YESHIVAT HAR ETZION
ISRAEL KOSCHITZKY VIRTUAL BEIT MIDRASH (VBM)
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PHILOSOPHY OF HALAKHA
By Rav Chaim Navon

Lecture #1b: The Role of Halakha in Religious Life

In last week's lecture, we began to answer the critics of Halakha by exploring one reason for its centrality in Judaism, namely, the importance of "fear of God" and not just "love of God."  This week, we shall examine an additional reason for the practical and concrete approach of Jewish Law.

C. HALAKHA PRESERVES PROPER CONDUCT

	The value of Halakha does not stem only from the ideological priority assigned to the approach of "fear of God." Halakha is important because it alone can set the worship of God on firm foundations. 

Feelings by themselves are incapable of molding a personality that will remain constant in its devotion to the service of God for an extended period of time. Love of God, the desire to draw near to Him, the yearning to absorb the warmth of His light – all these are conditioned upon a mental state and dependent upon time, atmosphere, and individual personality. Today, my entire body trembles as I stand in prayer before the Holy One, blessed be He – but tomorrow I yawn, look at my watch, and begin to remove my tefillin while reciting "Aleinu." The longing for God, which moves the God-loving person and stirs his soul, is certainly very impressive and has great intensity. Unfortunately, however, it is all too often fleeting, leaving no mark.

	That which spontaneous feeling and excitement are incapable of doing, fixed law can accomplish. Only fixed laws, packed with details, solid and binding, can dictate the desired path of conduct for an extended period of time. Fixed commands, which shape man's agenda, effect his personality and improve it. Many people ask why Halakha obligates a person to pray: would it not have been preferable to leave an area that is so emotional and internal within the bounds of the voluntary? To them we say that even today one is permitted to offer a voluntary prayer; yet how often does it happen that a person bursts out in spontaneous prayer from the depths of his heart? Were prayer conditioned on the good will of man, we would all pray far, far less.

	We are not dealing here with the fact that Halakha embodies one particular approach to the worship of God, but rather with Halakha's capacity to serve as an educational tool for every approach to Divine service. Even excited emotions and perfected character traits can be implanted in man's personality only through the force of Halakha.

	One who reflects upon Jewish history will be hard pressed to find an instance where spontaneous feeling was capable of establishing a stable and firmly based relationship between the Creator of the Universe and His children. The amazing experience of the Revelation at Mount Sinai did not prevent the people of Israel from committing the terrible sin of the Golden Calf immediately thereafter. When the Holy One, blessed be He, tells Moshe about the sin of the Calf, He angrily says to him: "They have turned aside quickly out of the way which I commanded them; they have made them a molten calf" (Shemot 32:8). In this context, the expression, "they have turned aside quickly," is rather restrained, a blatant understatement. "With lightning speed" would have been more precise. Less than a month and a half after the Revelation at Sinai, the people of Israel already violated the prohibition of "You shall not make for yourself any carved idol, or any likeness." 

Let us not underestimate the significance of the sin; we are certainly dealing with a sin of awesome gravity, one which God saw as sufficient cause for the annihilation of the entire people. And this sin was committed while the people of Israel were still camping at the foot of the mountain upon which, only a few weeks earlier, God had revealed Himself to them in fire and in a cloud, amidst thunder and lightning. The people's enthusiasm dampened, and their commitment to the worship of God disappeared along with it.

	Generations later, the prophet Eliyahu orchestrated a magnificent display of the sanctification of God's name on Mount Carmel. The scene ended when the entire people, witnessing in astonishment fire coming down from heaven, cried out their allegiance to God in pure and absolute faith.

"And it came to pass, at the time of the offering of the evening sacrifice, that Eliyahu the prophet came near, and said: 'Lord God of Avraham, Yitzchak, and of Yisrael, let it be known this day that You are God in Israel, and that I am Your servant, and that I have done all these thing at Your word. Hear me, O Lord, hear me, that this people may know that You are the Lord God, and that You have turned their heart back again.'
Then the fire of the Lord fell, and consumed the burnt sacrifice, and the wood pile, and the stones, and the dust, and licked up the water that was in the trench. And when all the people saw it, they fell on their faces and they said, 'The Lord, He is the God; the Lord, He is the God.'" (I Melakhim 18:36-39)

	One would have thought that all those who had been present on that occasion must immediately have turned into sworn believers, hurrying back home to check their mezuzot, kasher their dishes, and buy woolen tzitit satisfying the requirements of the Chazon Ish.  Scripture, however, tells us what actually transpired:

"Achav told Izevel all that Eliyahu had done, and how he had slain all the prophets with the sword. Then Izevel sent a messenger to Eliyahu, saying, 'So let the gods do to me, and more also, if I make not your life as the life of one of them by tomorrow about this time.' 
When he saw that, he arose, and fled for his life, and came to Be'er Sheva, which belongs to Yehuda, and left his servant there. But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a broom tree; and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, 'It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers.'" (I Melakhim 19:1-4)

Eliyahu realized that he had failed to educate his people. Everyone had returned to his own vineyard and field, everything went back to the way it was, with nothing remaining from that amazing scene, except (perhaps) an exciting memory, that those who had been present would one day share with their astonished grandchildren. Idolatry was not eradicated from the land, the priests of Ba'al who had been put to death were replaced by others, and Eliyahu himself was still in hiding, fearing Izevel's revenge.

	What was Eliyahu's mistake? Why did that amazing display on Mount Carmel fail to restore the people's hearts to their God? The Holy One, blessed be He, revealed Himself to Eliyahu, and explained to him where he went wrong:

"He came there to a cave, and lodged there; and, behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and He said to him, 'What are you doing here, Eliyahu?'
He answered, 'I have been very zealous for the Lord God of hosts: for the children of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, thrown down Your altars, and slain Your prophets with the sword; and I alone am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.' 
He said, 'Go out, and stand upon the mountain before the Lord.' And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire, a still, small voice." (I Melakhim 19:9-12)

"The Lord was not in the earthquake" (v. 11). A one-time excitement, strong and exhilarating as it may be, cannot establish a true commitment to the word of God. This can be effected only through "a still small voice" (v. 12): through quiet and constant effort, far away from the cameras and the microphones, an endeavor that lacks thrilling drama, but is filled with true, unconditional commitment. 

Stable and firmly established worship of God does not follow from an experience that today penetrates the personality and shakes it up, but tomorrow disappears. The First Temple period was replete with prophets and miracle workers; overt miracles took place at every step. Reading the books of the Early Prophets, one may think that someone who walked the streets of Jerusalem during that period would have had to take constant precautions against stones falling from heaven, against sudden rain in the middle of August, against flocks of winged serpents, and other supernatural wonders. Not to mention the Temple itself: it is difficult to imagine the feelings of those assembled in the Temple courtyard, when the crimson-colored string would suddenly turn white on the very day of Yom Kippur. All this notwithstanding, idolatry remained deeply rooted among the members of God's people, and none of the stirring miracles and wonders succeeded in eliminating it.

During the Second Temple period, on the other hand, prophecy ceased and miracles were lacking. At the same time, however, the world of theoretical and practical Halakha greatly developed. It is precisely that period that was generally characterized by great devotion to God and His commandments, by devotion to God that sometimes even expressed itself literally through martyrdom. The heretical questioning of the authenticity of the Oral Law on the part of the Sadducees during the second Temple period cannot be compared to the worship of Ba'al and Ashera, which was so frequent during the days of the First Temple. The famous eighteenth-century English historian, Edward Gibbon, already noted this difference:

"But the devout and even scrupulous attachment to the Mosaic religion, so conspicuous among the Jews who lived under the Second Temple, becomes still more surprising, if it is compared with the stubborn incredulity of their forefathers. When the law was given in thunder from Mount Sinai, when the tides of the ocean and the course of the planets were suspended for the convenience of the Israelites, and when temporal rewards and punishments were the immediate consequences of their piety or disobedience, they perpetually relapsed into rebellion against the visible majesty of their Divine King, placed the idols of the nations in the sanctuary of God, and imitated every fantastic ceremony that was practiced in the tents of the Arabs, or in the cities of Phoenicia. As the protection of Heaven was deservedly withdrawn from the ungrateful race, their faith acquired a proportionable degree of vigor and purity." (The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, vol. 1)

This devoutly religious Christian historian finds this strange phenomenon astonishing. He does not consider the possibility that it was Halakha that brought about this peculiar transformation in the character of the Jewish people. Here, too, we see that the practical mitzvot lead to Divine worship that is far more stable and rooted than that which follows in the wake of momentary emotional elation.

During the early years of the State of Israel, Yom Ha-atzma'ut was marked by spontaneous celebrations that erupted on every corner. We have all seen the faded black and white photographs and the old film reels recording the exuberant dancing in the streets of young Tel-Aviv. But that joy was never fixed in a binding format. And so, in just a few short years – a much shorter period of time than has passed, for example, since the miracle of Chanuka – the spontaneous celebrations have been transformed into staged demonstrations of joy. Even the singers specially flown in from overseas, and even the clamorous sound equipment that they bring with them, are often unable to instill the bored audience with a holiday spirit.

	Here is the answer to all those who have such difficulty understanding the necessity for all the precise details of the commandments which so characterize the Jewish holidays. Only a detailed system of unequivocal commandments can implant the desired consciousness in one who performs the mitzvot. The choice lies between "the laws of the Seder" – including the regulations concerning sizes and times (e.g. ke-zayit and bikhdei akhilat peras) – and the loud performances, the crowds, and the artificial rejoicing of Yom Ha-atzama'ut. There is no middle road.

	The Shulchan Arukh, the most widely accepted and influential code of law in the Jewish world, opens with a moving demand:

"One should strengthen himself like a lion to get up in the morning for the service of his Creator. He should rise early enough to usher in the dawn." (OC 1:1)

Rema, however, immediately adds:

"One should at any rate not get up too late to pray the morning prayer service at the time that the community prays it." (Ibid.)

	Rema brings down the excitement and intensity of the preceding sentences to the plane of reality. Not every person wakes up in the morning filled with enthusiasm and vigor; one can say with reasonable certainty that most people get up in the morning more like a cat than like a lion. It is, therefore, fitting to establish clear and unequivocal guidelines that do not depend upon the good will and enthusiasm of the individual. Rema's dry and prosaic attitude is a bit disappointing after the poetic tempest of the Shulchan Arukh, but his words seem to be more meaningful to most people who get up in the morning to pray. 

This is the way of Halakha, the Divine command: meticulous concern with well-defined and finely-detailed laws, with all their branches and particulars, and unconcealed skepticism about religious feeling that is not firmly fixed in absolute definitions and measurements. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik once said that if Halakha would have a mitzva to prepare a holiday-tree, many chapters in the Shulchan Arukh would be devoted to a clarification of its precise form, the number of branches, who is bound by the obligation and who is exempt, where the presents may be hung, if at all, and other precisely formulated particulars. Halakha does not rely on the good will and emotional identification of man. Thousands of years of history have proven over and over again that Halakha's skepticism is justified.

	In conclusion, it seems fitting to cite the irreligious poet, Chayyim Nachman Bialik, regarding the relationship between Halakha and Aggada, between stable commitment and the stormy emotion of love:

"A kind of voluntary Judaism is being created. People call out in the name of nationalism, rebirth, literature, art, Hebrew education, Hebrew thought, Hebrew labor. All these things hang by the hair of some love: love of the land, love of the language, love of literature. What is the price of airy love?
Love [chibba]? – But where is the obligation [chova]? Where does it come from? Upon what does it draw? From the Aggada? By its very nature, Aggada relates to the optional; it is weak in saying 'yes' or 'no'…
Aspiration of the heart, good will, excitement of the spirit, internal love – all these are good and beneficial when they lead to action, action that is hard as iron, cruel obligation …
Come give us mitzvot!" ("Halakha Ve-aggada")

(Translated by Rav David Strauss)