Fundamentally, all of the above—stringency, “maximum position compliance,” and the proliferation of complications and demands—simply reflect the essential change in the nature of religious performance that occurs in a text culture. Books cannot demonstrate conduct; they can only state its requirements. One then seeks to act in a way that meets those demands.149
Aside from the descriptivist elements within the article, it also serves as a lament. Soloveitchik is concerned that the “new and controlling role that texts now play in contemporary religious life”150 has irrevocably altered Jewish life itself. The article concludes with a haunting epitaph on the direction of the Jewish community:
It is this rupture in the traditional religious sensibilities that underlies much of the transformation of contemporary Orthodoxy. Zealous to continue traditional Judaism unimpaired, religious Jews seek to ground their new emerging spirituality less on a now unattainable intimacy with Him, than on an intimacy with His Will, avidly eliciting Its intricate demands and saturating their daily lives with Its exactions. Having lost the touch of His presence, they now seek solace in the pressure of His yoke.151
If discarding the mimetic tradition in favor of textuality, as it relates to Halakhah, has such a broad-range of communal results, what lessons can be extracted from such a bifurcation in the realm of theology? If accessing Halakhah through text alone without the accompaniment of a mimetic tradition created such radical results, should we not be suspicious of theological textual interpretation wholly divorced from the immersive tradition within the community that created it? Therein lies the danger of communal innovation based on the radical theology of Izbica-Lublin.
Yes, there were elements of the theology within Izbica-Lublin that were radical. But as recognized, the community remained consistently traditional. Is that a contradiction? The answer is, to echo Soloveitchik, “at times, yes; at times no.” But what is certain is that whatever radical elements existed in the textual tradition of Izbica, they were not given precedence in dictating the overall lifestyle. Izbica-Lublin was not radicalized because like any tradition, there were simultaneous traditional values imparted that tempered the radical components of the theology. This means the perceived dissonance between Izbica-Lublin’s textual tradition and their communal lifestyle is a product of our overreliance on text as the arbiter of communal values. If Soloveitchik is to be believed, a community’s environment can provide an equally rich and oftentimes more powerful repository of tradition than that which emerges from their texts alone.
Mei ha-Shiloah begins with a cryptic caution. The ideas contained within, cautioned Rabbi Gershon Henokh, are only published “for the sake of our intimates who understand their true value.” Based on the lessons from Soloveitchik’s “Rupture and Reconstruction,” this preface is given added significance. What was Rabbi Gershon Henokh’s concern? Some understand this warning, including Rabbi Hefter, as relating mostly to theological misunderstanding; however, its true intention may also be directed at theological misapplication. Namely, without the accompanying immersive experience of being an “intimate” within the traditional Izbica-Lublin community, the texts will inevitably become radicalized. Like Halakhah, when transmitted exclusively through text, theology cannot be transferred without some sort of rupture from its original intent.
Interestingly, while the separation of text from experience in Halakhic tradition has cultivated some extreme tendencies in the Haredi world, the opposite seems to be true regarding Hasidic theology. When Hasidic theology is extricated exclusively from text, divorced from its communal context and ambiance, radical suggestions suddenly become more plausible in some circles. Without the tempering effect of the communal environment, Hasidic texts can seem deceptively radical. However, it cannot be forgotten that whatever textual radicalism existed in Izbica-Lublin, there was a concomitant experiential tradition among the “intimates” that assured communal radicalism did not develop. Still, the ambiguities in the theologically pregnant texts of Izbica-Lublin have led others to advocate for more innovation in Jewish communal practice. It seems that having cast off the pressure of His yoke, they now seek solace just in the touch of His presence. Oftentimes, however, both are needed for sound communal policy.
Navigating the Inevitable
As Izbica explicitly articulates, some sin is inevitable. But as discussed, the inevitability of sin does not mean law is no longer relevant and applicable. Like generations of Izbica students, a radical theology need not uproot a traditional community.
Rabbi Yitzhak Hutner, though not technically a student of Izbica, was very much influenced by its Hasidic approach.152 In a moving letter, Rabbi Hutner allows for the existence of certain sins that transcend man’s free will but cautions that one can never know for certain which are unavoidable. He writes:
…Know this my beloved, those sins which in truth are only committed due to the fact that “there is no righteous man in the land who does not sin” (Ecclesiastes 7:20), nevertheless it is beyond man’s comprehension to decide which sins are in fact committed out of his free volition and which can by tallied on account that [some sin is inevitable]. And therefore, he remains obligated to develop for himself a plan of teshuvah for all of his sins. And if a person does not do teshuvah for all sins, on account that he assumes they were only committed since some sin is inevitable, then, even if such sins were inevitable, he is still going to be punished for them. For the lack of teshuvah on all sins, including those that were inevitable, is an indication of this individual’s lack of seriousness regarding sin.153
Given that we do not know which temptations in our lives are truly insurmountable, a person must approach all sins as if they are in his control and attempt teshuvah (repentance) for any transgressions. Though there is solace in knowing that some spiritual failure is unavoidable, Rabbi Hutner cautions that dismissing our shortcomings as simply unavoidable is a sin unto itself.
Practically speaking, in a situation where a person is overcome with a seemingly unavoidable sin, should their yarmulke be removed? Rabbi Moshe Feinstein addresses this question in regard to someone who plans on going to the movies or theater. Rabbi Feinstein seems to invoke Tosafot’s approach, calling taking off one’s yarmulke in such a situation a “sevara gedolah” (a substantial consideration).154 However, he ultimately dismisses this approach. Allowing a person to take off his yarmulke in such a situation, according to Rabbi Feinstein, is just an excuse to denigrate another aspect of Judaism, namely the wearing of a yarmulke. Only someone who genuinely is concerned about desecrating God’s name could be allowed such a dispensation. Such a person, says Rabbi Feinstein, is not likely to be someone who is overcome with sin.155
In the fifteenth century, Rabbi Yitzhak of Arama (1420–1494) was posed a disturbing question by leaders in his community. Apparently, in their community adultery had become rampant, particularly among many communal leaders. A group of men approached Rabbi Yitzhak and proposed that the community should advocate for prostitution as a less deleterious option than adultery, which was tearing apart families. Rabbi Yitzhak was adamant that such a consideration was out of the question. “It is an outrageous perversion and sin,” he responded, “it is a sin for an entire community and it cannot be forgiven.”156 Our collective imperfection is not cause for collective allowance or encouragement of our imperfections. Sin and failure, no matter how common, can never be communally condoned or publicly institutionalized. As Jews have intuited for centuries, the existence of sin cannot obscure our aspirations.
5
CAN SINNING BE HOLY?
To live outside the law, you must be honest.
—Bob Dylan, Absolutely Sweet Mary
Sin as Sweet as Honey
There is a sensational legend about Emperor Rudolf II (1552–1612) that is most certainly false but nevertheless worth repeating. As the legend goes, Emperor Rudolf was puzzled. On the one hand, he was an established antisemite. On the other hand, however, he also found himself being very kind and co
mpassionate towards the Jews he met. Emperor Rudolf, confused by these conflicting emotions towards Jews, visited the famed Maharal of Prague, Rabbi Yehudah Loew. The Maharal revealed to the Emperor the source of his conflicting attitudes towards Jews. The parents of Emperor Rudolf, the Maharal explained, were having difficulty conceiving children. Rudolph’s father assumed that not he but his wife, the Queen, was infertile. In order to bear a child, Rudolph’s mother the Queen accosted a Jewish woman and insisted she have a child with her husband. If the Jewish woman did not agree to bear the King’s child, the Queen threatened to terrorize all the Jews who lived in their kingdom. The Jewish woman consulted with a Jewish tribunal of rabbis who gave her written permission to live with this King in order to prevent the tragedy that would surely befall the Jewish community if she refused. This story, explained the Maharal to the Emperor, is the reason for Emperor Rudolf’s ambiguous feelings towards the Jews—he had a Jewish mother!157
This tale, of course, never happened. Those with discriminating ears will immediately detect that it is essentially a dramatized retelling of the Purim story with medieval personalities. Still, like the Purim story, the Rudolph legend raises some important questions. To what extent is one permitted to go in order to save Jewish lives? Can the means of sinning be repurposed for a justified end? Essentially, are there situations where sinning can be holy?
Of course, there are situations where it is permissible, and even required, to transgress a sin. For instance, in life-threatening situations all sins should be violated with the exceptions of idolatry, adultery, and murder—any of those three one must even give up their life to avoid violating.158 The status of adultery as one of three inviolable sins is the subject of rich Talmudic debate—especially concerning the Purim story. If adultery does in fact have such a status, how could Esther of the Purim story live with King Ahashverosh when she was already married to Mordekhai? Shouldn’t Esther have sacrificed her life rather than commit adultery with Ahashverosh? The Talmud (Sanhedrin 74b) presents two opinions to explain the Halakhic rationale for Esther’s relationship with Ahashverosh. According to Abaya, Esther was permitted to sleep with Ahashverosh because she was a passive participant in the relationship. Rava explains that Ahashverosh was motivated by lust, not religious persecution, so Esther was only obligated to give up her life to avoid a religiously motivated sin. Rabbi Moshe Isserles codifies an interpretation of Abaye’s opinion as Jewish law.159 Accordingly, so long as a sin is only violated passively–even if it is one of the three cardinal sins that normally require martyrdom–there is no obligation to give up a life. Since Esther remained passive in her relationship with Ahashverosh, she was not obligated to give up her life to avoid violating the prohibition.
Still, the legal grounding of the farcical tale we began with remains unresolved. In the story of the Emperor Rudolf, the woman actively offered herself in sin in order to save the lives of others. Is such an offer permissible or perhaps even required? Moreover, later in the Purim story Esther approaches the king voluntarily, albeit to save the lives of her people. Certainly she was not acting passively, so what was the Halakhic rationale for allowing her active approach to the king? Sometime at the turn of the eighteenth century this question came to the fore. A group of travelers were accosted by a band of outlaws, who threatened to kill them all. Considering the situation, one of the married female travelers offered to have relations with one of the outlaws in exchange for the group’s safety. Though she did save the group’s life, a Halakhic question was posed to Rabbi Yaakov Reischer (1661–1733), inquiring whether she had acted permissibly. After all, Esther was only permitted to sleep with Ahashverosh when she was forced, but was it also acceptable to actively offer oneself to avoid being killed? In his response Rabbi Reischer ruled that the woman had acted correctly. Normally a woman would be forbidden to initiate an inappropriate sexual relationship even if she remained passive, but since many people’s lives were at stake in this situation, it was permissible.160
Rabbi Yehezkel Landau (1713–1793) disagreed with Rabbi Reischer’s comparison of the case of kidnapped travelers to the story of Esther. A central difference, he explains, is that in the case of Esther she offered herself in order to save the entire Jewish people, who were potentially threatened by the decree of Haman. In the situation presented to Rabbi Reischer, however, it was only a small group of people whose lives were at stake. It is only when the lives of the entire Jewish people are jeopardized that proactively engaging in an inappropriate relationship can be justified.161
The privileged status of sins committed in order to save the entire Jewish people became especially relevant following the formation of the State of Israel. Some Halakhic authorities equated the population of the Jews in Israel as the legal equivalent of saving all Jews.162 As such, based on the distinction of Rabbi Landau, if the lives of the Jews in Israel were threatened it would be permissible to engage actively in a sexually prohibited relationship if this would save the lives. Incredibly, this far-flung scenario became a reality. In 1986 Israel’s nuclear secrets were compromised by a nuclear technician named Mordechai Vanunu. Mr. Vanunu offered details of the as-yet unconfirmed Israeli nuclear program to British news outlets, including The London Sunday Times. Before he completed the transaction, however, he was captured by the Israeli Mossad after being seduced by an undercover agent, known as a honeypot, who brought him back to Israel to stand trial.163 Any Halakhic ground for Vanunu’s capture must be based upon the consideration of the applicability of Esther’s actions. Whether it was the fanciful story of Emperor Rudolf or the very real capture of Mordechai Vanunu, there certainly seem to be situations where sin can serve a holier purpose.
For Sin’s Sake
Esther may be the most prolific biblical figure who seemingly violated a prohibition in the service of a higher purpose, but she certainly was not the first woman to do so. In fact, several hundred years before the story of Esther the Book of Judges records a story that became the Talmudic model for sinning for a loftier purpose. In the fourth chapter of the Book of Judges, the Canaanite general Sisera fled the battleground after failing to attack the Jewish people at Mount Tabor. Looking for a place to hide from the Jewish soldiers who were trying to capture him, Sisera entered the tent of Yael. We don’t know a great deal about Yael. She was likely not even Jewish.164 But once alone with Sisera, Yael (according to the Talmud’s interpretation) seduced him and then promptly killed him by driving the stake of her tent through his skull.
On the one hand she actively seduced Sisera—a sin. On the other hand she vanquished a notorious enemy of the Jewish people. Should her actions be praised or condemned? In the next chapter of Judges she is praised by Deborah, one of the leaders of the Jewish people at the time. “Most blessed of women is Yael, wife of Hever the Kenite,” said Deborah in a poetic song, “by women in the tent she will be blessed” (Judg. 5:24). Based on this praise the Talmud introduces a seemingly paradoxical concept—an aveirah l-shmah, literally translated as “a sin for a purpose.” The Talmud writes as follows:
Rav Nahman bar Yitzhak said: Greater is a transgression committed for its own sake, than a mitzvah performed not for its own sake.
But didn’t Rav Yehudah say that Rav said: A person should always occupy himself with Torah and mitzvot even not for their own sake, as it is through acts performed not for their own sake that good deeds for their own sake come about?
Rather, a transgression for the sake of Heaven is equivalent to a mitzvah not for its own sake. The proof is as it is written: “Most blessed of women is Yael, wife of Hever the Kenite, by women in the tent she will be blessed” (Judg. 5:24), and it is taught: Who are these “women in the tent?” They are Sarah, Rebeccah, Rachel, and Leah. Yael’s forbidden intercourse with Sisera for the sake of Heaven is compared to the sexual intercourse in which the Matriarchs engaged (Nazir 23b).
The Talmudic term aveirah l-shmah is vague. The term l-shmah in Talmudic literature can mean a lot of things. It certainly connotes som
e sort of intention, but what type of intention is less clear. Dr. Yuval Blankovsky, an Israeli scholar, wrote his dissertation on this Talmudic concept. In his book Sin for the Sake of God: A Tale of a Radical Idea in the Talmudic Literature, which is based on his doctoral work, he presents several different connotations for the word l-shmah.165 It may mean doing a sin for the sake of God or perhaps for the sake of a fulfilling a future commandment. Blankovsky argues that its definition may in fact depend on how you understand this Talmudic concept.
Blankovsky explains there are three ways to understand the concept of an aveirah l-shmah.166 One approach understands the concept of aveirah l-shmah as a legal principle that arbitrates when it is permissible to perform an action that has components of sin and components of mitzvah. According to those who subscribe to this view, the term aveirah l-shmah is much like other Halakhic principles such as the laws permitting one to violate Halakhah in order to save a life. Most Halakhic authorities seem to accept this version of the term; it does not present aveirah l-shmah as a subversion of Jewish law—but as a principle working within the system of Jewish law.167
A second approach understands the concept of aveirah l-shmah as a referendum on the importance of intention relative to the importance of an action. Meaning aveirah l-shmah teaches that the most important component of our deeds is not the technical category of the action—either sin or commandment—but rather the intention while performing such an action. This approach certainly is also the most dangerous. As we will discuss shortly, if it is only proper intentions that distinguish the sinners from the righteous, one can easily devolve into antinomian behavior.
Sin-A-Gogue Page 8
