By Barry Jacobson

We would like to continue our discussion about the philosophical underpinnings that may underlie the differences between the Chareidi and Modern camps. It was never our intention to denigrate either side. Both have strong support, but also some inherent disadvantages.

In yeshivos, when encountering a dispute in the Talmud or commentaries, the standard approach is to search for an underlying question (chakira) for which there exists multiple possibilities, with each explaining one point of view–in other words, a particular dichotomy which could be the root of the disagreement. So we suggest the following:

Both camps agree that Torah study is important. However, what is the primary purpose? The Chareidi side might hold that it is important because it makes one holy and carries a great reward in the next world, perhaps greater than any other mitzvah. Chesed is also important, because it is the basis for a number of the 613 mitzvos of the Torah.

On the other hand, the Modern camp might hold that the Torah is a book of ethics and kindness that teaches us how to act and allows this world to function properly. The whole purpose of learning is to teach us how to do chesed. Even the mitzvos between man and G‑d are to teach us self-discipline and sensitivity towards others. For example, my rabbi once said that the prohibition of eating on Yom Kippur is in order to feel what it’s like to go hungry so that we might feed the poor, as the Haftarah says, “Paros la’ra’ev lachmecha (break your bread for the hungry).”

These viewpoints might parallel an earlier dispute among the classical Jewish philosophers who also seem to fall into two camps. There is the mystical camp, which holds that Torah and mitzvos achieve higher purposes in esoteric realms, and their true meanings and secrets require expertise in Kabbalistic knowledge. We don’t question their purpose, however, and do them merely in order to fulfill the will of our Master. This is often associated with Rabbi Chaim Volozhin.

Then there is the rationalist view, espoused by the likes of the Rambam, often sourced to the Moreh Nevuchim (Guide for the Perplexed), which holds that mitzvos have practical and useful purposes right here in this world, including improving the life of the individual, and of society as a whole. I am indebted to Rabbi Slifkin who has written extensively on this topic, and raised my awareness of this useful categorization. (Please note that this discussion has nothing to do with his views on evolution, which are considered controversial by some.)

There is a fascinating dispute which illustrates the different points of view of these two groups of Rishonim. The Gemara tells us in Brachos that there were three things that Chizkiyahu HaMelech did which the sages agreed with, and three which they did not agree with. One of the things which they did agree with was that he buried the book of medicines (Sefer HaRefuos) of his time. Rashi says that the sages felt that this was proper, because they wanted people to daven, rather than to rely on doctors. However, the Rambam objects and asks, when I am hungry, is it wrong for me to eat food, and I should instead daven that my hunger should go away? Why is medicine any different? Rather, the reason King Chizkiyahu buried this book was because medicine of that era was primitive, and its efficacy simply didn’t meet the benchmarks necessary for approval by the FDA of those times.

Now, many of us are aware that Chazal say on the verse “V’rapo yerapei” that a doctor has permission to heal. How would one reconcile with Rashi’s view? I have seen two answers. The first is that in the era of prophecy in which Chizkiyahu lived, sickness was associated with sin, and it was more appropriate to go to a prophet to find out for what he should repent. The second is that while the pasuk says a doctor has permission to heal if a patient comes to him, it doesn’t necessarily mean that this is the advisable course of action for the patient.

Nevertheless, in Shulchan Aruch and poskim, the practice today is to go to doctors, and it is not only permitted, but even considered pikuach nefesh, an urgent need which takes priority over almost any other prohibition, in life-threatening situations.

There is an interesting Midrash Shmuel (section 4, brought in an essay by Rabbi Shabtai Sabato, Bechukosai, 5772) which seems to support the Rambam’s view, and which illustrates an approach we will argue is the best way to understand Judaism in today’s times. Rebbe Akiva and Rebbe Yishmael were walking with a third fellow. On the way, they met a sick person who stopped them and asked, “I have the following symptoms, what should I do?” The rabbis told him, take such and such medicines. The sick man thanked them and left. The third fellow then asked them, “How were you allowed to interfere with G‑d’s will?” (Meaning, if G‑d wanted him to be sick, you are contravening his decree.) So they asked him, “What is your line of work?” He responded, “I am a farmer, and here is my sickle. If I don’t plow, cover, fertilize, and weed, nothing gets produced.” The rabbis told him, “People are the same. If we don’t work to improve them, they won’t survive.”

The key point is that the world is an incomplete place. G‑d allows us and wants us to improve it. In a later piece, I will try to suggest that this is so that we might feel proud that we are G‑d’s partners in creation, not that he spoon-feeds everything to us. I believe so strongly in this concept, that I think if we all work together, we can create a utopia right here in this world. We can cure every disease, feed every mouth, and give everybody a place to live. But only if we all get along and work in harmony. If every transaction turns into an argument, then the world will become chaotic like a third-world or Middle-Eastern country. This is the purpose of the Torah–its values of kindness, honesty, justice, and pursuit of knowledge allow the economic system to operate smoothly. We can then build multinational corporations that cooperate to bring us sophisticated products. These will be needed to cure diseases. This is what Chazal meant when they said “Al sheloshah devarim ha’olam omed: al haTorah, v’al ha’avodah, v’al gemilus chasadim.”

The advantage of this approach is that one can see the greatness of the Torah in front of our own eyes. Every child can feel pride that even the presidential candidates acknowledged in a recent debate that our country was built on Judeo-Christian foundations (which were Judeo, originally). A child doesn’t need to wait until the next world, after 120 years, to see the value of his work. He can be taught that all the great Jewish contributions to society were made by people, even if not frum, but who were using the Jewish values of analysis, study, and kindness that they inherited from their ancestors.

A child who has fierce pride in his heritage, and feels he can make a difference and actually change the world, and who understands that Judaism is arguably the most successful value system ever invented, and who also understands that the reason he has so many great friends to hang out with is because of the Torah’s emphasis on kindness–not insulting or embarrassing people and not gossiping behind their backs–such a child has no motivation to leave the system (go off the derech).

But on the other hand, if a child is told, “If you do this, it’s wrong. and if you do that, it’s wrong,” and you are only allowed to learn and never to build anything, and everything in Western society is against the Torah, and you need to stay away from as much of the world as possible because it’s us versus them, and they are all evil and out to get you, and people like Einstein were nebachs who wasted their lives with nonsense, and imagine what he would have accomplished if he had learned instead, and even if you do learn and do everything you are supposed to do, you will only see a reward after 120 years when you are already dead and in the next world–then a child will look to bolt at the earliest opportunity.

But I want to come back to one point that we left hanging. According to the understanding that the Midrash Shmuel expressed–that we must work through science to eradicate disease–how does that fit with what we are all taught over and over again, that we should do teshuvah when bad things befall us, as the pasuk in Devarim tells us, “Batzar lecha u’metza’ucha kol ha’devarim ha’eleh . . . v’shavta ad Hashem Elokecha.” The Jewish way has always been to engage in self-examination when things go wrong. According to some interpretations, the Vidui (confession) of Kishinu oref (we hardened our necks) is that we attributed bad things to chance, rather than to sin, as we were supposed to do. If so, is a doctor making an end run around the system, and exploiting a loophole so that we can avoid punishment?

But I think the answer may be as follows: Sin is an impediment to progress. The entire Torah is for our benefit, not for G‑d’s. Whether a sick person goes to a prophet for guidance on what he is doing wrong, or to a doctor for a cure, the end result will be exactly the same. The prophet may tell him, improve in such-and-such behavior. But the doctor hands him a pill. However, the lesson is: look, people worked long hours in a lab, and studied hard in order to make this pill. (And this doesn’t include all the other people who worked outside the drug company, like the electrical contractors, and truck drivers who delivered the raw ingredients, and the nurses who carefully administer the medicines and look after the patients, etc.) They all used their time productively. If they would have wasted their lives partying all night and sleeping all day, or if everyone in the drug company were fighting with each other, instead of focusing on work, you would not have a pill to take, and would be in serious trouble. So take mussar and learn a lesson that only by following the Torah’s core values can the world function in a productive way. The prophet and the doctor can teach the exact same lesson, but by different means.

To summarize, I think that the rationalist philosophy of the Modern camp fits best for our generation of children. However, we will only achieve progress in solving the world’s problems if we are willing to be moser nefesh (give everything we have) and adopt the discipline and self-sacrifice of the Chareidi children, who work in school perhaps twice the hours of most kids their age, and are willing to forgo much relaxation and entertainment to achieve higher goals. I hope to continue to develop this theme.

Barry Jacobson can be contacted at
bdj@alum.mit.edu.

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