Having a Right Does Not Always Make You Right and More Sanhedrin 17-20

17

The Wisdom of Sleeping on a Decision 

Our Gemara on Amud Aleph describes the careful safeguards implemented in capital cases. To prevent the court from being carried away by an overly zealous and condemning spirit, an extraordinary safeguard is enacted: if all the judges unanimously vote to convict, the defendant is acquitted:

“Rav Kahana says: In a Sanhedrin where all the judges saw fit to convict the defendant in a case of capital law, they acquit him. …It is since it is learned as a tradition that suspension of the trial overnight is necessary in order to create a possibility of acquittal. We do not issue a guilty verdict on the same day the evidence was heard, as perhaps over the course of the night one of the judges will think of a reason to acquit the defendant. But if all the judges saw fit to convict him, they will not see any further possibility to acquit him overnight, because there will not be anyone arguing for such a verdict. Consequently, he cannot be convicted, as he would not have the full process of advocacy.”

This ruling underscores the Torah’s commitment to ensuring a fair and thorough process in capital cases. The mandated suspension of judgment overnight creates space for reflection, allowing for the possibility of discovering mitigating factors or arguments for acquittal. Without dissent or debate, the system lacks a crucial mechanism to safeguard the defendant’s rights.

Sefer Daf al Daf (16b) raises an intriguing question based on this principle. The Gemara earlier (16b) describes Moshe Rabbeinu as having a unique status, as if he were the equivalent of the entire Sanhedrin of 71 judges. How then could Moshe adjudicate capital cases? If his singular decision were equivalent to the unanimous ruling of 71 judges, it would effectively bypass the requirement for deliberation overnight, depriving the defendant of the advocacy process.

Several answers are offered:

1. Limited Jurisdiction: One simple explanation is that Moshe did not use his unique status to preside over capital cases but confined himself to other judicial rulings.
2. Moshe’s Unique Capacity: Rav Chaim Kanievsky offers another resolution: the flaw of a unanimous court lies in the undue influence judges exert on one another, which stifles independent review and reconsideration. Moshe, however, as an individual, had the exceptional capacity to independently review and question his conclusions, even overnight, ensuring a process akin to the advocacy and deliberation of a full Sanhedrin.

Regardless of the specific answer, this ruling highlights the vital importance of self-review, especially in matters of life and death. The process of pausing, reflecting, and revisiting decisions is essential not only in judicial contexts but also in everyday life.

Many decisions in relationships, parenting, and interpersonal dynamics carry a significance akin to life and death—whether literally, emotionally, or spiritually. This ethos teaches us to “sleep on” major decisions, particularly when we are most convinced of our position. The greater the certainty, the more cautious we should be in reexamining our conclusions and seeking possible alternatives.

18

Having a Right Does Not Always Make You Right

Our Gemara on Amud Beis discusses legal exemptions from the obligation to return lost items, focusing on situations where retrieval of the object would conflict with the dignity of the finder:

“You shall not see your brother’s ox or his sheep wandering and ignore them; you shall return them to your brother” (Deuteronomy 22:1).

The use of the unusual phrase “and ignore them,” rather than a more direct “do not ignore them,” implies there are circumstances when ignoring a lost item is permissible. The Gemara elaborates:

If the finder is an elderly person, and retrieving the object would be beneath their dignity, or if the finder’s work—suspended to retrieve and return the item—is of greater value than the lost item, the verse permits ignoring the lost object: “And ignore them.”

Rashi clarifies that the exemption applies because the elderly individual would not retrieve such an object even if it belonged to them; therefore, he is not obligated to retrieve it for someone else.

Despite this exemption, there are opinions that it is a middas chassidus (an act of extra piety) to return the object anyway (see Shulchan Aruch, CM 272:3, and Bava Metzia 30b).

Sefer Daf al Daf quotes Rav Yissachar Dov of Belz, who offers a metaphorical interpretation of this principle in the context of the selichos liturgy. In the prayers, we say:

“Almighty! King! Who sits on the throne of mercy, governs with chassidus, forgives the iniquities of His people.”

While chassidus may be understood as deriving from chessed (kindness), there is a deeper meaning to this prayer. The word teshuva (repentance) comes from the root shuv, meaning “to return” or “be restored.” With this in mind, we can interpret the prayer as follows:

Even though it is beneath God’s dignity, so to speak, to forgive our iniquities and restore us after our failings, God nonetheless goes beyond the strict letter of the law. He acts with middas chassidus and returns us to our best selves and thereby to Him, like a lost object lovingly retrieved and restored.

This idea has profound implications for our own behavior. If we emulate God by acting with extra piety and forgiving others—restoring relationships physically, emotionally, or spiritually—we arouse heavenly compassion in return. As we learn in Rosh Hashanah (17a):

“Whoever lets go of rightful resentments and claims against others for injustices done to them, the heavenly court in turn forgoes punishment for all their sins.”

The lesson is clear: sometimes, exercising a right may not make us right. The willingness to go beyond strict justice, to act with middas chassidus, can transform not only our relationships but also arouse divine mercy.

19

Passive Aggressiveness in the Torah

Our Gemara on amud aleph highlights the importance of being sensitive to human nature, even when acting on good intentions. One must always consider how actions will be perceived by others. For example, if the Kohen Gadol suffers a personal loss and is sitting shiva, the Mashuach She-Avar (a former High Priest who temporarily served in the current Kohen Gadol’s place, such as during a period of ritual impurity) should not visit him. Despite any good intentions, the visit might be interpreted as schadenfreude—a covert delight in the misfortune of another. Given the natural rivalry between the two, such a visit could easily be misinterpreted.

The Meiri on our Gemara generalizes this idea into a broader principle:

“Anyone who thinks that his fellow believes he rejoices in his downfall, as part of the ways of proper conduct, should avoid appearing before him at the time of his misfortune. Learn this from what is stated here: that an anointed priest who was deposed does not come to the current High Priest at the time of his bereavement. The reason given is, ‘Perhaps he will feel low and say: He is rejoicing at my misfortune.’ And the same applies to any similar case.”

This principle is also codified by the Rama (YD 335:2):

“Some say that an enemy may visit a sick person. However, this does not seem plausible to me; but he should not visit a sick person nor comfort a mourner whom he hates, so that [the latter] should not think that he rejoices at his misfortune, and thereby feel depressed. This seems to me [to be the correct view].”

The Shach (ibid 2) discusses a related scenario of lending money to an enemy. Even a well-intentioned act of kindness might be overshadowed by the perception of gloating, and thus requires careful judgment.

In these cases, the primary concern revolves around perception. Yet we can add another dimension: such behavior might also reflect passive aggressiveness. Consider the dynamic: “What, me gloating over your loss? Chas V’shalom! I only wish to perform a mitzvah and seize the merit of helping you.” While the outward action appears altruistic, the underlying motivation may harbor hostility.

This type of behavior might explain the verse regarding the Chief Butler’s actions toward Yosef:

“Yet the Chief Butler did not remember Yosef AND he forgot him” (Bereishis 40:23).

The redundancy in the verse has sparked various interpretations among the commentaries, but we might propose that his forgetting was not passive but deliberately so—perhaps an example of passive aggression. The Chief Butler didn’t “just” forget Yosef; he made sure to forget him.

Our sages were acutely aware of such subtle but damaging behaviors in human nature. They teach us to navigate and mitigate these dynamics, whether by avoiding actions that could be misconstrued or by reflecting deeply on our own intentions. By following their wisdom, we can defuse potential misunderstandings and guard against unconsciously acting out of hostility.

20

Hard Times, Good Men

Our Gemara offers a homiletic analysis of the verse in Mishlei (31:30):

“Grace is false, beauty is transient and empty; but a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised.”

At its most straightforward level, this verse teaches us not to be overly captivated by external charm or physical beauty, as they are fleeting and superficial. Instead, it is inner character, particularly the fear of God, that is praiseworthy and enduring.

The verse distinguishes between three states: two that represent superficial or incomplete virtues, and a final state that embodies true and lasting goodness. The Gemara applies this verse to various contexts, including different eras in Jewish history. It identifies the first two states as examples of external or partial righteousness, while the third reflects ultimate spiritual greatness. Regarding Torah study, the Gemara explains:

“‘Grace is deceitful’—this refers to the generation of Moses and Joshua. ‘And beauty is vain’—this refers to the generation of Hezekiah. ‘A woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised’—this refers to the generation of Rabbi Yehuda, son of Rabbi Ilai, who lived after the decrees of Hadrian, during a time of poverty and oppression. It was said about Rabbi Yehuda, son of Rabbi Ilai, that six of his students would share a single garment due to their poverty, and yet they still engaged in Torah study.”

The generation of Rabbi Yehuda exemplified remarkable dedication to Torah study despite severe material deprivation. Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz (Sichos Mussar 36) offers an insightful interpretation: the greatness of this generation lay not merely in their devotion to Torah, but in their ability to achieve the impossible—six people sharing one garment. This extraordinary act of generosity, humility, and cooperation created an environment in which scholarship could flourish.

Even without Rav Shmuelevitz’s explanation, the simpler message of the Gemara resonates powerfully: challenging times do not necessarily stifle spiritual growth or intellectual achievement. On the contrary, adversity can propel individuals to extraordinary heights as they rise above physical and material constraints.

Consider the noble souls who lit Chanukah candles, baked matzah, or studied daf yomi in the concentration camps. Who, in those moments, was truly free—the guards, or the inmates whose spirits soared above their grim surroundings? Such resilience and devotion in the face of unimaginable hardship reveal a profound truth: the human spirit can transcend the limits imposed by suffering.

This sentiment echoes G. Michael Hopf’s famous adage:

“Hard times create strong men. Strong men create good times. Good times create weak men. And weak men create hard times.”

The generation of Rabbi Yehuda, son of Rabbi Ilai, exemplifies the strength forged in adversity. While none of us would seek such trials, we must admire the courage and determination of those who emerged from hardship with an unshakable commitment to their values, inspiring future generations to do the same.