/2004), p. 198.

[12] Reading R. Berkovits’ complaints about the agunah issue in his early work highlights the new dimension that the Torah-taught vs. Torah-tolerated conception brings to R. Berkovits thought. In “The Role of Halakhah,” p. 74, he writes, “It has, however, become more serious in our times than it has been even before, First of all, the problem has been psychologically aggravated. Conditions have changed, movies have changed, the position of women in society has changed. People are no longer willing to put up with the problem as they might have done in earlier times. The unresolved status of the problem drives numerous people away from Halakhic Judaism. Often the woman is penalized because of the attitude of the husband. He may refuse to give a get out of spite or because, exploiting the situation, he makes monetary demands on his wife or on her family in return for a religious divorce… The problem of the agunah is a critical problem of Jewish ethics. It challenges the entire concept of derakheha darkhei noam, that the ways of the Torah are ways of pleasantness. It is unquestionably a grave injustice to the woman. Its consequences often lead to self-defeating futility, for in the majority of such problematic cases the parties accept the civil divorces as final and remarry without the benefit of a get.” Modern women’s feelings, injustice, social mores, the fact that there will be remarriages anyway etc. are the issues that R. Berkovits raises here. However, the crisis is not described as the result of an anachronistic compromise. After reading Jewish Women in Time and Torah, the absence of the Torah-taught/Torah-tolerated distinction in this exhaustive diatribe is glaring.

[13] Genesis Rabbah 1:1.

[14] To be sure, R. Berkovits might interpret this passage as referring only to the Torah-taught elements of Torah. However, the passage does not hint at any such distinction and it is my sense that it is not commonly taken that way.

[15] Jewish Women p. 45.

[16] Guide for the Perplexed 3:32 quoted on p. 46 of Jewish Women.

[17] Guide for the Perplexed 3:45. Other examples can be found in this chapter and in 3:30; 3:37; 3:39; 3:46; 3:49 as well.

[18] Twersky, ed. A Maimonides Reader, pp. 465-66.

[19] For some others, see Sefer HaMitzvot Negative commandment #45 and Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 12:7.

[20] See Abraham Halkin (translator), Epistles of Maimonides: Crisis and Leadership (1985), pp. 229-230.

[21] Rabbi Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch, Yad Peshuta, Hilkhot Avodah Zarah ch. 1 Hebrew:

נמצא שעל ידי שליחותו של משה רבינו ומתן תורה ומצוות הובטח שאותו עיקר ששתלו אברהם לא נעקר ולא ייעקר לעולם

[22] Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, Kelim Shvurim (Heb.) 5764, p. 34, n. 18.

[23] Iggrot HaRaya #473, p. 119.

[24] Iggrot HaRa’yah, #89, pp. 94-95.

[25] Translation taken from Ben Zion Bokser, Abraham Isaac Kook, (1978) pp. 318-319.

[26] Ira Bedzow, Halakhic Man Authentic Jew (2009), p. 177.

[27] Iggrot HaRa’yah #802.

[28] Not in Heaven, pp. 50-53.

[29] R. Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch first lays out the ideas mentioned below in an essay in Maaliyot (a publication of Yeshivat Birkat Moshe) in 1988. R. Berkovits presents these ideas in the same year. See footnote 9 above. Rabbi Rabinovitch’s essay was expanded and republished in a collection of his essays entitled Darkah shel Torah that was published in 1998. The portions quoted here are taken from Joel Linsider’s translation of the expanded essay that appeared in The Edah Journal 3:1 Tevet 5763.

[30] R. Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch, “The Way of Torah,” The Edah Journal 3:1 Tevet 5763, p. 8.

[31] R. Berkovits’ claim of a Torah ideal of an equality of the sexes might find an anchor in R. Yehuda Herzl Henkin’s essay “Equality Lost.” See R. Y.H. Henkin, Equality Lost.

 




A New Halakhic Compendium of Jewish Belief

A New Halakhic Compendium of Jewish Belief

Y. Tzvi Langermann

Professor Y. Tzvi Langermann is Professor Emeritus of Arabic at Bar Ilan University in Ramat Gan, Israel. He has published widely on science, religion, and philosophy in medieval Jewish and Islamic cultures.

Over the past thirty-plus years Rabbi Eliezer Melammed (b. 1961) has been issuing volumes of up-to-date rulings on halakhah. The series, called Peninei Halakha (“Pearls of Halakhah”) is very popular; on sale in most Israeli bookstores, it is also now freely available online, translated (in part at least) into English, French, Spanish and Russian. There is also a children’s version in comic book form. The series covers the usual topics, such as laws pertaining to the Sabbath or the kosher kitchen, but also complete volumes on topics that were little studied, such as conversion, or that have come to prominence only recently, such as women’s prayer gatherings.

The volume I am speaking of is not a philosophy of Judaism but a halakhic (legal, normative) compendium, following the example (but in a very different format, not to mention content) of the first section of Maimonides’ great legal code Mishneh Torah. In this connection, perhaps the most striking observation is the following. Rabbi Melammed’s approach is non-dogmatic. It is usual in formulations of normative religious belief for the author to present his personal opinion as the one and only correct one. (Maimonides mollified this attitude in the presentation of his famous set of thirteen foundational doctrines…) In his preface Rabbi Melammed relates that he consulted with the staff at his yeshiva and, on occasion, modified his position in response to feedback which he received.

He also is willing to acknowledge that his position differs from what he and/or his staff understands to be the current consensus, and to make some effort to accommodate opposing views. For example, in the chapters on magic, clairvoyance, augury and “practical kabbalah,” the Rabbi explicates the “spiritual roots” that enable such practices, both from the features of holiness and the features of impurity that may be involved. However, his draft was strongly criticized for two main reasons: his staff alerted him to the fact (if only this were true!) that the current consensus concurs with Maimonides’ denial of occult powers. Moreover, those who believe in occult powers have a tendency to fall into serious error “in the fundamentals of belief and morality.”

The rabbi was not convinced by their arguments. However, he decided to present the position of Maimonides and the Maimonideans “respectfully” for a number of reasons, most notably “so that anyone who tends toward their position may feel comfortable even though they patently reject the position of Nahmanides and the kabbalists” – the latter, needless to say, accept occult powers as true features of our world, and Rabbi Melammed relies upon their authority. Dogmatic theology, intentionally or not, alienates those who cannot accept its precepts. Rabbi Melammed is aware of this danger and does his best to avoid doing so.

Just as his series includes volumes on new or neglected topics, so do the two volumes on belief extend their range beyond what one finds in the earlier (in fact, it is much earlier) literature. For example, there are sections on how Judaism looks upon Christianity and Islam; Jewish thinkers have engaged with those two religions since their inception. However, there is also an independent section on “eastern religions,” most of it devoted to Hinduism. Though Jews have visited India, and lived there, for quite some time, it is only in the twentieth century that Jews in significant numbers (and some influential individuals) began to take a serious, personal and spiritual interest in eastern religions – mostly Buddhism, which receives less attention. It should not come as a surprise that Rabbi Melammed is not all that well informed about these religions, but that is not the point. His engagement is far removed from religious polemic following that is a section on “The Future of Religions” which is strongly influenced by the views of Rabbi Avraham Kook (1865-1935). Rabbi Melammed acknowledges that his book is based by and large on the teachings of Rav Kook, which he absorbed from his youth from his father, who was a devoted disciple of Rav’s Kook son, Tzvi Yehudah Kook, who published his father’s writings, interpreting or rather re-interpreting them – some would say misinterpreting them. However, in “The Future of Religions” he re-emphasizes that what he writes is based on the writings of Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak Hacohen Kook –perhaps because they do not square with views held by “Kookists” of various sorts, students of students of the great rabbi? Rav Kook was of the opinion that there is an innate sense of, and quest, for God in all humans. (This reminds me of the Islamic notion of fiṭra; but that is a story for another day.) However, some humans are unable to refine their quest so as to divest their conception of God of any and all materiality. Hence, the proliferation of idol worship in ancient times, and the continual employment of icons and other images into our own day. Significantly, this perspective detects a positive element in idol worship – the idolaters are trying to worship the one and true God, but they don’t know how to do it. (Shades of the Khazar king in Halevi’s seminal Kuzari – but this point too cannot detain us here.) One of the main tasks of the people of Israel is to guide all nations towards the “light” of the true conception.

This section accordingly carries many footnotes, some quite lengthy, with liberal quotations from Rabbi Avraham Kook. Rabbi Melammed masses additional support for this approach to religion from a range of earlier Jewish thinkers: passages from the medieval philosopher Joseph Albo (c. 1380 – c. 1444), the nineteenth-century Italian rabbis Marco Mortara (1815-1894) and Elia Benamozegh (1823-1900), as well as short, surprising (for me at least) quotations from the Vilna Gaon (1720-1797) and Jacob Emden (1697-1776).

This post is nothing more than a small Vorspeise. It will be interesting to see what if any interest this volume stimulates.

 




Book Review: ‘After Revelation: The Rabbinic Past in the Medieval Islamic World’, by Marc D. Herman

Review of ‘After Revelation: The Rabbinic Past in the Medieval Islamic World’, by Marc D. Herman

Reviewed by Eliyahu Krakowski

 

Dr. Marc Herman’s After Revelation: The Rabbinic Past in the Medieval Islamic World (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2025) examines shifting conceptions of Torah she-beʿal peh within the Judeo-Islamic world from the geonic period through the time of Maimonides.[1] Beginning with Rav Saadya Gaon and concluding with the Rambam, Herman traces a gradual reorientation away from the geonic understanding of Torah she-beʿal peh as wholly revealed toward the Maimonidean position, in which human interpretation plays a constitutive role in the formation of rabbinic law. Alongside his analysis of Jewish legal sources, Herman situates these developments within their broader intellectual environment, drawing careful parallels to contemporaneous trends in Islamic jurisprudence and legal theory. In tracing this shift, the book clarifies how medieval Jewish thinkers conceptualized the authority of Torah she-beʿal peh, and how those conceptions correspond to broader jurisprudential models current in the Islamic world.

But beyond its central thesis, the book assembles a substantial body of sources bearing on a range of foundational questions, including rabbinic authority, legal innovation, and the historical development of Torah she-beʿal peh. Many of the texts Herman discusses are drawn from recently published fragments or from manuscripts that remain unpublished, and several appear to have received little or no attention in prior scholarship. Rather than offering a comprehensive or conventional review, I will focus here on a selection of sources that I found particularly significant and that contribute to a more precise understanding of several of the issues under discussion. Because Herman’s treatment of these materials is often brief, expanding upon certain sources and arguments in greater detail is worthwhile.

  1. Adding to Torah Prohibitions and the Tree of Knowledge 

The story of Adam and Eve contains an interesting example of what, depending on one’s perspective, can either be seen as a (very early) model of rabbinic legislation or as a problematic example of proto-bal tosif, the prohibition of adding to the Torah. When repeating God’s command not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, Eve apparently adds to the prohibition (Gen. 3:3): “But from the fruit of the tree which is in the middle of the garden, God has said, ‘You may not eat from it and you may not touch it, lest you die.’” Every yeshiva student is familiar with Rashi’s interpretation:

“‘And you shall not touch it’ – she added to the command; therefore she came to detraction, as it is said: “Do not add to His words” (Proverbs 30:6).”

This, in turn, is based on the Gemara (Sanhedrin 29a):

“Hizkiyah said: From where is it derived that whoever adds, detracts? As it is stated: ‘God said: You shall not eat from it and you shall not touch it.’”

However, according to Avot de-Rabbi Natan (version 1, 1:5), it appears that the added prohibition was in fact a prototypical seyag, a protective fence of the sort we are instructed to erect in order to safeguard the Torah:

“And make a fence for your words, just as the Holy One, blessed be He, made a fence for His words; and Adam the First made a fence for his words … What was the fence that Adam the First made for his words? As it says: ‘And the Lord God commanded … for on the day that you eat of it you shall surely die’ (Genesis 2:17). Adam the First did not wish to say to Eve exactly as the Holy One, blessed be He, had said to him; rather, he said to her thus, and he made a fence for his words beyond what the Holy One, blessed be He, had said to him: ‘But from the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden God said: You shall not eat from it and you shall not touch it, lest you die,’ for he wished to guard himself and Eve from the tree even through mere touching.”

In the context of Karaite critiques of rabbinic authority, this question took on heightened urgency. Herman (39-40) refers to Rav Saadya Gaon’s commentary on Genesis 3:1, which elaborates the positive reading found in Avot de-Rabbi Natan:

“The fifth question: On what basis did Eve say, ‘and you shall not touch it,’ when God did not say this to Adam?

The answer: After God said to Adam not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, he instituted a safeguard for the matter and refrained even from touching it, so that if some mishap should occur in this regard, it would fall upon what he himself had added and not upon the essence of the prohibition. This is like an expert physician who wishes to distance a patient from eating meat and therefore also warns him against poultry, so that if he should treat the command lightly he will stumble with poultry and not with actual meat. On this basis our predecessors instructed us: ‘Make a fence for the Torah’ … and in all these cases, and others like them, we rely upon what the Torah itself prohibited as a matter of protection and fencing, as it is written: ‘He shall not multiply wives for himself, lest his heart turn astray’; and ‘silver and gold he shall not multiply for himself exceedingly, lest his heart grow haughty,’ and the like.”

Rav Saadya likens Adam’s added prohibition to the case of a patient who is forbidden to eat meat and whose physician therefore also prohibits poultry. As Herman observes, the analogy closely recalls the rabbinic prohibition of poultry with milk. Notably, in this instance Rav Saadya is prepared to treat the added restriction as Adam’s own enactment, a position that sits uneasily with his more general tendency to ground even rabbinic legislation in divine authority.

Elsewhere (80), Herman cites the eleventh century Andalusian commentator R. Yehuda Ibn Balaam who went a step further and “described the addition of a prohibition against touching the forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:3) as the sound exertion of legal thinking (ijtihād).”[2] It seems that according to Ibn Balaam, in contrast to Rav Saadya, this is not merely a discretionary seyag but a logical extension of the law. In other words, according to Rav Saadya, the prohibition of touching the Tree of Knowledge would have been classified under the Rambam’s first shoresh in Sefer ha-Mitzvot, namely rabbinic enactments, whereas according to Ibn Balaam it would fall under the second shoresh, that of rabbinic derashot or derivations.[3]

  1. Rabbinic Legislation and Adding to the Torah

Another obscure yet significant source cited by Herman bears on a question raised forcefully in Karaite polemics, namely, why rabbinic legislation does not itself constitute a violation of the biblical prohibition against adding to the Torah. Herman (27) points to Rav Saadya Gaon’s discussion in his work on the calendar, the Kitāb al-Tamyīz (Book of Distinction), where Saadya emphasizes that the prohibition of adding to revelation applies to “all that I have commanded you” (Deut. 4:2; 13:1), and not to “all that I have written for you.” On this view, rabbinic enactments cannot be considered impermissible additions, since they themselves form part of the revealed command structure. The relevant text survives only in an Arabic fragment published by Hartwig Hirschfeld in 1903.[4]

Herman (90) also cites R. Yehudah ha-Levi’s response to this challenge in the Kuzari (3:41). Ha-Levi explains that the biblical prohibition was directed at the masses, in order to prevent them from conjecturing, theorizing, and legislating on the basis of their own reasoning, as the Karaites did. Laws instituted by the Sanhedrin or by prophets, according to ha-Levi, are categorically excluded from the scope of this prohibition. Notably, Maimonides appears to adopt the opposite position. In his view, it is precisely authoritative figures such as prophets or the Sanhedrin who are capable of violating the prohibition of bal tosif.[5] But Maimonides’ formulation in Hilkhot Mamrim 2:9 (cited above, note 3) represents an even sharper rejection of Rav Saadya’s approach. According to the Rambam, bal tosif is violated precisely by collapsing the distinction between rabbinic legislation and divine command, thereby presenting the former as if it were itself part of the Torah. This could serve as a description of Rav Saadya’s enterprise. 

It is also noteworthy that figures operating within the Karaite orbit accepted the premise underlying the question, namely, that there exists a general prohibition against adding new laws to the Torah. By contrast, rabbinic authorities more distant from anti-Karaite polemics, such as Rashi, R. Yosef Albo, and the Maharal, rejected this premise altogether. On their account, bal tosif does not prohibit the introduction of new mitzvot, but rather the alteration of an existing mitzvah’s internal structure, such as adding a fifth passage to the tefillin. From this perspective, rabbinic legislation bears no relation to the prohibition of bal tosif at all.[6]

  1. Hanukkah from Where in the Torah?

Rav Saadya Gaon’s discussion of Hanukkah provides a clear illustration of a broader geonic tendency: to anchor what might otherwise appear to be rabbinic innovations or postbiblical developments in biblical revelation itself. As Herman (29) notes:

“Saadia was anxious to uphold divine authority for Hanukkah, the formulations and structures of many prayers, court oaths, communal bans, the second day of festivals observed in the diaspora, and even one passage in a lament by Eliezer Qillir… Saadia adopted a variety of strategies to depict these practices as supported by divine revelation. Written revelation, he claimed, actually refers indirectly to legal institutions that might be considered postbiblical, such as the festival of Hanukkah, the observance of two days to mark some new lunar months, or the rules of the Jewish calendar.”

One of the sources Herman adduces in this context is a passage from the the recently recovered complete Sefer ha-Mitzvot of Rav Saadya, in which Rav Saadya seeks to ground the festival of Hanukkah in biblical prophecy:

“The tradition has established that there will be a day on which He will deliver us from the descendant of Amalek … and that when the Lord grants victory to the sons of Levi in their war against those who rise against them, that time shall be honored, as it is said: “Bless, O Lord, his valor, and accept the work of his hands; crush the loins of those who rise against him, and of those who hate him, that they rise no more” (Deut. 33:11). And we do not find that they fought anyone other than the Greeks.”[7]

This passage is particularly illuminating when read alongside Maimonides’ remarks in the first shoresh of his own Sefer ha-Mitzvot, where he sharply criticizes those who would count Hanukkah among the 613 commandments:

“I do not suppose that anyone would imagine, or that it would even occur to anyone’s mind, that it was said to Moses at Sinai that he should command us that, if at the end of our kingdom such-and-such should occur with the Greeks, we would then be obligated to light the Hanukkah lamp.”[8]

The position that Maimonides declares inconceivable is, in fact, precisely the one advanced by Rav Saadya. Because Maimonides elsewhere explicitly objects to the Behag’s enumeration, and because the Behag does count ner Hanukkah as a mitzvah, it has generally been assumed that Maimonides’ polemic here is directed against the Behag. The discovery of this passage, however, together with another like it in Rav Saadya’s writings, reveals that Maimonides’ criticism is not aimed at a merely theoretical justification for counting Hanukkah, but at Rav Saadya’s concrete attempt to ground the obligation in biblical revelation.[9] Herman (104) himself emphasizes this point, noting that:

“This was something of a pattern for Maimonides, who was reluctant to name Saadia even when strongly disagreeing with him. But it is hard, in fact, not to read Maimonides’s presentations of the Oral Torah as a pointed rebuttal of the views of the Egyptian-born gaon.”[10]

The same geonic impulse to locate Hanukkah within the orbit of biblical revelation appears elsewhere as well. In his discussion of the Torah center of Kairouan, Herman (67) observes that R. Nissim Gaon likewise adopted Rav Saadya’s position regarding the divine authority of Hanukkah, repeating a midrash according to which the festival had already been foretold to the biblical Aaron. This refers to the well-known passage cited by Nahmanides in his commentary on Behaʿalotekha (Num. 8:2):

“Why is the section of the Menorah juxtaposed with the dedication of the princes? When Aaron saw the dedication of the princes, his spirit sank, for neither he nor his tribe had participated in the dedication. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: ‘By your life, yours is greater than theirs, for you kindle and prepare the lamps morning and evening’this is the language of Rashi, citing an aggadic midrash… The intent of this aggadah is to expound a hint from the passage concerning the dedication of the lamps that would take place in the Second Temple through Aaron and his sonsthat is, the Hasmonean High Priest and his sons. I found it stated in this very language in the Megillat Setarim of Rabbeinu Nissim, who cites this aggadah and says: ‘I saw in a midrash: once the twelve tribes had brought offerings and the tribe of Levi had not brought [any]… the Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: ‘Speak to Aaron and say to him’there will be another dedication [hanukkah] involving the lighting of lamps in which I will perform miracles and deliverance for Israel, through your descendants. [This] dedication will be named for them, namely the Hanukkah of the sons of the Hasmoneans. Therefore this section was juxtaposed to the section of the dedication of the altar’.”

This is a celebrated passage in Nahmanides’ commentary, but when read against the background of geonic polemics and the geonic impulse to locate later rabbinic enactments within biblical revelation, it takes on a new significance. Herman draws attention in this connection to the landmark work of Yosef Ofer and Jonathan Jacobs on Nahmanides, which reconstructs the layered development of Nahmanides’ Torah commentary on the basis of authorial update lists and a comprehensive comparison of manuscript traditions. Ofer and Jacobs demonstrate that the passage attributing Hanukkah to Aaron through R. Nissim Gaon’s Megillat Setarim belongs to Nahmanides’ later additions, composed after his arrival in Eretz Yisrael, and that in earlier recensions of his commentary Nahmanides struggled to resolve the difficulties posed by this midrash.[11]

  1. A Sage is Superior to a Prophet

Interpretations of the talmudic dictum hakham adif mi-navi, “a sage is superior to a prophet” (Bava Batra 12a), offer a revealing lens through which to assess medieval attitudes toward the relative status of divine revelation and human juridical creativity. In a substantial study published two decades ago, Alon Goshen-Gottstein traces the reception history of this dictum and concludes that it was largely ignored prior to the emergence of the Book of the Zohar.[12] Herman (81-82), however, draws attention to a significant pre-Zohar interpretation that appears to have gone largely unnoticed in this discussion, preserved in the commentary of R. Isaac Ibn Ghiyath, commonly known by his acronym רי״ץ גיאת, to Kohelet:

“Upon proper reflection, I have found that the sages of the Torah possess a superiority over the prophets. For the former draw forth [insights] from their intellectual inquiry and the illuminations of their intellect: they innovate new teachings from foundational principles and derive consequences from root concepts. The latter, by contrast, are guided only by prophecy and directed by prophetic vision alone. You already know what occurred with respect to what the prophet Nathan said to David, ‘Do all that is in your heart, for the Lord is with you’ (II Sam. 7:3) – and he was mistaken; whereas Solomon’s ruling in the case of the two women was successful. It is to this distinction that the saying refers: ‘A sage is superior to a prophet.’”[13]

As Herman observes, Ibn Ghiyath’s interpretation is “closer to that of the Qaraite Qirqisaniwho had cited it to show that the ancient rabbis themselves admitted to ‘extracting’ new lawthan to geonic-era apologetics.” In other words, this interpretation stands in contrast to the geonic claim that Torah she-beʿal peh is all revealed law, instead seeing the active process of building upon revelation by means of human wisdom as a higher achievement than the passive process of receiving prophetic instruction. This helps explain why this dictum received little attention in certain eras. In the context of anti-Karaite polemics, openly conceding the primacy of human legal creativity over prophecy was potentially destabilizing. Yet Herman does not emphasize the significance of Ibn Ghiyath’s comment in the history of the interpretation of this saying, noteworthy in its own right.[14]

  1. Increasing Andalusian Independence

A recurring theme throughout Herman’s work is the growing independence of non-Iraqi scholars, such as R. Hananel, R. Shmuel ha-Nagid, the Rif, and R. Joseph Ibn Migash, from the authority of the Babylonian geonim. This is the intellectual world into which Maimonides was born. Herman (104-105) highlights one particularly telling instance in which Maimonides explicitly defends his Andalusian tradition against claims of Babylonian hegemony:

“[I]n a polemic against against Samuel ben ‘Eli…who claimed the title gaon, Maimonides provided a list of Andalusi “geonim” to support his view: Ibn Ghiyath, al-Baliya, al-Fasi, and Maimonides’s own father’s teacher, Ibn Migash. Maimonides asked: ‘Should one not heed the words of our geonim because they are not Babylonian [i.e., Iraqi]? Is it possible that locale is determinative [she-maqom gorem]?’ While these examples show a sense of continuity with the Andalusi tradition, Maimonidean innovations nevertheless abounded…”

Herman offers a nuanced account of the gradual emergence of Andalusian scholarly independence from geonic authority, culminating in Maimonides’ own complex stance toward the inherited geonic tradition.[15]

These few examples from this densely referenced work should suffice to illustrate the wealth of material contained within. Dr. Marc Herman’s After Revelation: The Rabbinic Past in the Medieval Islamic World is distinguished by its meticulous research and careful presentation of sources, a quality that is especially welcome in the current scholarly landscape. In addition, by focusing on a specific historical era which has received relatively little scrutiny, Herman has brought to light a rich array of material which deserves the attention of anyone interested in the development of the concept of Torah sheb’eal peh.

[1] Full disclosure: the author of the book under review, Dr. Marc Herman, is a longtime friend to whom I often turn with questions regarding Maimonides’ Sefer ha-Mitzvot. References to his pages are given parenthetically in the text. Readers of The Seforim Blog may already be familiar with his work through his review in Marc Herman,  “Review of ‘Ha-Sefer ha-Kollel (Kitāb al-Hāwī)’, by Rabbi David ben Saʿadya al-Ger,” The Seforim Blog (4 September 2024), available here. My thanks to Seforim Blog editor Menachem Butler for his editorial review and comments.
[2]
Herman cites Ibn Balaam’s comment from Maaravi Perez, “Another fragment from Kitāb al-Tarjīḥ by R. Yehuda Ibn Balaam: Genesis 2:11-4:9; 8:10-20,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, vol. 57 (1990-1991): 8 (Hebrew), available here; the fragment is also available via the remarkable alhatorah.org.
[3]
 For a discussion of the tension between seyag and bal tosif as it arises from the narrative of Adam and Eve, see R. Bezalel Naor, “Mitzvat Hashem Barah,” printed at the conclusion of his edition of the Rashba’s Maʾamar ʿal Yishmael, ed. Bezalel Naor (Spring Valley, NY: Orot, 2008), 87-91 (Hebrew). His discussion displays his characteristic breadth of learning, though he does not cite the sources later adduced by Herman; conversely, Herman does not refer to Naor’s treatment. Notably, the Hida (Ahavat David, derush 13) explicitly confronts the apparent contradiction between the position of the Gemara with that of Avot de-Rabbi Natan and proposes a reconciliation:

“The matter is straightforward: Adam the First certainly acted properly in making a fence. However, he should have said, “This is the command of the Lord, and I am making a fence with respect to touching,’ and in that case Eve would not have erred. It was from this aspect that the mishap emerged, and this is what is meant by the conclusion, ‘A person should not add to the words he hears’; that is, one should not attribute the addition to the original speaker.”

See also R. David Zvi Hoffmann’s commentary to Genesis 3:1, and R. Yaakov Kamenetsky, Emet le-Yaʿakov, Genesis 3:3, who develop the same distinction—between legitimate protective legislation and its improper attribution to divine command. R. Yaakov Kamenetsky articulates this concept pointedly in his commentary to Avot 2:5:

“The essential point is that one know that he is keeping this only as a fence, and not as an essential matter in its own right … for if this is not known, one may come to great stumbling blocks. It appears that Adam the First himself stumbled precisely in this matter in the sin of the Tree of Knowledge, and from this grew and developed the entire notion of sin and iniquity in the world, with the resulting consequence death.”

Against this backdrop, R. Bezalel Naor draws attention to a difficult comment of the Moshav Zekenim. The Moshav Zekenim cites the following question of the tosafist R. Isaac [presumably Riʾ of Dampierre]:

“You shall not eat and you shall not touch”—from here [we learn that] whoever adds, detracts, for the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded only with respect to eating. And R. Isaac finds this difficult: perhaps she acted by way of distancing, as we find with respect to the nazirite… and this requires further investigation.”

Why, R. Naor asks, did the Moshav Zekenim not explain that the difficulty with this seyag lay specifically in its attribution to God Himself, as is made explicit in the aforementioned sources? One possible answer emerges from the Maharil’s account of asmakhta. See Maharil, Likkutim, no. 70 (quoted by R. Asher Weiss, Minhat Asher, Devarim, p. 37):

“Wherever it is stated [that something is] rabbinic and the verse is merely an asmakhta, this is its meaning: it is certainly a rabbinic enactment, and they went and examined and found for themselves a scriptural support, and they anchored their words to it in order to strengthen them—so that people would think it is of Torah origin and be stringent with it, and not come to treat the words of the Sages lightly and leniently. (In the Mekhon Yerushalayim edition there is another version: ‘in order to mislead them.’)”

According to the Maharil, the purpose of an asmakhta is precisely to cause people to attribute divine authority to a rabbinic enactment. This would also appear to be the most straightforward explanation of the Raʾavad’s gloss to Hilkhot Mamrim 2:9. Maimonides explains that the difference between prescribed rabbinic enactments and proscribed bal tosif lies in their attribution: 

“Since a court has authority to decree and prohibit something permitted, and its prohibition may stand for generations … what, then, is the meaning of the Torah’s warning ‘You shall not add to it nor detract from it’? That one should not add to the words of the Torah nor detract from them, and establish the matter permanently as Torah law.”

On this, Raʾavad comments: 

“All of this is mere wind, for anything they decreed and prohibited as a fence and safeguard for the Torah does not constitute adding, even if they established it for generations, treated it as Torah law, and anchored it to Scripture, as we find in many places where something is rabbinic and the verse is merely an asmakhta.”

Raʾavad apparently sees the existence of asmakhta as a refutation of Maimonides’ position. Cf. the Vilna Gaon’s comment in Aderet Eliyahu, Genesis 3:3, which offers another defense of Eve’s “fence.”
[4]
Hartwig Hirschfeld, “The Arabic Portion of the Cairo Genizah at Cambridge (Third Article): Saadyah Fragments,” Jewish Quarterly Review, vol. 16, no. 1 [old series] (October 1903): 103, available here.
[5]
See my article in Eliyahu Krakowski, “Is a Prophet Authorized to Institute a Rabbinic Commandment? A Halakhic Clarification and Its Implications for Maimonidean Thought,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 12 (Fall 2011): 26-28 (Hebrew), available here, for a detailed analysis of Rambam’s position that the prohibition of bal tosif applies precisely to prophetic or judicial claims of divine authority. R. Asher Weiss formulates this point as a matter of halakhah le-maʿaseh in response to a question posed by his teacher, the Divrei Yatziv:

“My teacher and master, the holy rabbi, our master [Rabbi Yekusiel Yehudah Halberstam], wrote in Responsa Divrei Yatziv (Orah Hayyim §214) to comment on the formula le-shem yihud customarily recited by Hasidim prior to the counting of the ʿomer, in which it is said: “to fulfill the positive commandment of the counting of the ʿomer, as written in the Torah, etc.” This formulation implies that the obligation in question is a de-oraita commandment, and thus constitutes an addition to the commandments and a violation of bal tosif according to the view of Maimonides. For this reason, he adopted the practice of saying instead: “to fulfill the commandment of the counting of the ʿomer, and it is written in the Torah, etc.,” so that it should not be understood as a de-oraita commandment, but rather in a formulation that is also compatible with a rabbinic commandment… In my view, however, even though this observation has merit, as a matter of strict law there is no objection here, for several reasons. First, there is no prohibition involved except in the context of formal legal instruction issued by a court or by a sage rendering authoritative rulings to others; this has no application to a devotional prayer recited informally by each individual person…”

This represents the distinctively Maimonidean understanding of bal tosif, in marked contrast to the approach articulated by R. Yehuda ha-Levi.
[6]
 See Rashi to Deut. 4:2 and 13:1; Sefer ha-Ikkarim 3:14; Maharal, Beʾer ha-Golah, beʾer 1; cf. Nahmanides to Deut. 4:2. Notably, both sides in the Karaite-rabbinic controversy presupposed that bal tosif prohibits the introduction of new laws as such, even though this assumption was rejected by a number of rabbinic authorities operating at some remove from the immediate polemical context. A structurally analogous phenomenon, in which opposing camps converge upon a shared but historically secondary interpretation of a source, can be observed in the medieval debates over hokhmat yevanit. See Eliyahu Krakowski, “How Much Greek in ‘Greek Wisdom’? On the Meaning of Hokhmat Yevanit,” The Seforim Blog (27 December 2011), available here, where I argue that the identification of hokhmat yevanit with Greek philosophy represents a thirteenth-century polemical development rather than the original talmudic meaning, even though both sides in the controversy itself accepted this understanding.
[7]
 Rav Saadya Gaon, Sefer ha-Mitzvot (Kitāb al-Sharāʾiʿ), ed. and trans. Nissim Sabato (Jerusalem: The Ben-Zvi Institute, 2019), 199 (Hebrew). My thanks to Rabbi Dr. Eliezer Brodt for obtaining a copy of this important work for me. The text is also available on alhatorah.org, and should not be confused with R. Yeruham Fishel Perla’s monumental commentary on Rav Saadya’s poetic Azharot.
[8]
 See, now, the newly-published edition of Maimonides, Sefer ha-Mitzvot, ed. R. Yitzhak Sheilat (Jerusalem, 2025), 39-40 (Hebrew). It is surprising that R. Sheilat, who serves as rosh yeshiva of Yeshivat Birkat Moshe alongside R. Sabato, does not reference in this context Rav Saadya’s Sefer ha-Mitzvot.
[9]
 For an otherwise insightful discussion of this passage, see Moshe Halbertal, Maimonides: Life and Thought (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), 111-116, who perceptively analyzes Maimonides’ objection to the enumeration of rabbinic enactments but does not identify Rav Saadya Gaon as the concrete target of the critique.
[10]
In his notes to this passage in Rav Saadya Gaon’s Sefer ha-Mitzvot, R. Haim Sabato expresses caution as to whether Maimonides had Rav Saadya specifically in mind. However, Herman’s view is compelling. For a fuller treatment of whether Maimonides’ critique in Sefer ha-Mitzvot is aimed specifically at Rav Saadya Gaon, see R. Haim Sabato, “Did Maimonides Know Rav Saadya Gaon’s Complete Sefer ha-Mitzvot?” in Zvi Heber and Carmiel Cohen, eds., MiBirkat Moshe: Maimonidean Studies in Honor of Rabbi Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch, vol. 2 (Maʿale-Adumim: Maʿaliyot, 2012), 757-763 (Hebrew), available here, and Marc D. Herman, “Systematizing God’s Law: Rabbanite Jurisprudence in the Islamic World from the Tenth to the Thirteenth Centuries,” (PhD Dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 2016), 167-168, 301, available here.
[11]
 See Nahmanides’ Torah Commentary Addenda Written in the Land of Israel, eds. Yosef Ofer and Jonathan Jacobs (Jerusalem: Herzog Academic College and the World Union of Jewish Studies, 2013), 430-432 (Hebrew).
[12]
 See Alon Goshen-Gottstein, “The Sage is Superior to the Prophet: The Conception of Torah through the Prism of this Proverb through the Ages,” in Howard Kreisel, ed., Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought (Beer Sheva: Ben Gurion University of the Negev, 2006), 37-78 (Hebrew), available here, who identifies two citations of this dictum in sources that predate the Sefer ha-Zohar, one in Hovot ha-Levavot and one in a work attributed to R. Avraham b. ha-Rambam, possibly by R. Nissim Gaon. The interpretations of R. Isaac Ibn Ghiyath and R. Joseph Ibn Migash discussed here, however, suggest that the paucity of earlier citations reflects not simple neglect but a reluctance to highlight texts that openly privilege human juridical creativity over prophetic transmission.
[13]
 This commentary is printed in R. Yosef Qafih, Hamesh Megillot, ed. Shimon Najar (Israel, 1970), 162-163 (Hebrew), where it is attributed to Rav Saadya Gaon; it is now also available online at alhatorah.org in R. Qafih’s translation. Another text overlooked by Goshen-Gottstein and cited by Herman (87) is the commentary of R. Joseph Ibn Migash (Riʾ Migash) preserved in Shitah Mekubetzet to Bava Batra 12a:

“‘Amemar said: A sage is superior to a prophet. Rav Ashi said: You may know this from the fact that a great scholar states a matter and it is then said that the law accords with [a tradition] given to Moses at Sinai’— and even though this scholar never heard this matter at all. Thus, [we see that] ‘the sage is superior to the prophet’: for the prophet says only what he has heard and what is placed in his mouth to say, whereas the sage can articulate what was said to Moses at Sinai even though he never heard it.”

[14] Elsewhere, however, Herman does highlight the significance of Ibn Ghiyath’s comment more explicitly. See Marc Herman, “Situating Maimonides’s Approach to the Oral Torah in Its Andalusian Context,” Jewish History, vol. 31, no. 1 (December 2017): 31-46, available here.
[15]
 This analysis bears indirectly on a debate I conducted in the pages of Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought with R. Shmuel Phillips concerning whether Maimonides adhered to a rigid, geonically derived methodology of talmudic interpretation that would have sharply limited the scope for post-talmudic harmonization or innovation. My contention in that exchange was that Maimonides engages in implicit synthesis and interpretive reconciliation of talmudic sources, even when such activity is not explicitly signaled in his formulations. The historical picture reconstructed by Herman strengthens the view of Maimonides as an independent thinker who was not constrained by geonic precedent, nor, in fact, by the precedent of his immediate Andalusian predecessors, making it difficult to sustain an account of Maimonides as merely transmitting talmudic conclusions through the mechanical application of geonic rules. See my article in Eliyahu Krakowski, “Talmud Oversimplified? A Partial Review of Talmud Reclaimed: An Ancient Text in the Modern Era by Shmuel Phillips,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 35 (Summer 2024): 129-145, available here, as well as the continued exchange in Shmuel Phillips, “Talmud Reclaimed and a Battle Over Methodologies of the Rishonim,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 36 (Winter 2025): 193-216, available here, and Eliyahu Krakowski, “Rejoinder: Reclaiming Talmudic Complexity,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 36 (Winter 2025): 217-229, available here.

 




Book review – Nafshi BiShe’elati: The Halakhot of Mental Health

Book review – Nafshi BiShe’elati: The Halakhot of Mental Health

Ben Rothke

 

T.J. Hooper was a precedent-setting tort case[1] in 1932. Two tugboats, one of which was The T.J. Hooper, were towing barges. During a storm, the barges sank, and their cargoes lost. The owners of the cargo sued the barge owners, who in turn sued the tugboat owners. The barge owners claimed that the tug operators were negligent because they failed to equip their tugs with radios that would have warned them of the bad weather.

The tugboat companies defended under the prevailing practice theory. They claimed that because no other tugboat operators in the area were using radios, this constituted the industry standard of care.

Judge Learned Hand found the tugboat companies liable because they did not use readily available technology, radio receivers, to listen for broadcast weather reports, even though radio use was not yet standard industry practice 

Judge Hand observed, “Indeed, in most cases, reasonable prudence is, in fact, common prudence, but strictly it is never its measure. A whole calling may have unduly lagged in the adoption of new and available devices. Courts must in the end say what is required. There are precautions so imperative that even their universal disregard will not excuse their omission”.

I thought of the T.J. Hooper case when reading a most remarkable new book Nafshi BiShe’elati: The Halakhot of Mental Health[2] by Rabbi Yonatan Rosensweig and Dr. Shmuel Harris. Mental health is virgin ground in halacha and requires the subtle judgment of the most seasoned poskim. When Rav Asher Weiss used the term OCD in his teshuva in 1994 (Minchat Asher 2:134), it was, as I understand it, the first usage by a posek of the term OCD.

The authors quote Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach (1910-1995) who was asked if one may turn on an electronic device on Shabbat to play music for a choleh sheyesh bo sakana who likes it. Rav Auerbach responded, “My son may permit this, but I have difficulty.”

He explained, “When I was growing up, a sick person needed warmth, food, and drink. While I can understand these new psychological needs, like music, are in fact needed—of course you are right—it is very difficult for me to permit them.”

A century ago, giving the sick person, be it one who was physically ill or with a mental malady, warmth, food, and drink was all one could do. This was an era where ear infections were fatal, and those with mental illnesses were considered incapable of being productive members of society or even counted as part of a minyan.

Today, with far-reaching advances in mental health care and pharmacology, a rabbi today who provides a congregant with warmth, food, and drinks instead of a referral for psychological care may have blood on his hands. The authors write that rabbis should avoid trying to provide psychological treatment in place of a licensed professional.

This is required even though the rabbi’s role throughout history as a spiritual guide in whom his disciples and community can confide is still as crucial as ever. He should differentiate between someone in need of sage counsel or an attentive ear and someone with a mental illness who needs professional care. Consequently, it is imperative that rabbis receive mental health training so that they can adequately distinguish between mental states and identify signs that warrant referral for professional treatment.

The authors are a remarkable pair with Rosensweig, the accomplished rabbinic scholar, and Harris, the physician. Rosensweig serves as the Rabbi of the Netzach Menashe synagogue in Beit Shemesh, Israel. He also teaches in various post-high school institutions and is the author of a number of books. In 2021, he founded Maagalei Nefesh[3], on an organization that deals with issues about mental health and halakha.

Harris is a psychiatrist who has served as the former head of psychiatric services at Hadassah Mt. Scopus. He is also the founder of Machon Dvir[4], a mental health organization servicing the English-speaking community in Israel.

The late Chicago-based posek Rav Gedalia Dov Schwartz said when dealing with transgender issues, “They didn’t really prepare me for this in yeshiva.” Schwartz echoed the sentiment that what was studied in the pristine study halls was often theoretical and abstract and didn’t match what was occurring in the real world.

When it comes to mental health, many communal rabbis are finding that yeshiva didn’t prepare them to deal with congregants who have mental health issues. Many of which can be exacerbated by halacha. These rabbis must be educated in various areas and understand the many mental health issues to properly and effectively minister to their congregants.

Eating, for example, plays a large part in Jewish life. Between the weekly Sabbath meals, the Passover seder, and various holiday meals, nearly 20% of the Jewish calendar revolves around meals or a fast.

So when a rabbi has a congregant with anorexia nervosa or other types of eating disorders, how they respond can have life or death repercussions as eating disorders have one of the highest mortality rates in comparison to other psychiatric illnesses, as 20% of anorexia nervosa deaths, are due to suicide. In addition, those with eating disorders are much more likely to engage in self-harm and experience suicidal ideation.

Anorexia nervosa is germane not just to eating but to fasting also. The authors detail situations where a person suffering from anorexia nervosa would be obligated to eat on a fast day, including Yom Kippur.

Most rabbis will wear out their copies of Hamadrich, The RCA Lifecycle Guide[5], as it is the go-to guide for various lifecycle events. Yet when it comes to mental health and halacha, there is no Hamadrich. And that is precisely the gap that Nafshi BiShe’elati brilliantly fills.

The book deals with every area where mental health and halacha intersect: Shabbat and holidays, marriage, divorce, relationships, prayer, kashrut, and much more.

As the authors live in Israel, they quote heavily on Israeli poskim. Readers will be introduced to poskim such as Rabbis Eliyahu Abergel, Reem Hacohen (Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Otniel), Yuval Cherlow (Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Hesder Amit Orot Shaul), and more.

In many areas, halacha addresses the status of the shoteh, someone not in total control of their mental facilities. The concept of shoteh is a difficult one to define and has been applied in relation to many different cases. The most common uses of the term have been reserved for and most closely describe the clinical phenomenon of psychosis, the state in which the individual lacks the ability to distinguish reality from fantasy.

With that, the book open with an analysis of shoteh, and the different levels it entails, including shoteh gamur, general shtut, shoteh ledavar ehad, and more. Defining what and who a shoteh is not an academic exercise. It can, in fact, have life-and-death consequences.

One is allowed to violate the sabbath for someone as the presumption is that it will enable them to observe many sabbaths in the future. One could argue, although the halacha is not like this, that Shabbat may not be violated to save a shoteh, as it will not bring them to observe more Shabbatot.

While a shoteh is exempt from the performance of mitzvot, the Maharil writes that if a man has a son who is a shoteh, he has fulfilled the mitzva of procreation, as writes that the shoteh has a soul, is a bar mitzva, and those of sound mind are cautioned about him.

The authors quote heavily from the late Rav Nahum Rabinovitch (former Rosh Yeshiva of the hesder yeshiva Birkat Moshe in Ma’ale Adumim). Rav Rabinovitch’s genius was matched by his sensitivity to the human condition.

Rav Rabinovitch believed that the very act of performing a mitzva can preserve a sense of being in good health for the shoteh, so it is important for them to perform mitzvot with or without assistance.

In Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy[6] Professor Haym Soloveitchik writes of the swing to the right, where a significant increase in chumras has had significant consequences for Jewish society and the nature of Jewish spirituality.

When dealing with the halachic needs of those with mental health issues, the authors quote valid halahic sources which show how far right and strict things have become as normative halacha. This includes countless things from running and jumping on Shabbat, having non-Jews play instruments on Shabbat for newly married couples (which was the custom in Ashkenaz during the Middle Ages), certain aspects of mikvah usage for women, and more.

As to mikvah use, women with anorexia suffer intensely whenever they must attend to their body or appearance. Cleaning the body and preparing it for mikvah immersion is not a simple affair for them, as it brings negative feelings about their body, sometimes including disgust, to the surface.

The authors write that it is very important for rabbis answering questions from women with eating disorders to be sensitive to their tremendous difficulties and instruct them to go easy on the mikvah preparations and do only the absolute minimum required by Halacha.

Similarly, the mikveh attendants must be aware when someone has an eating disorder and should respect their privacy and do their best to create a pleasant and relaxed environment for them.

The concept of yeridat hadorot is the belief in the intellectual inferiority of subsequent and contemporary Torah scholarship and spirituality compared to that of the past. Yet when it comes to dealing with those who are deaf, mute, or both; and those with mental health issues, one can certainly say it is aliya hadorot. Our ability today to deal with and integrate Jews with those maladies pales in comparison to how they were handled and treated in generations past.

This is a book of unique erudition on a crucial topic, and Nafshi BiShe’elati: The Halakhot of Mental Health is a remarkable guide that is required reading not just for every rabbi but for everyone. Most of us know someone who has a mental health issue or is just one degree of separation from those who do.

It wasn’t that long ago that those with Down Syndrome were never let out of the house, and those with severe mental issues were lobotomized. Society in general, and Jewish society specifically, has come a long way in terms of mental health and how to deal with it. The book shows how Halacha is more than able to deal with these mental health situations. It’s incumbent on every rabbi and member of the Jewish community to understand how to deal with our brothers and sisters suffering from mental health issues.

This extraordinary book should be read by those looking for a serious and scholarly guide about halacha and mental health, a reference completely dedicated to halacha’s fealty.

[1] http://itlaw.wikia.com/wiki/T.J._Hooper
[2] https://korenpub.com/products/nafshi-bisheelati-halakhot-of-mental-health
[3] https://mnefesh.org
[4] https://machondvir.org/
[5] https://korenpub.com/products/hamadrikh-the-rca-lifecycle-guide
[6] https://traditiononline.org/rupture-and-reconstruction-the-transformation-of-contemporary-orthodoxy/