The Forbidden Fruit: A Tale of Lovesickness, True Love and More Sanhedrin 75-76

75

The Forbidden Fruit: A Tale of Lovesickness, Pleasure, and the Loss of Temple Bliss

On Amud Aleph, the Gemara discusses a fascinating story about a man who was stricken with lovesickness. The physicians assessed that if he was unable to requite his love, he would die. Much ink has been spilled analyzing the nuanced and multifaceted ways in which the rabbis responded to this person’s situation. For our discussion, we will focus on one particular segment. While there are different accounts of the story, one account suggests that the woman was single. If she was single and available, the Gemara asks:

“But if the woman was unmarried, let the man marry her.” The Gemara answers: “His mind would not have been eased by marriage, in accordance with the statement of Rabbi Yitzḥak. As Rabbi Yitzḥak says: Since the day the Temple was destroyed, sexual pleasure was taken away from those who engage in permitted intercourse and given to transgressors, as it is stated: ‘Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant’” (Proverbs 9:17). Therefore, the man could have been cured only by engaging in illicit sexual interaction.

This passage presents a scriptural difficulty. While it is easy to understand the psychology of the desire for the forbidden, and the quote from Mishlei is apt, there is a problem. If sexual pleasure was lost from permitted relationships after the destruction of the Temple, how does the verse from Mishlei apply? The simple reading of the verse is not a prophecy, but rather a general observation of human nature, not tied to the destruction of the Temple.

Although not the simple reading of the text, Maris Ayin actually suggests that the verse is prophetic, which is why the verb construct in Hebrew is “Yimtaku” (will be sweet), implying a future time when it will become sweeter. However, the simple answer (as seen in the Ben Yehoyada and Maharsha) is that the forbidden is inherently more pleasurable. In pre-exile times, relationships had their own kind of pleasure and zest, as the Jewish people were not in exile and experienced political, personal, religious, and psychological autonomy. The ability to enjoy life was different prior to the destruction of the Temple than it was afterward. The pleasure in sin remains constant; it is simply that the pleasure in permitted relationships was relatively satisfying, making the temptation of sin less compelling.

This Gemara prompts us to consider the nature of pleasure, gratification, and desire. I believe there are different forms of passion. It would be naïve and grossly underestimating the power and fascination of sexuality to claim that there is not a distinct pleasure for some people, at times, when engaging in promiscuous or random sex (not that I am condoning it). However, that is not the whole picture. There is something deeply passionate and meaningful when a couple who have known each other for years is able to be vulnerable and loving toward each other. In these moments, the feeling of ecstasy and bonding is intense in its own way. 

Moreover, there is a sense of security, acceptance, and attachment that cannot be achieved through superficial or largely physical affairs. Such affairs often follow symbolic psychological scripts for attachment needs but can never be fully gratified because they are empty gestures. The initial lust and feeling of being desired by the other person can be likened to emotional “Diet Coke”—momentarily filling but without true nutritional value. Feeling seen, valued, and loved comes from emotional risk-taking and consistent, long-term bonding. This is the sexual pleasure of the Temple—a connection born from maturity, wisdom, and love. It has its own passion and power, distinct but no less intense, and perhaps even more so. How do you compare junk food, like ice cream and cookies, to a gourmet meal? Both taste good, but in different ways. The former cheap and quick, but is bad for your health and often leaves you feeling sick afterward, while the latter nourishes and satisfies in a more lasting, fulfilling way.

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Lost and Found: Covenant, Kindness, and the Moral Code

Our Gemara on Amud Beis considers it improper piety to return a lost object to a gentile. In other words, if the local gentile laws and moral codes do not obligate returning a lost object, it is unnecessary, and even vainly pious, to do so. As we discussed in Psychology of the Daf: Sanhedrin 74, Torah law is not only societal but also covenantal. Many legal systems may not consider a lost object to be the possession of the original owner, and thus fair game for anyone who finds it. However, the Torah introduces certain extra requirements that go beyond justice and focus on the covenant and relationship between Man and God. God wants the Jewish people to extend particular kindness and privileges within the tribe, so to speak.

Rashi adds an important comment: “If one returns a lost object to a gentile when there is no such obligation (and the local law and moral codes deem it perfectly respectable), he is implying that he follows the laws of the Torah not out of obedience to God, but merely by personal choice.”

This principle is reminiscent of a similar discussion between the Rambam and Ramban regarding the commandment to send away the mother bird and the Gemara in Berachos (33b) about not praising God for His mercy when sending away the mother bird. Ramban (Devarim 22:6) follows the simple reading of the Gemara, which suggests, much like our Rashi, that it is presumptuous to assume that any mitzvah that appears morally sound or indicates God’s mercy is simply about morality. Rather, these mitzvos must be seen as commandments to be obeyed, regardless of their apparent rationality. The Rambam offers a different interpretation, but we won’t delve into his position here.

Rashi’s commentary in our Gemara and this Ramban raise ethical questions and cannot be taken at face value. Common sense indicates that many Torah laws are indeed socially and morally oriented. The verse in Devarim (4:6-8) states:

“Observe them faithfully, for that will be proof of your wisdom and discernment to other peoples, who on hearing of all these laws will say, ‘Surely, that great nation is a wise and discerning people.’ For what great nation is there that has a god so close at hand as is our God whenever we call? Or what great nation has laws and rules as perfect as all this Teaching that I set before you this day?”

Clearly, the Torah anticipates that the Gentiles will be impressed with the Torah’s laws, and they would not be impressed if those laws didn’t reflect common-sense morality and justice.

One possible answer is based on what the Rambam writes in Shemoneh Perakim (6). There are parts of the Torah that are based on common sense and morality, and parts that are commandments from God with less obvious reasons. While it is praiseworthy to resist sin solely because God commands it, that is mainly for the mitzvos whose reasons are not apparent (the chukim). For mitzvos that seem to stem from natural morality and decency (mishpatim), it is actually superior to desire to do the right thing intrinsically, rather than merely because God commanded it. The Rambam might not consider the commandment to return a lost object as a chok, since even if it’s not strictly a moral obligation, it is certainly understandable as a kind and decent action. However, we have also seen that returning a lost object is not necessarily a moral duty, because if something is lost, it is ownerless, and anyone who finds it is free to take it. Thus, Rashi’s point could be that the act of returning a lost object is part of the covenant, and to treat it simply as an act of moral decency undermines the uniqueness of the covenant and the relationship between God and Israel. Similarly, Ramban’s understanding of the Gemara about sending away the mother bird aligns with this. While it might appear to come from a sense of mercy, it is not grounded in a particular system of justice or morality. After all, we are not vegetarians, and we do consume birds and other animals. While we have pointed out that it’s not irrational, it would not ordinarily be understood as part of a moral code. Therefore, it is part of the covenant, and the act of following the commandment honors that covenant. If this relationship is not acknowledged by observing the commandments with this intent, it disrespects the bond between God and Israel.

Another approach could be that neither Rashi nor Ramban (nor the Gemara in Berachos) is referring to one’s understanding of the mitzvah. Rather, they are speaking about one’s relationship and motivation toward the mitzvah. It could be presumptuous and dangerous to assume that we do a mitzvah simply because it makes sense morally. Throughout history, some values have remained constant, while others have been challenged or redefined, such as the morality of slavery. Our understanding of the Torah is that while its laws promote social functioning and moral behavior, there are deeper reasons for the commandments. The motivation for observing a commandment should not only be to learn moral behaviors (which is the function of some mitzvos, as Ramban mentions) but also to honor the relationship with God and to attach oneself to His will for its own sake.

If this explanation is correct, we can also understand the placement of the middle verse between the two that discuss the Gentiles being impressed with the morality and wisdom of Torah law. The middle verse states: “For what great nation is there that has a god so close at hand as is our God whenever we call?” What is this verse doing in the middle of the passage? I believe the Torah is addressing this point. It suggests that the Gentiles, aside from recognizing the wisdom and morality of the Torah, also notice that the Jewish people merit a unique providence. This providence is not just a result of moral behavior, but also comes from a relationship with God. The great nation that follows the commandments of God enjoys a closeness with Him, and God is always near them because they are close to Him. This is not a point of logic, sociology, or morality, but of relationship. It transcends rationality and justice and is why God shows mercy to us. He is not only the judge, jury, and executioner—He is also our Father.