Are Law and Ethics the Same? And more Bava Basra 139-142

139

Till Debt do Us Part

Our Gemara on amud beis discusses a case of a woman who entered marriage with a prior debt.

This Gemara brings to mind a modern phenomenon that can trouble some couples today: one spouse may be shocked to discover, post-marriage, that the other has accrued significant credit card debt. According to one study (Center for Marriage and Family, 2000; Schramm & Lee, 2003), debt brought into marriage is the number one conflict issue for newlyweds.

Certain kinds of debt are considered acceptable, while others are less so. Our modern economy is built on some form of debt—it is difficult to buy a home or pursue a graduate-level education without borrowing money. However, when someone enters marriage with an unusually large amount of consumer debt and fails to disclose it—especially credit card debt, as opposed to student loans—it can feel like a betrayal.

To make matters worse, the spouse with high debt often has a different relationship with money than their partner. Some people lack experience managing impulse spending, and up to the moment of marriage, may have simply used a parent’s credit card without considering the debt’s implications. Such a person might not even realize they are hiding anything serious, as they may have always assumed their parents would continue covering the bill. Alternatively, they may have an unrealistic expectation that marriage itself somehow “provides” financially, transferring a sense of security from home life into their new marriage. Needless to say, if the other spouse is more conscientious about money, the differing attitudes toward debt and the nondisclosure of it can cause considerable friction. This would be challenging even if both spouses had a relatively balanced approach to money. But if one spouse is overly cautious and the other is impulsive, the discord can be even more extreme.

When considering a marriage partner, it is important to discuss attitudes and values regarding money as one would with religion, parenting, or plans for where to live. Without self-reflection, certain attitudes about money may be invisible—just as with beliefs about religion or child-rearing. A person raised in a certain environment might assume everyone shares their views. For instance, some believe that as long as money is spent carefully, there is no need to worry about finances, trusting that Hashem will provide. Such a person thinks, “I will trust that God will provide.” Another individual might find this attitude irresponsible, believing, “Having faith is essential, but normal hishtadlus (effort that one is morally responsible to make) includes ensuring that you have the funds before spending. One should trust that God will provide, but ideally, He provides in a way that avoids debt.”

Both beliefs have validity and may work in certain families and circumstances, but when these beliefs clash, they can strain a marriage. One spouse may genuinely believe they are responsible as long as they avoid extravagant spending, while the other believes that responsibility means living strictly within one’s means. Similar to views on gender roles or sharing emotions, these attitudes are often absorbed subliminally within family life, leading to assumptions about their universality. This is why it’s crucial for couples to openly discuss beliefs and attitudes about money, as well as disclose debts, strengths, weaknesses, and both flexible and non-negotiable values. Having different beliefs from one’s spouse does not necessarily mean incompatibility. Rather, it is the inability to respectfully share, learn, and negotiate that can magnify differences and lead to discord.

140

Are Law and Ethics the Same?

Our Gemara on amud aleph continues discussing special enactments and protections that the rabbis put in place to ensure that, although daughters do not inherit alongside their brothers, stipends and allowances are set aside from the estate to provide for them and assist with marriage expenses. The Mishna on the previous amud states:

In the case of one who died and left behind both sons and daughters, when the estate is large, the sons inherit it, and the daughters are provided for from it, according to the stipulations of the deceased’s marriage contract with their mother. In the case of a small estate, which is insufficient to provide for both sons and daughters, the daughters are provided for. And if the sons—who, in this case, receive neither inheritance nor sustenance—have no other means of support, they may request charity at the doors. Admon says rhetorically: “Do I lose out just because I am male?” He holds that the sons should also receive sustenance.

Our Gemara questions the logic behind Admon’s objection.

Admon says rhetorically: “Do I lose out just because I am male?” The Gemara asks: What is he saying? Abaye explains that Admon’s concern is: “Because I am male and fit to engage in the study of Torah, I lose out and must beg instead of studying?” Rava challenges this interpretation, asking if this means that only those who study Torah should inherit, while those who do not study would forfeit inheritance. Instead, Rava offers that Admon’s concern is: “Because I am male and therefore fit to inherit in the case of a large estate, should I lose my inheritance entirely in a small estate?”

Tosafos (s.v. Ela Me-Atah) raises a question about Rava’s objection to Abaye’s idea, as there is a teaching later on (141a) that implies male children’s obligation to study Torah and to be financially supported is a factor in prioritizing support for sons over daughters. The Gemara later states:

“It is a mitzvah to provide sustenance for daughters. And one can infer kal v’chomer (all the more so) that it is a mitzvah to provide for sons, who are engaged in Torah study.”

Tosafos answers by distinguishing between a mitzvah and a legal requirement. While Rava argues that Torah study alone does not decisively affect inheritance law (otherwise, the law would prioritize sons who study Torah over those who do not), the Sages still recognize that supporting Torah study is important. Thus, in a general case, inheritance should follow financial norms. However, in a particular situation where someone must choose whom to support, priority may go to the one who studies Torah.

This highlights a distinction between what Torah law considers ethical and what is strictly a legal obligation. Some argue that there is no ethics separate from Torah, meaning that if the Torah encourages or permits an act, it is ethical, and if the Torah prohibits or discourages it, it is unethical. For instance, when lying is permitted to maintain peace (Yevamos 65b), it is not only permitted but also deemed ethical. Similarly, when one is permitted to kill to prevent murder (Sanhedrin 73a), it is considered ethical. However, law as a public and enforceable system must often operate in broad terms, and thus cannot always account for the nuances of specific situations.

The Maggid Mishneh (Hilchos Shecheinim 14:2) comments on Torah’s general directives about morality, such as, “You shall do what is proper and good” (Devarim 6:18) and “You shall be holy” (Vayikra 19:2). He notes that these commandments set ethical standards rather than detailed prescriptions because human character and circumstances are too variable. Therefore, our Sages wrote some rules as halakha and some as acts of extra piety rather than legal obligations.

As people bound by Torah, we sometimes conflate what is legally permitted with what is wise or ethical. However, not everything permitted is prudent, nor is every imprudent act forbidden. There are times to follow the strict letter of the law and other times to go beyond it. In our case, according to Tosafos, the Sages believed inheritance law should follow financial principles rather than subjective criteria like Torah study. However, in individual situations, one may prioritize supporting someone who studies Torah, even if it is not a halakhic requirement. This flexibility allows for consideration of specific priorities and situational needs without rigid legislation.

141

Avraham Had it All

Our Gemara on amud aleph presents a curious interpretation of the verse about Avraham in Bereishis (24:1):

“And Avraham was old, well advanced in age; and the Lord had blessed Avraham with everything [bakkol]” (Genesis 24:1). Rabbi Yehuda explains that this blessing meant Avraham had a daughter, whom he named Bakkol.

At first glance, this statement seems puzzling—would the Sages have us believe that the phrase “blessed with everything” means Avraham had a daughter literally named “Everything”? The Ramban, commenting on Bereishis 24:1, offers a deeper, mystical interpretation:

“The word bakkol hints at a profound matter: the Holy One, blessed be He, has an attribute called Kol (All), because it is the foundation of everything… It is the eighth of the thirteen attributes. And there is another attribute called bas [literally ‘daughter’] that emanates from it, and through it He moves everything… This attribute was as a daughter to Avraham because he was a man of kindness and conducted himself in accordance with it.”

While the mystical significance is challenging to grasp, it suggests a form of expansive generosity and fullness reflecting Hashem’s boundless kindness. In this sense, “the daughter of Kol” represents a spiritual state of completeness. This completeness enables one to embody divine generosity and kindness—being “blessed with everything” means having a sense of wholeness that allows for selfless giving.

This idea may help us better understand the Chasam Sofer’s comment on Bereishis 23:5. The verse says,

“Avraham proceeded to mourn for Sarah and to cry over her.”

In the Torah text, the letter kaf in the word “to cry over her” is traditionally written smaller than the other letters, which, through a process of elimination, can be rearranged to spell “over his daughter” rather than “to cry over her.” The Chasam Sofer suggests that as long as Sarah was alive, Avraham possessed this “daughter,” meaning this sense of fullness, generosity, and completeness—the very middah of the “daughter of Kol” we described above.

This interpretation offers a profound insight into the nature of masculinity, femininity, and relationships. Through Sarah, and perhaps through the interplay of her nurturing qualities with Avraham’s more protective and assertive traits, Avraham attained a higher capacity for divine-like generosity and completeness. Their relationship, rooted in complementary energies, unlocked a unique spiritual wholeness that Avraham experienced as “having everything.”

142

Embryonic Love

Our Gemara on Amud Beis describes how Shmuel went to significant lengths to ensure the publicity of a particular halakhic ruling:

“Shmuel said to Rav Ḥana of Baghdad: Go out and bring me an assembly of ten men, and I will say a halakha to you in their presence, so that it will be well publicized. The halakha was: With regard to one who transfers ownership of an item to a fetus, the fetus acquires the item.”

This case raises an interesting question: why did Shmuel require an assembly of ten men to publicize this halakha, when often three people are deemed sufficient to publicize matters of Halacha? For example:

•In Kiddushin (70a), it says, “Once a person has been appointed a leader of the community, he is prohibited from performing labor before three people, so that he not belittle the honor of his position.”

•Bava Basra (39b) states that one should issue a challenge against an alleged squatter in front of three people to publicize the challenge.

•Gittin (33a) also considers three people sufficient to publicize a divorce.

Why, then, does Shmuel insist on ten people in this case? One explanation could be that “bad news travels fast,” and cases involving three observers all involve something critical, negative, or unfortunate: a leader’s conduct that might lower his esteem, the public announcement of a divorce, or a complaint against a squatter. These situations, each involving some form of social or personal conflict, are likely to gain attention without needing a larger audience. By contrast, Shmuel’s ruling, though important, was a legal principle and lacked the innate drama of conflict or misfortune, which tends to make news spread more readily.

The Chasam Sofer (Derashos I:122a) offers a symbolic explanation, comparing the Jewish people in exile to a fetus in the womb—hidden, incomplete, and surrounded by other nations. Yet, just as a fetus can be legally “gifted” possessions while still in utero, so too Hashem recognizes and remains close to the Jewish people even in exile. This metaphor aligns with the halakhic concept of transferring property to a fetus, illustrating that even in hidden or distant states, there is still a connection and a potential for blessing.

Furthermore, though the final halakhic ruling is that a fetus generally cannot acquire property, there is an exception when a father transfers property to his unborn child. The Sages explain that this exception is due to the natural closeness and sense of responsibility a father feels for his child. This exceptional allowance suggests that, in a similar way, God maintains a unique closeness with the Jewish people in exile, analogous to a father’s bond with his unborn child.

This interpretation may explain why Shmuel required ten people to hear this ruling. The number ten, as we know from Berachos (21b), brings the Shekinah (divine presence) and is the minimum needed for a minyan. Since Shmuel’s ruling implicitly alluded to the enduring relationship between God and the Jewish people, even in times of concealment or exile, he required a minyan to represent this presence of the Shekinah. Thus, by involving ten men, Shmuel ensured that the allegorical message of God’s closeness to Israel would be received in a setting that mirrored the communal and spiritual connection implied by his halakha.