Av 2019: Should You Believe in a Third Destruction?

Should We Believe in a Third Destruction?
Rav Shagar and Rav Froman on the Surprising Nature of Faith

  1. Yirmiyahu 7:1-15

The word which came to Jeremiah from the Lord: Stand at the gate of the House of the Lord, and there proclaim this word: Hear the word of the Lord, all you of Judah who enter these gates to worship the Lord! Thus said the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel: Mend your ways and your actions, and I will let you dwell in this place. Don’t put your trust in illusions and say, “The Temple of the Lord, the Temple of the Lord, the Temple of the Lord are these buildings.”

[….]

As for Me, I have been watching—declares the Lord. Just go to My place at Shiloh, where I had established My name formerly, and see what I did to it because of the wickedness of My people Israel. And now, because you do all these things—declares the Lord—and though I spoke to you persistently, you would not listen; and though I called to you, you would not respond— therefore I will do to the House which bears My name, on which you rely, and to the place which I gave you and your fathers, just what I did to Shiloh. And I will cast you out of My presence as I cast out your brothers, the whole brood of Ephraim.

Rav Shagar

  1. Rav Shagar, Shiurim al Lekutei Moharan, vol. 1, 269-271

I was recently at a symposium on the relationship between certainty and faith. One of the speakers told of a certain forum where a person raised the possibility that there could be a third destruction, as opposed to Rav Herzog’s famous words, spoken in the earliest days of the state, about how we have God’s promise that there will not be a third destruction. In response, he was thrown out of the forum, because of the “heresy” involved in casting doubt on the continuing redemptive process of the modern state of Israel. The speaker told this story in praise of the certainty of faith, and looked positively on the total unreadiness to hear claims like his. He saw it as a revelation of true faith. I was shook. I saw this as making faith into an idol, expressing an arrogant religion that refuses to accept the other. It comes from the violence laid bare in religious discourse.

To my mind, rejecting the idea of a third destruction comes from patriotism in the negative sense, rather than from a position of deep faith. Absolute certainty is a handhold that lets the speaker feel confident about the righteousness of his path, but faith happens only in the moment when a person gives up on certainty and opens up to the possibilities that exceed the limits of his understanding. In this context, raising doubts is not only not opposed to faith, it itself is the thing that can lead us to real faith. Raising doubts is not an educational goal, and I do not mean that we must encourage doubts, mainly because some people remain in a chronic state of baselessness. The trap of ideological excess can lead to acting like an idolater, coating their opinions with words of faith.

It’s important to remember that an answer like “perhaps” is a real possibility in existence, which can be just as certain as certainty. The very existence of a positive option itself changes the feeling of your life. For example, things in my life don’t have to be good in a simplistic sense in order for me to have faith; it is enough that I have faith that things could be good, that the potential exists, in order to experience the presence of God. Faith is not necessarily certainty, and therefore it’s possible for a faithful answer to the question “Is there a creator of the world?” to be: Perhaps. From this perspective, the presence of faith in the world depends on people, on their readiness to accept the existence of God in the world despite the lack of uncertainty…

It is specifically doubt that can lead to faith, because language forces us to define every phenomenon, and thus instead of actually encountering the phenomenon we suffice with defining it externally. Doubt opens up a language anew, in order to prevent rigidity and to enable us to once again come into contact with reality. If we say, “Yes, God definitely exists,” this statement can lead us to block off the possibility of revelation. It is specifically the ability to answer “perhaps” in regard to religious life that creates a space where the sudden possibility of revelation could take place.

  1. Rav Shagar, “Education and Ideology,” Luhot U’Shivrei Luhot, 184-188

Religious Zionist education… is inherently ideological, meaning that it inexorably aims at a specific understanding of the world, one which often differs greatly from the lived reality of young Religious Zionist men and women…

What is ideology? One definition comes from the critical approach to ideology in the last fifty years. Generally speaking, an ideology is an all-encompassing vision, like the great “isms” of modernity. This vision makes extreme demands on society, while ignoring the needs and ambitions of the “the little guy.” … ideology creates a gap between a person’s consciousness and his real existence. This is true of his individual existence, according to the more general explanation, and of his socioeconomic existence, which Marxism sees as a person’s true existence. The problem with ideology is therefore not that it serves the political and economic needs of the powerful. The problem lies in the very need for ideology, in grasping for a single supreme value and a lone source of truth, which has nothing to do with the truth of a person’s real existence… Ideology is a dead idea, an idol, and is therefore inhuman.

A similar critique applies to ideological education. Ideological education does not just convey ideas and concepts. In addition to the explicit messages, education also implicitly tells the student that they must obey these messages. Not only should they not be questioned, but any questioning of them is itself forbidden. It is a transgression, bringing on sanctions and punishment (primarily in the social realm), as well as feelings of guilt. In this context, the problem with ideology is that it creates people driven by abstract ideas and by alienation from reality. Another problem develops when ideology comes with a denial of the alienation it represents. Such an ideology does not recognize any other legitimate procedure for determining the true and the good. This leads a person to feel guilty and to violently make himself “toe the line.”

As we noted, Religious Zionism arose in the golden age of ideology, and it is ideological by nature. It demands an all-encompassing vision, without consideration for the individual or reality. Moreover, young Religious Zionist men and women live in multiple worlds, leading to an increased ideological excess. These Religious Zionist men and women have more than one identity. As just one example of their multiple identities, many religious youths struggle with the question, “Are you Jewish or Israeli?” The gaping chasm between the lived experience of Religious Zionist youth and the Torah, taken to be a totalizing entity, is unavoidable. In order to be accepted in this world, the Torah distances itself from the complexity of reality and becomes ideology.

I must emphasize that, as opposed to thinkers who deny any and all value that might be attributed to ideology, I think that there is no human existence without some degree of ideology. A person needs to explain himself and his life, to try and organize them in a meaningful way, and this requires ideas and concepts. In practice, the idea will never perfectly match lived existence, but it only becomes problematic when the difference becomes too great. At that point, the ideology ceases to be an interpretation of reality and becomes a false consciousness, as the Marxists claimed. I suspect that we often live in exactly this state. We rightly take pride in our idealistic youth, who are a refreshing holdout against the boring Israeli landscape. However, is idealism always a good thing? Does it not bear a heavy price? Is it not itself harmful? One of my friends described the harm like so: Religious Zionism combines an ideology about the land of Israel (as opposed to love of your homeland or faith) with its nature as a community of baalei teshuvah. It adds to this emphasized military service, making for a very dangerous combination.

  1. Rav Shagar, Shiurim al Lekutei Moharan, vol. 1, 159-160

Faith is an affirmation, a saying “yes” to reality as it is, with trust in it as it exists. I am not always able to give an accounting of how it will look, but the main point is not an accounting from a perspective external to life, but the fundamental approach, the readiness to say “Here I am” to what happens. Faith does not grant certainty that you will have money, rather it is faith in some personal, infinite good that constantly exists and is always present, and therefore the worry dissolves and gives its space to the possibility of living life itself. The very faith in life makes the way things are into good, into something independent of external circumstances, be they good or bad. Faith can be neither proven nor disproven; the value it contains is that it directs man to live his life. When a person has faith he is able to pay attention to his personal desires rather than constantly comparing himself to others and worrying about the future. In this sense, faith enables a state of renewal, as Rebbe Nahman writes in this teaching, “And then the soul shines in excess.”

  1. Rav Shagar, “My Faith,” Faith Shattered and Restored, 22-24

In effect, according to Rabbi Nahman, not only is faith not a public language, it is not a language at all. That is why it is so difficult to fully depict one’s faith. Something will always remain unspoken, a mystery and intimacy that cannot and should not be revealed, for baring it would violate the intimacy of faith. This is not to gloss over the communal aspect of faith, which is by nature a public language as well; however, the collectivity of faith is the second stage, not the first. […] Hence, what I am trying to describe here is not a philosophy or outlook regarding faith. Philosophies and outlooks are, in this context, nothing but rationalizations – apologetics, even – whose sole role is to justify what has already been arrived at, and which must thus be regarded with a certain wariness. They are not the substance of faith but explanations for it; thus, they are ancillary to it and always involve a degree of duality. To paraphrase the opponents of Maimonides and his school, who stated that a God whose existence must be proven is no God at all, I offer the absurd assertion that a believer who requires an intellectual proof for his faith is no believer at all.

There is no proof of faith, and no certainty of faith to be gained with a proof. In any event, proofs do not impact our existence like a gun pointed at one’s temple; they do not touch upon the believer’s inner life. That is why, when it comes to faith, I prefer to use terms such as “occurrence” and “experience.” God’s presence in my prayers is as tangible to me as the presence of a human interlocutor. That is not a proof but rather an immediate experience. Similarly, I do not assert that the sight of someone standing in front of me is proof of the person’s existence. That would be foolish: After all, I see you. But try as I might, I cannot refrain entirely from rationalization and apologetics. In fact, as soon as I put things into words, I am ensnared by the same fallacy. The price of language is duality, and, in the context of faith, unreality. Even what I am about to present here constitutes speech about faith; hence, it is a pale simulacrum. Faith does not reside in words, and certainly not in any exposition or essay. The language of faith is the first-person address of prayer. It is not speech about something, but rather activity and occurrence. That is why there will always be a gap between the words and what they aim to represent.

This is not to minimize rationalizations; to my mind, rationalism is a sacred task, without which “men would swallow each other alive.” Barring a shared rational platform, society cannot exist, because rationalism, despite being “speech about,” is a prerequisite of communication and understanding among people. Let us imagine a world where every individual “shall live by his faith” (Hab. 2:4), conducting himself solely according to his own inner convictions. Such a world would quickly degenerate into one where man would kill by his faith. Yet when we discuss faith in the personal context – the existential, not the social – rationalization is the source of the gap I am trying to bridge. Having clarified that, I will attempt to describe the difficulties faced by believers in the modern world, and how they can cope.

Rav Froman

  1. Rav Menachem Froman, Hasidim Tsohakim MiZeh §84

I was the last rabbi of the town of Talmei Yosef in Yamit before the withdrawal. On Friday, the army set up a siege, and on Shabbat I spoke in the synagogue. I said, based on something my wife had said, that even though in just a few days they would carry us out of here, our struggle still has great value. We are protesting against injustice. I thought it was a nice speech. After the end of the prayers, when we went home, people approached me and very respectfully said to me, “What was the rabbi talking about? Why would he depress us like that?” I had thought my words would encourage people… In the town of Atsmonah, they planted trees during the withdrawal. I could have planted trees as a form of protest, but they planted the trees because even in the midst of the evacuation they believed it would not happen.

The same thing happened before the withdrawal from Gush Katif. I was in the town of Bedolaḥ the night before they came to empty it. I spoke there and I said that even if the town was evacuated, our struggle had not been in vain. One of the residents burst out at me and said, “You came here from Tekoa just to tell us that they’re going to evacuate us?”

Perhaps if I had been at the level of faith of that Jew from Bedolaḥ, a miracle would have occurred, and the evacuation would not have taken place. On the other hand, this could be the very peak of heresy, because ignoring reality means ignoring the word of God. […] Faith can be freedom from subjugation to facts, without being blind to reality, and the voice of God contained therein. This distinction is as slim as a strand of hair.

  1. Rav Menachem Froman, Hasidim Tsohakim MiZeh §131

Rav Shagar used to critique the religious community, saying that their faith was not realistic, it was illusory. In my eyes, the problem with religious people’s faith is that instead of faith in God it has become faith in ourselves, in the rightness of our path, our worldview, in who we are. It therefore closes our hearts off to the divine.

  1. Rav Menachem Froman, Hasidim Tsohakim MiZeh §82

What is faith? Non-believers believe in a longstanding and orderly universe. Reason is all about discovering this universe’s underlying laws and logic, which together allow one to predict future results. But believers, as you know, don’t have reason… The life of faith is a life of dynamic innovation, where you can’t know what will be… It means casting reason aside, living in a world connected directly to God.

  1. Rav Menachem Froman, “This Too Is a Religious Position,” Ten Li Zeman, 217

The spiritual posture which the Gemara recommends in the face of historical upheavals is humility: there’s no way of knowing in advance where things will lead. Everything is apparently possible… According to this, we could explain the conclusion of the story, “Rabbi Zechariah’s humility destroyed our home…,” as ironi. Certainly the gemara wants us to be humble, but this humility isn’t a “mitsvah” that decides the fate of the entire world (Bavli, Kiddushin 40b). Even the greatest virtue (as the Rabbis say, “humility is greater than all other virtues”) cannot guarantee the future. History is the domain of the unforeseen, and case-in-point: It was the very righteousness of the spiritual leader of the generation that led to the destruction.

For someone uncomfortable with attributing an approach like this to the rabbis, I would emphasize that the gemara certainly connected this sort of posture toward history with a spiritual posture of fear of heaven: “Happy is the man who is fearful always.” Someone who stands astonished before the ups and downs of history, with neither certainty nor confidence (bitahon), maybe be expressing a more religious astonishment than someone who has an absolute criterion (ethical, religious, etc.) for evaluating the way history operates. The peak of knowledge is knowing that we do not know–this is perhaps the most central idea in medieval religious thought, and perhaps this peak is all a believer can enact when faced with the facts of life and their unforeseen consequences.

 

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The Commandments and their Reasons as Hardware and Software: Toward a Materialist Understanding of Mitsvot

In this post I want to continue exploring new metaphors for talking about aspects of Judaism (an exploration I started here). Specifically, I want to look at what it might mean if we think of the commandments and their reasons (traditionally referred to as “ta’amei hamitsvot”) as analogous to hardware and software, respectively. This analogy will enable us to draw out and discuss various aspects of the commandments and their reasons, and the relationship between the two.

To clarify a little what I mean by the terms “hardware” and “software,” hardware is the physical devices we interact with in order to access software, while software, the thing we actually want to access, can only be accessed via hardware. I use my computer to access Microsoft Word; using Word is a goal that is only accessible via my computer. Similarly, once we say that the commandments have reasons (not uncontroversial in the history of Jewish thought), it makes sense to articulate reasons that can only be achieved via the commandments. If giving charity makes you a more generous person, “becoming a more generous person” is something that is only accessible via the generous act of giving charity. I therefore use charity to access “becoming a more generous person.”

However, while giving charity is one way of becoming a more generous person, it is certainly not the only way; similarly, my computer is not the only device with which I can access Word. We might therefore ask why we should use these specific pieces of hardware rather than any other. On one level, it’s worth noting that the question is not so fair. Sure you could use any device, but you have to use one, no matter which one it is. So you might justify the one that you use based on simply having to pick one, rather than any specific traits about it. Charity is as good a way as any to become a more generous person.

You also might justify your choice of hardware based on the fact that it is the one you have. Maybe you got it as a present, maybe it’s the one that all of your friends had, maybe you just found it lying on the curb and took it home; however it came to you, now you have it and it is yours. Barring significant issues with the device that interfere with its functioning, this alone is enough to justify using it, as opposed to switching to some other device. I have my phone, I like it, I identify with it, it’s mine. Sure the screen is cracked and the battery-life is stress-inducing, but I identify with its flaws as much as its functions. Moreover, having to pick out and purchase a new phone would be a difficult process.

This leads us toward Maimonides’s historicist conception of the commandments, and their relationship with the idolatrous rituals of ancient Israel’s neighbors. Maimonides argues that human nature cannot change rapidly, that it must be shifted gradually, and that God therefore gave the Israelites commandments that were the same or incredibly similar to the idolatrous forms of worship they were already familiar with. If the ancient Israelites wanted to “access” worship, they would inevitably turn to the “device” animal sacrifice, simply because it’s the one with which they were most familiar and comfortable, and so God accommodated this fact of human nature (Guide for the Perplexed, 3:32). This, Maimonides argued, despite the fact that animal sacrifice has noticeable drawbacks, and prayer or silent meditation would work much better. Sacrifice worked, however, and it was the hardware they already had.

If Maimonides conception assumes the difficulty of changing “hardware,” it assumes  some more ease in changing software. Animal sacrifice used to run “worship pagan pantheon X” and was now being used to run “worship YHWH, the one god.” This holds true to our analogy to software, which was always replaced more easily than hardware, particularly now that even major upgrades and shifts in operating systems can be achieved via the internet.

This brings us to an important point: software is not self-justifying. I use my phone to access WhatsApp, but I don’t use WhatsApp just for the sake of using WhatsApp, I use it for communicating with other people. If a certain piece of software isn’t getting the job done, I am likely to replace it. Moreover, because software is replaced so easily, it is not as easy to hold onto it simply“because it’s mine,” as in the case of hardware.

The analogy to reasons for commandments here is a bit tricky, but I think also important. Commandments are, as I have said, intended for the sake of the reasons for the commandments. But are those reasons for anything outside themselves? I think they are. I think we should understand reasons for the individual commandments as pivoting around larger ideals, such as holiness, morality, covenant, etc. The reasons for individual commandments serve to give us “access” to the larger ideals, much the same way as the commandments themselves give us “access” to the reasons for the commandments.

This is important for the way it enables us to view the historic assertions of reasons for the commandments, some of which we have moved well away from today (for a good example of this regarding the laws of Niddah, see Jonah Steinberg’s “From a Pot of Filth to a Hedge of Roses”). If there is one reason to which a given commandment is meant to provide access, then debates and differences of opinion in regard to the reason for that commandment require deciding who is right and who is wrong. However, if we conceptualize the reasons for the commandments as tools for accessing the larger ideals, then different reasons can coexist without one needing to be “the right one.” Moreover, in changing historical circumstances, with the people already used to certain actions and thought processes, different reasons might be just what is necessary to access the same larger ideal. Whether the details of commandments are based on the ritual worship of the Israelites’ neighbors (Maimonides) or on strict symbolism (Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch), both reasons are part of shaping the life of the nation in relation to God (cf. Rav Abraham Isaac Hakohen Kook, Shemoneh Kevatsim, 2:54-57). Because the reasons are not ends in and of themselves, they can be replaced when they are not serving their function and we can change between them as necessary. Moreover, different people use their phones and computers for different things, and different people can perform the commandments for different reasons. People even generally use their hardware to access a variety of softwares, and there’s no reason that the commandments and their reasons could not work similarly.

By way of conclusion, I would like to take note of how this analogy structures the relationship between the commandments and their reasons. In a sense, it makes the reasons more primary. The commandments exist and are performed for the sake of the reasons. However, the reasons themselves serve larger ideals and are easily replaceable. The commandments themselves, on the other hand, have a significant presence in the life and laws of the people, and thus are not easily replaceable. This very real presence, and the difficulty it would create in trying to change the commandments, make the commandments more primary. Barring gradual change, the physical commandments are sticking around, while their reasons may shift. This emphasis on the primacy of the physical actions that make up the commandments in the historical life of the nation leads me to call this a materialist understanding of mitsvot. This approach also puts an emphasis on the shifting historical situation of the nation and the way it shapes the reasons for the commandments. The Jewish people have carried these actions with us through various contexts over the millennia, and we have been different in these various contexts. The commandments therefore have served, and continue to serve, different reasons at different times and for different people, just as different people use their hardware for different softwares.

 

Rabbi Yehoshua, the Bat Kol, and Legal-Religious Epistemology

There are two passages from the Talmud Bavli that, perhaps more than any other, are taken to be fundamental to our understanding of the legal process of Halakhah. The first is the story known as Tanur Shel Akhnai, found in Baba Metsia.

It has been taught: On that day R. Eliezer brought forward every imaginable argument , but they did not accept them. Said he to them: If the halakhah agrees with me, let this carob-tree prove it!Thereupon the carob-tree was torn a hundred cubits out of its place others affirm, four hundred cubits. No proof can be brought from a carob-tree,they retorted. Again he said to them: If the halakhah agrees with me, let the stream of water prove it!Whereupon the stream of water flowed backwards — ‘No proof can be brought from a stream of water,they rejoined. Again he urged: If the halakhah agrees with me, let the walls of the schoolhouse prove it,whereupon the walls inclined to fall. But R. Joshua rebuked them, saying: When scholars are engaged in a halakhic dispute, what have ye to interfere? Hence they did not fall, in honor of R. Joshua, nor did they resume the upright, in honor of R. Eliezer; and they are still standing thus inclined. Again he said to them: If the halakhah agrees with me, let it be proved from Heaven!Whereupon a Heavenly Voice cried out: Why do ye dispute with R. Eliezer, seeing that in all matters the halakhah agrees with him!But R. Joshua arose and exclaimed: It is not in heaven.What did he mean by this? Said R. Jeremiah: That the Torah had already been given at Mount Sinai; we pay no attention to a Heavenly Voice, because Thou hast long since written in the Torah at Mount Sinai, After the majority must one incline.[1]

This passage depicts a debate between R. Eliezer and the rest of the sages, wherein R. Eliezer calls on increasingly impressive miracles as verification for his argument, culminating in a heavenly voice that proclaims explicitly that R. Eliezer is correct. To this R. Yehoshua responds that the Torah itself says we do not care what revelation has to say about halakhah, and instead we follow the Torahs own law that the majority vote is decisive. Halakhah was given to the Israelites to decide; It is in human, not Divine, hands.

The second gemara is revolves around yet another heavenly voice, this one in regard to a dispute between Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai, recorded in Masekhet Eruvin.

Abba stated in the name of Samuel: For three years there was a dispute between Beth Shammai and Beth Hillel, the former asserting, The halakhah is in agreement with our viewsand the latter contending, The halakhah is in agreement with our views. Then a Heavenly Voice issued announcing, [The opinions of] both these and these are the words of the living God, but the halakhah is in agreement with the rulings of Beth Hillel. Since, however, both are the words of the living Godwhat was it that entitled Beth Hillel to have the halakhah fixed in agreement with their rulings? Because they were kindly and modest, they studied their own rulings and those of Beth Shammai, and were even so [humble] as to mention the actions of Beth Shammai before theirs.[2]

This passage depicts a debate that seems to have been unresolvable. It dragged on for three years, until such time as a heavenly voice came forth to decide it, with a surprising and radical conclusion. Instead of declaring which opinion is correct, the heavenly voice declares that both opinions are correct, and it is only because practice cannot simultaneously uphold both opinions that the voice must declare which one is right.But it is technical right,a practical necessity rather than an ontological fact. The halakhic system is such that there are issues regarding which reasonable people might disagree, in which case both of them are essentially correct, even if the demands of practical law are not so forgiving.

While these two passages are often touted for giving basic principles of the Oral Law and the Jewish Tradition, there is an essential contradiction between them that is often overlooked. The essential point of the first passage is that we do not listen to revelation when it comes to deciding halakhah, with the particular form of revelation under discussion being a heavenly voice. Yet the second passage hinges on the information learned from a heavenly voice. These two passages cannot coexist. Of course, numerous commentators have gone to lengths to show how they can and in fact do coexist, usually by putting conditions on R. Yehoshuas blanket statement that we do not listen to revelation.

The Talmud Bavli itself, however, maintains that these two passages are indeed contradictory, and that one should not attempt to resolve them by limiting one of them.

For it has been taught: The halakhah is always in accordance with the ruling of Beth Hillel. Nevertheless one who desires to adopt the view of Beth Shammai may do so, and one who desires to adopt the view of Beth Hillel may do so. One who adopts the view of Beth Shammai only when they incline to leniency, and likewise the view of Beth Hillel only when they incline to leniency, is a wicked person. One who adopts the view of Beth Shammai only when they incline to strictness and likewise the view of Beth Hillel only when they incline to strictness, [is a fool and] to such a one applies the verse: But the fool walks in darkness. But one must either adopt the view of Beth Shammai in all cases, whether they incline to leniency or strictness, or the view of Beth Hillel in all cases, whether they incline to leniency or strictness. Now is not this statement self-contradictory? At first it says: The halakhah is always in accordance with the ruling of Beth Hillel, and immediately after it says: Nevertheless one who desires to adopt the view of Beth Shammai may do so? This is no difficulty. The latter statement relates to the practice before the Heavenly Voice was heard, whilst the former states the law as it is after the Heavenly Voice was heard. Or, you may even say that the latter statement too was made after the Heavenly Voice was heard. [and yet there is no contradiction], for that statement is the view of R. Joshua who exclaimed: We pay no attention to a Heavenly Voice![3]

This third passage says that the ruling of the heavenly voice, that the halakhah is like Bet Hillel, was considered legally binding, except by R. Yehoshua who did not accept revelation as legally binding.

This passage leaves one thing unclear, however. While R. Yehoshua is explicitly said to be rejecting the decision that the practical law is always like Bet Hillel, it is unclear to how he treats the first half of the heavenly voices declaration. Does R. Yehoshua agree that both these and these are the words of the living God? There are arguments in either direction. On the one hand, this information is received via revelation, something R. Yehoshua apparently rejects. On the other hand, the information is not halakhically decisive, and it is possible R. Yehoshua only denies revelation a decisive legal capacity, rather than the ability to convey information about halakhah more generally, in which case he would only reject the second half of the heavenly voices statement, but not the first.

While its impossible to know for certain, it may be fruitful to speculate a little. If we go back to the original statement of the heavenly voice in the second passage we looked at, the two halves of the proclamation are connected. The first half tells us that more than one halakhic opinions can be essentially correct. While this clarifies why the debate under discussion in that passage had raged on for three years, it presents an immediate practical problem. Once you know for certain that two contradictory opinions are correct, how do you decide the practical law? No matter which one you choose you will know that you are violating a different, but also correct, opinion. Therefore the proclamation has a second half, where it gives a decisive ruling as to what should be done practically. No matter what is essentially correct, there is a different practical measure of correctness, and what is most correct in that sense is the opinion of Bet Hillel.

As connected as the two halves of the heavenly voices proclamation are, it is entirely possible that R. Yehoshua not only rejects both the second and first halves of the proclamation, but rejects the second half because he rejects the first half. The heavenly voice appears in the middle of a debate which apparently could not be resolved through the normal methods of halakhic jurisprudence. Given a Divine source of information, it is easy to determine who is ultimately correct and to then establish practice accordingly (notwithstanding a surprising turn of events wherein both opinions are deemed to be essentially correct). R. Yehoshua does not have this option. Instead, he sees that there are times when the halakhic discussion will have no single, obviously correct, answer. In such cases the answer is not to declare all answers equally correct or incorrect, but to simply allow every capable person to attempt to determine what seems to them to be correct in that situation. While R. Yehoshuas entirely human conception of the halakhic system leads him to reject R. Eliezers opinion by Tanur Shel Akhnai, it leads to certain cases where the only option is not to be so decisive. Thus R. Yehoshua’s different conception of viable sources of halakhic information also leads, in some cases, not only to different halakhic conclusion, but to different types of conclusion, to conclusions that are very human attempts at arriving at halakhic correctness, as opposed to divine concessions to practicality.

[1] TB Baba Metsia 59b. Translations from halakhah.com, with some adaptation for ease of reading and clarity.

[2] TB Eruvin 13b.

[3] TB Hulin 43b-44a.