The risk factor in Halakha is getting it wrong and committing a transgression. This is understandable, and hopefully stems from reverence and respect, not from fear of punishment or anticipation for a mansion in the world to come. But we cannot file all Mitzvot, decrees, practices, customs, prayers, prohibitions, and recommendations under the same rubric. There is a difference between an error a pilot makes during an actual flight and one he makes on a simulator, and both are much more serious than a student using the wrong pencil for SAT (HB, 2HB, or 2B?). And there are other mistakes which will change the outcome but can be ignored, for example, changing an ingredient in a recipe can yield a different dish, still tasty.

Similarly, when we consider a halakhic question, we should ask what happens if we are wrong. For example, if I am not sure whether I have to say a berakha, what will happen if I say or I do not say it? Who is harmed by the wrong decision of a posek? If a berakha had to be said but the posek decide not to say it, is God offended? And if is the other way around, and the berakha was said although it was not necessary, would God not appreciate the effort and good will of the person who recited it? Unfortunately, the fear of going wrong has made us all go wrong! Halakha has become paralyzed and institutionalized, and when someone offers a new perspective or option, it is rejected by a meaningless statement: we do not pasken (rule) like that!

The poskim are afraid that if using their power to nullify marriage in cases of Agunah will lead people to belittle the institution of marriage, but they are not afraid to let the poor women suffer for years, as if saying “this is a risk we are willing to take”. The Kashrut organizations disqualify thousands of animals for fear of (non-existent) punctured lungs but have no fear of denying kosher meat to thousands of people. One of my frum guests almost fainted at my table seder once because of the exaggerated amount of Matzah and wine he consumed, all out of fear that he might not have fulfilled his obligation.

This, I think, is the critical note in the Talmudic saying I cited yesterday^[1]. It was originally stated in the context of learning. The person who studies Halakha creates a Temple. The famous Talmudic scholar Abaye said that once he heard that statement he started praying where he was learning, meaning that he felt more connected to God in that place.

Overtime, however, the true meaning of the statement is revealed. Four cubits are indeed a personal space, but they also connote confinement. A dead body is entitled to four cubits around it, and one who crossed the boundary of Shabbat cannot walk more than four cubits. Similarly, we have confined our relationships with God to a four by four box. We tell God that this is the only place where He can be, and accordingly, we focus more on the mitzvot which govern our relationships with Him and not with other human beings.

Consider this: we expect the poskim to never be mistaken, and if a rabbi certifies, by mistake, something as kosher, all hell breaks loose. When it is a question of interpersonal relationships, or decisions which affect the whole nation, we tend to be much more forgiving. For example, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef has admitted that his support of the Oslo accords was mistaken and that he was mislead by Aryeh Deri. That decision affected millions of lives in the last 25 years, but we have not heard any of his followers saying that we should reconsider his other rulings because this one was mistaken. Another tragic example is the failure of European Orthodox leaders to encourage their followers to leave Europe. Many people were ready to go, and some already went to America or to Israel and returned, but their poskim told them that Zionism is antithetical to Judaism and that America will cause them all to assimilate, yet no one (within the orthodox world) questions the Torah and Halakha of those poskim. Finally, a contemporary example: for years, many orthodox rabbis supported conversion therapy to “cure” what they consider abnormal sexual orientation. Now that it has been proven beyond doubt that the “therapy” is disastrous and traumatic, and that sexual orientation does not change, where is the call for reviewing other halakhic rulings by these authorities?

When the rabbis said that God only has four cubits of halakha, it might have been a praise, but it has become a premonition of the dire situation in which we are now. Now, God cannot be found in the way we treat others, run our business, or take care of our families. For the strict believer, Halakha is Halakha, and human emotions, hunches, or discomfort cannot change it. We have forced ourselves, with the Image of God and the divine spark, into a tiny box, and we refuse to get out of it.

In upcoming posts:

What is Auslander’s message in presenting Halakha as analyzed by beings with AI, which in turn rely on a man-written codex?

Parallels in Islamic law!

What can be done to change the situation?

And, a question raised previously, what happened in the 20^th century that ultimately paralyzed halakha?

[1] I would like to thank the readers who suggested several interpretations: Halakha is confined to one’s personal space; we serve God through Halakha; we create our own world of meaning and connect to God through halakha.