The Blogs: Study Torah or to Search Torah? and The Importance of Validation Sanhedrin 2-6

Lack of Conviction

Our Gemara on Amud Beis discusses the principle that a Jewish court must be structured to avoid gridlock, which is why it always has an odd number of judges. This principle is used to determine the number of judges in various courts. For example, when the Gemara finds scriptural support for a capital court to consist of at least 22 judges, it is automatically assumed that the court must have 23 judges to prevent a tie.

The Oholei Yitschok raises an interesting question: Why must the tie-breaking judge be included from the outset, bringing the total to 23? Would it not be sufficient to add a judge only if there is a tie? After all, even with 22 judges, a majority verdict could be reached, such as in a 12-10 vote. In fact, the Gemara (29a) allows for the addition of a judge in the rare case where one of the 23 judges says, “I don’t know,” and the remaining 22 judges are split 11-11.

The Oholei Yitschok answers that it is exceedingly rare for a judge to declare uncertainty, and for such an infrequent scenario, the sages permitted the post facto addition of a judge. However, with an even-numbered court of 22, the possibility of a tie (11-11) is much more plausible, making it logical for the Torah to require an odd number of judges from the outset. One might object that a perfect 11-11 split should also be rare, as the votes could easily fall into larger margins like 12-10 or 14-8. Nonetheless, the Oholei Yitschok seems to maintain that an even vote is more probable than a judge being unsure, which is noteworthy because, in theory, both situations should be relatively rare. We might explain this by noting that the drive for resolution, coupled with the scholarly nature of the judges, makes an “I don’t know” response even less likely than a tie.

I would like to suggest a different answer. The rabbis were especially vigilant to ensure that junior judges not feel intimidated into conforming to the opinions of senior judges. This is why the younger judges are required to present their arguments first during deliberations. If a tied court with an even number of judges were to call in an additional judge after deliberations are complete, this newly added judge would face significant pressure. He would have to quickly catch up on the case and render a decisive, tie-breaking vote. If he were genuinely undecided, he might be embarrassed to admit it, especially since his entire role is to break the tie. This embarrassment could pressure him into issuing a ruling without sufficient internal clarity. To avoid this psychological and procedural problem, the court is established with an odd number of judges from the beginning.

But in a scenario where one of the 23 judges declares, “I don’t know,” and a tie-breaking judge must be added, the dynamics are different. Since one of the original judges already admitted uncertainty, the newly added judge is less likely to feel isolated or ashamed if he also finds himself unsure. He would have “company” in his uncertainty, reducing the social pressure to issue a decisive ruling when he was not convinced.

This discussion reveals interesting insights into the psychology and group dynamics of judicial decision-making. Even the great and wise judges of the Sanhedrin are susceptible to social pressures and cognitive biases. The safeguards established by Chazal recognize these human tendencies, ensuring a process that promotes fairness, independence, and thoughtful deliberation.

To Study Torah or to Search Torah?

Our Gemara on Amud Aleph uses an interesting idiom to describe a certain class of uneducated people, “dwellers on the corner.” This idiom is used to refer to a layperson who might still serve as a judge, assuming the other judges are learned.

This idiom for an unlearned person is fascinating because idioms typically do not translate well from one language to another, and certainly not from one culture to another. Yet this idiom is remarkably evocative to our ears as well. We can imagine the person who hangs around street corners. However, language and assumptions can be deceptive. As we examine the commentaries, we see that the term “dwellers on the corner” is translated as subtly less pejorative. For example, Bava Kama (82a) explains the institution of reading from the Torah in the Shabbos afternoon service so as to occupy the “dwellers on the corner.” Unless the thugs of Babylonia were of a much more scholarly nature, it seems unlikely they would be coming to shul. Therefore, the idiom connotes a non-learned person but not necessarily a malicious one. Both Rashi here and in Bava Kama describe the person as someone who is idle from Torah, but not as an anti-social person.

To learn our holy and ancient texts properly, we must beware of idioms that deceptively translate but are not quite the same. This reminds me of an old friend who used to make fun of himself and his Americanized Hebrew, jokingly saying, “Ten li shever” to imply “give me a break.” Of course, he knew that the idiom did not translate into Hebrew.

Modern Hebrew idioms sometimes delightfully translate similar American phrases but with subtle Biblical overtones. For example, the English idiom “doomsday weapon” translates into Hebrew as “neshek Yom Hadin” which literally means “weaponry for the Day of Judgment.” Even though modern Israeli society and its Hebrew are painfully secular, it still cannot escape some deep Jewish flavor. This is a fulfillment of our sages’ declaration (Sanhedrin 37a): “Even the empty people [reikanin] among you are as full of mitzvos as the pomegranate is full of seeds.”

Returning to our analysis of this idiom, some see the “corner dweller” as less innocuous. Yad Rama on our Gemara explains that the “corner dweller” is someone who is not gainfully occupied and sits idle, which is more critical. Avos DeRabbi Nosson (21:1) also uses the term to imply a negligently idle person, and Orchos Tzaddikim 19 follows a similar line.

The most negative attribution can be found in the Aruch (“Keren”), where he describes the “corner dwellers” as those who are idle and do not seek to grow in Torah. Similar attributions are offered by Kli Yakar (Devarim 11:30) and Radak (Tehilim 19:21). This translation makes for a perfect parallel to the Hebrew term for “study hall,” which is “Beis Midrash.” The literal translation is “House of Searching,” because the Jewish ethos of Torah study is to seek out enlightenment. In contrast, the English word “study” comes from the Latin “studere,” which connotes effort and application. This is a good description of an intellectual process, but the Hebrew connotes searching and seeking, not just focus. In Biblical usage, when Rivka was disturbed by her difficult pregnancy, she sought divine guidance: “Lidrosh Hashem” (Bereishis 25:22), which has the same root as “Beis Midrash.”

With this understanding of “corner dweller,” we can appreciate the poetic juxtaposition of words in Rabbi Nechunia Ben Hakana’s famous prayer for success in Torah study (Berachos 28b):

“I give thanks before You, Lord my God, that You have placed my lot among those who sit in the study hall, and that you have not given me my portion among those who dwell idly on street corners. I rise early, and they rise early. I rise early to pursue matters of Torah, and they rise early to pursue frivolous matters. I toil and they toil. I toil and receive a reward, and they toil and do not receive a reward. I run and they run. I run to the life of the World-to-Come and they run to the pit of destruction.”

The “corner dweller” seeks nothing, but the one who studies Torah goes to the house of Searching” to discover his intellectual and moral destiny.

Finally, when we use the English words “study Torah,” I think it is a mistranslation based on cultural assumptions and differences between English and Hebrew. More correctly, it should be described as “seeking Torah.”

The Illusion of Money

Our Gemara on Amud Aleph discusses the minimum number of walls required for a kosher Succah:

“There must be two walls in their standard sense, completely closing each of those two sides, and a third wall, which, based on a halakha transmitted to Moses from Sinai, may measure even as little as one handbreadth.”

Sefer Daf al Daf quotes two interesting pieces of derush regarding this Halacha. The Alshich (Vayikra 23:33) explains that all the benefits of the world fit into three categories: children, life itself, and sustenance. The Gemara (Menachos 29b) states that the world was created with the letter “Hay.” The Alshich notes that the letter “Hay” is shaped like a Succah, with two full walls and one partial wall (the leg of the letter). The Succah serves as a reminder that our engagement in the material world in these three spheres must be in that proportion. The two full walls represent our need for life and children, which we should pursue with proper effort and prayer. Sustenance, however, is symbolized by the third, partial wall, signifying that our pursuit of financial and material success should be more restrained and limited.

Sefer Daf al Daf also quotes the Ollelos Ephraim, who offers a different symbolic interpretation of the Succah walls. He identifies four domains of human competency and striving: wisdom, character, physical strength, and material assets. The first two, wisdom and character, must be sought in full measure, just like the two full walls of the Succah. The third domain, physical strength, is necessary at times but should be pursued in moderation, represented by the third small wall. Regarding the fourth domain, material wealth, the lesson of the Succah is that it is an illusion. This concept is symbolized by the fictional and invisible fourth wall of the Succah.

The Ollelos Ephraim’s interpretation draws a powerful lesson about the nature of wealth. Unlike physical strength, which, though dependent on God’s grace, is located within one’s own person, material wealth is entirely external and fragile. It can disappear at any moment. The Succah’s open side represents the illusory and transient nature of financial security. We might believe that money grants us stability, but in truth, it is more elusive and impermanent than physical strength. Just as the fourth wall of the Succah is nonexistent, so too is the perceived constancy of material wealth. This serves as a profound reminder to prioritize pursuits of lasting value and not place excessive trust in the fleeting illusion of financial security.

To Lead by Force or by Enlightenment?

Our Gemara on Amud Aleph characterizes the halachic leadership of Babylonia versus Eretz Yisrael:

“The verse states: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet until Shiloh comes” (Genesis 49:10). …“The scepter shall not depart from Judah”; these are the Exilarchs in Babylonia, who are empowered by the government and consequently subjugate the Jewish people as with a scepter. “Nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet”; These are the grandchildren of Hillel the Elder who hold the position of Nasi and teach Torah in public, but do not have authority to actually enforce their judgments.”

Ketones Passim, quoting Ollelos Ephraim (34b), explains that these two forms of leadership represent two different approaches to teaching Torah: those who compel and those who inspire and enlighten. This concept is also hinted at in the verses describing the pillar of fire and cloud that guided the Jews in the wilderness (Shemos 13:21-22). According to tradition, the clouds buffered and flattened the hills and valleys so the Jews could walk on an easy, flat surface. This symbolizes the force that leadership must sometimes use to make people conform to expectations. By contrast, the fire represents a way of leading through inspiration, enlightenment, teaching, and encouragement.

Both forms of leadership are necessary for a smoothly functioning society, and they should not be combined in a single source of power. Kesones Passim explains that this is why the Jewish kingship and priesthood should not be held by one family line. The Chashmonaim’s attempt to unite these roles ultimately led to corruption and dysfunction. This dual nature of leadership is also seen in the story of the famous convert who sought to learn the whole Torah while standing on one foot (Shabbos 31a). He sought to have the whole Torah in only one form; enlightenment or coercion. Shammai rejected him with a “builder’s measuring rod,” symbolizing that the world is built with a balance of both enforcement and enlightenment, that is to respect God’s measuring rod, His plan. Hillel, on the other hand, welcomed him anyhow, offering the succinct teaching, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Hillel’s approach emphasized enlightenment and encouragement, trusting that the convert would eventually recognize the need for the structure and discipline represented by Shammai’s measuring rod.

Ironically, Hillel’s approach is tautological; he trusts his teaching style of enlightenment to non-coercively convince the convert of the eventual need to accept rules and conformity. One can well identify with Hillel and Shammai’s grappling with the convert’s dilemma. He came to Judaism voluntarily out of love, but once accepting the covenant, became obligated even by force if necessary. This is the deep paradigm in the Torah. We first say, “We will do and we will listen”, then have the mountain held over our heads, then later on as our relationship to God and appreciation for the Torah develops, we ultimately re-accept it new and fully (see Shabbos 88a). To become a full Jew, the convert relives our national process, enlightenment, coercion and acceptance.

As we seek Torah and engage in life, we can strive to inspire ourselves and others toward Torah observance. However, when inspiration fails, there may be a need to take a forceful stand for our beliefs and push through to our objectives. True leadership requires knowing when to inspire and when to enforce, balancing these two approaches in a way that promotes a healthy self and a functional civilization.

The Importance of Validation

Our Gemara on Amud Beis describes Aharon’s character and temperament in comparison to Moshe. Moshe was a lawgiver and valued strict justice and truth. However, Aharon, whose role was not that of a judge, was a lover of peace and a pursuer of peace, and he would apply peace between one person and the other.

Ben Yehoyada here notes that the Hebrew word used here, “pursuer of peace,” is more ambiguous sounding than the English translation. In Hebrew, a “chaser” (“rodef”) has a connotation of an attacker, who is chasing after a person to do them harm. The phrase in the Gemara would have more accurately been written as “Rodef achar shalom,” one who seeks out peace. But the literal text is “Rodef shalom,” which almost sounds like chasing after peace to fight it off.

Ben Yehoyada answers that it can also mean chasing away peace, as sometimes Aharon may have had to be clever and drive a rift between certain parties. For example, if one person was trusting the reports of a gossip who was sowing hate and dissent, Aharon would attempt to devalue the esteem and friendship between the instigating gossiper and the object of the quarrel. This way, the hatred would be open to repair, as there was no longer a continuous flow of negative influence.

Ben Yehoyada also offers a creative answer given by his son, which utilizes what psychology calls “paradoxical intervention.” Aharon would first side with the angry and bitter emotions. He would say something along the lines of, “Yes, well if Ploni really did all those terrible things, I would hate him too.” This way, Aharon actually “chased away” peace by initially intensifying the emotions and siding with the person’s sense of outrage. However, once Aharon established the person’s trust, he had the opportunity to gently confront the incorrect assumptions and distorted beliefs. He might ask something like, “So what really happened?” Upon hearing a possible misunderstanding or more wholesome perspective, Aharon might be able to carefully say, “Yeah, if he did that, he really was disgusting and deserves to be hated. I just was wondering—maybe he meant it this or that way?”

We see from this lovely interpretation the importance of not rushing to refute another person when they are angry and hurt. Instead, we should fully validate their feelings with a passion and outrage equal to theirs. Once the person feels fully validated, he may be open to other perspectives. This reminds me of one of my favorite sayings from Carl Jung: “The degree that you will influence others is the degree that they sense you are open to their influence.”