The Israel Koschitzky Virtual Beit Midrash

Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Emor begins with the prohibition of tum’at kohanim, forbidding kohanim to come in contact with tum’a. Rashi, commenting on the first verse of the parasha, notes the redundancy in this verse: “Speak to the kohanim, the sons of Aharon, and say to them…” The repetition of the command “speak,” Rashi explains, adds a warning to kohanim not to bring tum’a upon their young children. Adult kohanim are forbidden not only from causing their own tum’a, but from actively bringing the status of tum’a upon their children, as well.

Rashi’s comments here are drawn from the Gemara in Masekhet Yevamot (114a), which proceeds to question the need for the verse in this parasha to introduce this prohibition. After all, a general principle, established elsewhere in the Torah, forbids feeding non-kosher food to small children (even younger than the age of mitzvot). Why, then, must the Torah specifically forbid a kohen from causing his son to become tamei? Why does this not flow naturally from the general prohibition against feeding non-kosher food to children? The Gemara answers that the distinction lies in the relatively narrow scope of the prohibition of tum’at kohanim. Unlike the Torah’s dietary laws, which apply to all Jews, the laws of tum’at kohanim are relevant to only a small segment of the population, the kohanim. Therefore, one could not extend the general principle forbidding feeding children non-kosher food to the realm of tum’at kohanim.

The Gemara does not, however, clarify why the narrow scope of this prohibition should be relevant in this regard. Why should the fact that tum’at kohanim applies only to kohanim warrant permitting a kohen to bring tum’a upon his child, thus necessitating a separate verse to teach otherwise? How does this factor – the scope of the laws of tum’at kohanim - affect the status of children with respect to this prohibition?

Rav Hersh Yaar, in his “Chamudei Tzvi” (New York, 1966), explains by analyzing the status of children in mitzvot in general. The fact that an adult may not feed non-kosher food to small children indicates that although small children are obviously not held accountable for their violations, and, needless to say, they are not liable for punishment, they are nevertheless included in these laws. Essentially, the Torah issues its prohibitions to the entire population, adult and child alike, but merely exempts small children from punishment for violations. The Peri Megadim (in his “Peticha Kolelet”to Orach Chayim 2:3) draws a distinction in this regard between mitzvot asei (“positive commandments”) and mitzvot lo ta’aseh (“negative commandments,” or prohibitions). Regarding the latter category, as we said, children are essentially included and merely exempted from accountability. When it comes to mitzvot asei, however, the Torah excludes minors altogether. A five-year-old boy is not merely exempted from punishment for failing to lay tefillin; he is never obligated in the first place.

However, Rav Yaar argues, even within the category of mitzvot lo ta’aseh, we must distinguish between different types of prohibitions with regard to the status of a minor. When a prohibition is introduced as applying to the entire nation, then it stands to reason that it includes minors, as well. Therefore, one may not feed forbidden foods to children. With regard, however, to prohibitions applying to very limited sectors of the population, logic would perhaps dictate that we include in the prohibition only those specific people to whom it is directed. If the Torah singled out the kohanim and instructed them to avoid tum’a, it stands to reason that from the outset it directed this prohibition only to the adults. Since this was not stated as a generic law presented to all Am Yisrael, it does not include the children.

Therefore, without the verse at the beginning of Parashat Emor, we would have excluded children entirely from the prohibition of tum’at kohanim, despite their inclusion in other prohibitions, such as the laws of kashrut. As the Gemara says, the narrow scope of tum’at kohanim would, logically, warrant the exclusion of minors from this prohibition, and Chazal must therefore derive this law from the opening verse of our parasha.

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Parashat Emor concludes with the infamous incident of the megadef, the blasphemer who publicly cursed God's Name for which he was sentenced to death. In response to this incident, God briefly presents to Moshe the laws concerning one who blasphemes the Almighty's Name: "Anyone who blasphemes his God shall bear his guilt; one who pronounces the Name of the Lord shall be put to death" (24:15-16). These two verses appear, at first glance, redundant. What is the difference between "blasphemes his God" and "pronounces the Name of God," and why does the former "bear his guilt" while the other is "put to death"?

We find in Chazal two approaches to understanding these verses. The majority view of the Chakhamim, as cited in the Gemara (Sanhedrin 56a) and Torat Kohanim, explains that the two verses refer to two different types of divine Names. The first verse, which speaks of one "who blasphemes his God," refers to cursing one of the "kinuyim," or secondary names of Hashem. A blasphemer of this sort violates a Torah prohibition but is not liable for the death penalty; he merely "bears his guilt." The second verse, however, which calls for capital punishment, deals with someone who curses the "Shem Ha-meyuchad," the primary Name of God. This approach is adopted by the Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel on this verse as well as the Rambam (Hilkhot Avodat Kokhavim 2:7). Rashi, however, follows the minority view of Rabbi Yehuda cited in the Torat Kohanim, by which the two verses describe two different circumstances of blasphemy. The first deals with one who cursed without prior warning of the consequences, generally a formal prerequisite for punishment at the hands of the Bet Din. Since he had no warning, the blasphemer is not put to death by the court, but merely "bears his guilt" – he is punished by God with "karet." The second verse, by contrast, speaks of instance where hatra'a (formal warning) was administered, thus rendering the violator liable for capital punishment. (According to the Kessef Mishneh – Hilkhot Avodat Kokhavim 2:9, cursing the divine Name marks an exception to the general rule requiring hatra'a before the crime for Bet Din to administer punishment, and one who blasphemes God is liable for court punishment even without warning. This obviously runs counter to the view of Rabbi Yehuda, adopted by Rashi.)

In two later commentators, we find a particularly startling approach to these verses. Rabbi Yitzchak Arama, in his "Akeidat Yitzchak," and the Abarbanel, both explain the first of these two verses as referring to someone who curses an idolatrous deity. "Anyone who blasphemes his God" should actually read, "Anyone who blasphemes his god" (lowercase "g"). According to the Akeidat Yitzchak, this verse reminds Benei Yisrael that in other religions, one is punishable for blaspheming his deity. All the more so, then, is one deserving of harsh punishment for cursing the Name of the true God. The Abarbanel explains somewhat differently, claiming that the verses here draw a contrast between cursing pagan gods and cursing the Almighty. If a pagan blasphemes his deity, then we have no reason to intervene and put him to death; when, however, someone curses the Almighty Himself, he deserves capital punishment.

This approach seems difficult to accept for several reasons, but one particular objection is raised by Rabbi Yehuda Leib Graubart in his "Yabia Omer" (Toronto, 1936). In at least two instances in the Talmud (Yerushalmi Sukka, 4:3; Chagiga 14a), we find tannaim objecting to a possible interpretation of verses which transforms a presumed reference to God into a reference to a pagan deity. He, too, tradition has always considered the expression "yekalel Elo-hav" ("who blasphemes his God") as a reference to God Himself. We therefore have no right, Rav Graubart argues, to suggest alternative interpretations that transform the word into a reference to a pagan deity.

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Parashat Emor contains one of the Torah's two references to the mitzva of sefirat ha-omer, which we observe during this period, between the festivals of Pesach and Shavuot. The Torah instructs that we begin counting "mi-macharat ha-Shabbat" – literally, "from the day following the Shabbat" (Vayikra 23:15). Chazal famously interpreted the word "Shabbat" in this verse as a reference to the first day of Pesach, rather than Shabbat. This tradition became the focal point of the bitter controversy triggered by the Tzedukim, or Sadducees, who denied the authenticity of the rabbis' oral tradition and argued for the independence of the straightforward reading of the written Torah. The Tzedukim insisted that this verse refers to Shabbat itself, and they thus began counting the omer after the first Shabbat following the first day of Pesach. The Gemara describes that the issue of "macharat ha-Shabbat" erupted into a fierce struggle between Chazal and their followers on the one hand, and the powerful sect of Sadducees on the other.

One might wonder why it is that the interpretation of this verse in particular gave rise to such bitter controversy. On the surface, perhaps, the Tzedukim viewed Chazal's approach to this verse as the starkest example of the written text's subjugation to the rabbis' oral tradition. Perhaps more so here than anywhere else, Chazal, based on tradition, "impose" a counterintuitive and startlingly novel definition on an otherwise simple and familiar term in the text. The Sadducees naturally saw in this translation their best chance at undermining the rabbis' authority and ridiculing the oral law.

The Chatam Sofer, however, suggests that this controversy bears particular significance beyond the perceived distortion of the word "Shabbat." As we know, the Torah never assigns a calendar date to the festival of Shavuot, which, as Chazal explain, commemorates Matan Torah. Rather, Shavuot is observed on the fiftieth day after we begin counting the omer. Now according to Chazal's tradition, that the counting begins on the second day of Pesach, then it indeed turns out that we celebrate Shavuot on the anniversary of Matan Torah – the sixth of Sivan. According to the Tzedukim, however, Shavuot does not necessarily fall on the anniversary of Matan Torah (it does so only when the first day of Pesach occurs on Shabbat). Herein, the Chatam Sofer claims, lies the significance of this controversy. Chazal famously comment that when presenting the Torah to Am Yisrael, the Almighty suspended Mount Sinai over the people and coerced them to accept His law. The Ramban qualifies this statement, claiming that it refers only to the oral law; the written law, however, was accepted happily and did not require any coercive measures. The Chatam Sofer claims that it follows from here that on Shavuot we celebrate only our acceptance of the written Torah. We would not, he argues, observe a festival to celebrate that which was forced upon us. According to the Tzedukim, however, there was never any oral tradition. Therefore, if indeed the Almighty suspended the mountain over Benei Yisrael to force them to accept the Torah, He did so with the written Torah. It turns out, then, that we have no reason to celebrate Matan Torah, and so, sure enough, the Sadducees insisted that the festival of Shavuot need not correspond with the date of Matan Torah.

It would seem that this approach of the Chatam Sofer involves conceptual profundity beyond the clever calculation on which it is based. Shavuot celebrates more than Matan Torah; it celebrates the relationship, the bond formed between Am Yisrael and the Almighty with the giving of the Torah. Many Midrashim describe Matan Torah as a "wedding," as it were, between God and Am Yisrael, and indeed this is one common explanation of the practice of adorning our synagogues and homes with flowers on Shavuot. What the Chatam Sofer might be saying is that according to the view of Sadducees, there is no such bond and relationship between God and His people. He simply handed us a set of rules for us to obey. Such a bond is manifest is the oral law, the Torah she-be'al peh. The oral tradition requires the investment of time and effort on our part to carefully examine the law and decide – without any revelation of God – when and how to apply it. The oral, as opposed to written, law means more than the absence of a written text. It means that Benei Yisrael must themselves take part in the legislative process of Torah, that we, to some extent, bear the responsibility of establishing, beyond merely obeying, the halakha. The oral law thus transforms Benei Yisrael from mere recipients of the Torah to God's partners in the Torah.

Significantly, then, as the Chatam Sofer observes, the Tzedukim have no festival to celebrate Matan Torah. If the entire Torah consists only of a set of laws for us to obey, rather than an ongoing relationship between man and God, then there is no reason to establish a festival. Only with the oral tradition do we become partners, as it were, with the Almighty, and this, indeed, is very well worth celebrating.

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As we mentioned yesterday, in Parashat Emor the Torah introduces the mitzva of sefirat ha-omer. Generally, the mitzva is a rather simple and straightforward one, to count each day from the second day of Pesach through Erev Shavuot. In a famous passage, the "Devar Avraham" (1:34) discusses a situation of someone who does not have access to a Jewish calendar and lost track of the days of sefira. Specifically, he asks regarding a person who does not remember whether a given day is, let's say, the nineteenth or twentieth day of the omer. Instinctively, we might recommend that this person should simply conduct a double counting, and declare "today is the nineteenth day of the omer; today is the twentieth day of the omer," such that he safely fulfills his obligation either way.

However, the "Devar Avraham" famously rules that in truth, this is not a valid solution. He argues that the term "sefira," counting, means a clear, definitive determination of the number of days that have passed. A questionable or ambiguous counting is, in effect, not a counting at all. Therefore, someone who lost track of the days of sefira has no solution, and he gains nothing by counting both days.

The "Devar Avraham" advances two proofs to substantiate his theory. First, he notes the ruling of the Magen Avraham that someone who does not understand Hebrew does not fulfill the mitzva of sefirat ha-omer if he recites the counting in Hebrew. Many other Acharonim challenge this position, in light of the well-established principle that one can always fulfill the obligation to recite a given text if he does so in Hebrew, regardless of whether or not he understands what he says. The "Devar Avraham" explains that the obligation of sefira entails more than the physical act of recitation; it requires a cognitive awareness of the given number of that day. Understandably, then, one must understand his counting, even if he counts in lashon ha-kodesh.

The second piece of evidence presented by the "Devar Avraham" relates to the counting of the omer in the Diaspora. As we know, Jews outside Israel have continued the tradition of Diaspora Jewry during Temple times which observed two days of Yom Tov given their doubt as to the occurrence of Rosh Chodesh. Despite the establishment of a permanent calendar by which Jews everywhere know exactly when Rosh Chodesh falls, Diaspora Jews have nevertheless continued their ancestors' tradition and conduct themselves as if they are in doubt. Logically, then, we might have expected Chazal to require a similar practice in the performance of sefirat ha-omer, namely, that Jews in the Diaspora should count twice each night. They should first count the day according to the calendar, then count the preceding day, due to the doubt their ancestors had as to when the second day of Pesach fell. But never do we find such a halakha. The "Devar Avraham" explains that such a double counting would undermine the entire performance of the mitzva and render it meaningless. Since a "sefira" entails a definitive counting, counting twice due to a doubt would not constitute a halakhic sefira and one would thus not fulfill the mitzva altogether.

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Among the mitzvot introduced in Parashat Emor is the prohibition against "chadash," partaking of the new harvest's grain until the offering of the korban ha-omer sacrifice on the second day of Pesach (see 23:14). The mishna in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah (30a) records that after the destruction of the second Mikdash, the rabbinic leader of the time, Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai, instituted that "yom ha-nef yihyeh kulo assur" – that people must refrain from partaking of chadash the entire second day of Pesach. When the Temple stood and the omer offering was brought, the new grain became permissible immediately with the offering of the korban. With the destruction of the Mikdash, the people needed some guidance as to when the prohibition ended. Rabban Yochanan established that the prohibition extended throughout the entire day of the sixteenth of Nissan.

The mishna's formulation would indicate that this extension of the prohibition to the entire second day of Pesach was introduced by Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai, who instituted many other takkanot in the aftermath of the destruction (as recorded in the mishnayot there in Masekhet Rosh Hashanah). Without his initiative, the prohibition would end earlier, perhaps in the morning of the sixteenth of Nissan. Such is the implication of the straightforward reading of the mishna. The Gemara, however, clarifies that the prohibition in the post-Temple period against partaking of chadash throughout the day of the sixteenth is a Torah prohibition. Although the Torah writes explicitly that one may not eat of the new grain "until you have brought the offering of your God," perhaps suggesting that the prohibition of the sixteenth depends solely on the offering, the verse also writes, "do not eat until this very day." According to one view – which, the Gemara claims, Rabban Yochanan followed, this clause refers to the post-Temple period, when chadash is forbidden throughout the day of the sixteenth. Rabban Yochanan did not, then, invent this prohibition, but merely publicized it after the destruction of the Bet Ha-mikdash.

The question, however, arises as to why the mishna presents Rabban Yochanan's "takkana" as his own initiative and decree. If, as the Gemara explains, Rabban Yochanan actually maintained that this prohibition applies according to Torah law, why does the mishna misleadingly describe it as an original "takkana" of Rabban Yochanan?

Some have explained that this halakha had ideological ramifications that extended far beyond the permissibility of new grain on the sixteenth of Nissan. As we can imagine, the destruction of the Second Temple created a considerable amount of confusion among the Jewish people. Unlike the first destruction, which had been explicitly predicted for years by many prophets, particularly Yirmiyahu, who also foresaw the Jews' return to Zion seventy years later, the Jews had received no prophetic warning about the fall of the Second Commonwealth. (Prophecy came to an end during the early years of the Second Temple.) The absence of direct instructions from God left the Jews in a quandary. They had never anticipated the Temple's destruction; what do they do now? Did this mark the end of the Torah? Do they have any basis for hope in the return of Jewish sovereignty and the Temple?

Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai, in a heroic display of leadership and courage, instituted a series of decrees that were meant to breathe a breath of encouragement and hope into the people, and assure them that the Temple will one day return. One such decree was the reminder of "yom ha-nef," that the Torah forbids the consumption of chadash throughout the sixteenth day of Nissan. The very fact that the Torah directly addressed the post-Temple period, that it established a halakha relevant specifically to the absence of the Mikdash, constituted a critical "takkana" for the Jews of the time. Through this reminder, Rabban Yochanan assured Am Yisrael that this calamity was indeed foreseen by the Torah, and that the Torah retains its relevance and centrality with or without the Bet Ha-mikdash. In this way, Rabban Yochanan helped ensure the continuity of the Jewish religion at a time when many questioned its future.

Today, Jews around the world will celebrate the first stage of the fulfillment of Rabban Yochanan's reassurance, the return of Jewish sovereignty to our ancestral homeland. While we still anxiously await the rebuilding of the Mikdash and the restoration of the Temple service, we nevertheless celebrate the realization of the dream of shivat Tziyon – which for many millions of Jews throughout the centuries was too unrealistic to be even dreamt. The miracle of the State of Israel is the miracle of Jewish fortitude and resilience, the hope and anticipation bred within us by leaders such as Rabban Yochanan Ben Zakai that the Jews would one day return to Zion, and the Bet Ha-mikdash would one day return to Jerusalem.

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Parashat Emor introduces the prohibition against "chilul Hashem," desecrating the Name of God: "Do not desecrate My sacred Name, and I shall be sanctified among Benei Yisrael" (22:32). One of the more prominent features of this prohibition is the requirement of "yeihareg ve-al ya'avor," that one must, under certain, very specific instances, surrender his life rather than transgress the Torah, which would create a chilul Hashem. According to halakha, there are two kinds of situations requiring this type of martyrdom. First, during a time of religious persecution, one must give his life rather than violate any mitzva. According to some Rishonim, this includes anytime a Jew is forced to violate a mitzva in public. The second situation is when a Jew comes under coercion to transgress one of the three grievous sins of idolatry, immorality and murder. In such an instance, Heaven forbid, a Jew must surrender his life rather than transgress and create a chilul Hashem.

What happens if an individual succumbs to the pressure and commits the violation? Is he punished by the Bet-Din for his transgression, or is he acquitted in consideration of the unique circumstances surrounding his violation? The Rambam (Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah, 5:4) famously rules that one who violates in such a case does not receive punishment at the hands of the court: "Anyone about whom it is said that he must be killed rather than violate who violates rather than being killed, has desecrated the Name… Nevertheless, because he violated be-oness [due to circumstances beyond his control], he is not whipped, not to mention the fact that he is not put to death." The Rambam here invokes the famous halakha of "oness," exempting from punishment violators who committed a sin under circumstances beyond their control.

Just two halakhot later, however, the Rambam appears to contradict his own ruling. He writes that the obligation of "yeihareg ve-al ya'avor" extends beyond situations of forceful, physical coercion. It applies even in situations of illness, where physicians inform a patient that he will die unless he undergoes treatment involving a violation of one of the three cardinal sins. The Rambam concludes this halakha by asserting that a patient who transgresses one of these three sins in order to cure himself of fatal illness is punished by the Bet-Din for the transgression he committed.

How do we reconcile these two rulings of the Rambam? Why do we not consider the terminally ill patient an "oness" in his violation, just as we do the person forced by hostile gentiles to transgress a sin at the threat of death?

Rav Elchanan Wasserman Hy"d, in his "Kovetz Shiurim," explains that we must take another look at the "oness" exemption. The Torah does not simply absolve one of accountability in situations of "oness," acknowledging the difficult circumstances under which the sin was committed. Rather, Rav Elchanan explains, in cases of "oness," the Torah does not associate the individual with the act committed. Halakha instructs us not to attribute the action to the individual in the absence of willful intent. If a person had no intention of performing a certain action, and he does so under circumstances beyond his control, then we do not consider him as having committed the act at all.

This theory easily resolves the difficulty raised against the Rambam. In the first case, where an external force physically coerces the individual to violate the given prohibition, we dissociate the act committed from the individual. Since he committed the sin as a result of force applied by an external entity, we do not attribute the act to him. In a situation of illness, by contrast, no physical force coerces the individual to transgress. Rather, he makes the conscious, willed decision to afford priority to his life over the given violation. No other person forced him into this decision; he reached it independently. The halakha of "oness" therefore cannot apply, and the individual is subject to punishment at the hands of the Bet-Din.

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Yesterday we discussed the obligation of "yeihareg ve-al ya'avor," that in certain situations one must give his life rather than transgress the Torah, a law extracted by Chazal from a verse in Parashat Emor. As we saw, halakha requires that one surrender his life rather than violate the three cardinal sins of idolatry, immorality and murder.

A significant restriction on this mitzva is imposed by the Ba'al Ha-ma'or, in Masekhet Sanhedrin (17b in the Rif). The Ba'al Ha-ma'or claims that this obligation applies only when religious, ideological motives propel the individual coercing the Jew to transgress. If, however, the person threatening the Jew does so for his own personal gratification, such as forcing the Jew at the threat of death to engage in forbidden intercourse, the Jew need not surrender his life to avoid the violation.

Other Rishonim (Ra'avad, Ramban) challenge this position of the Ba'al Ha-ma'or, and draw strong evidence against his view from a halakha we discussed yesterday. The Gemara in Masekhet Pesachim (25a) clearly indicates that, as we saw yesterday, the obligation of "yeihareg ve-al ya'avor" applies to situations of terminal illness. One may not undergo treatment involving a violation of the three cardinal sins, even if this is necessary to save his life. Needless to say, the threat to life in such a case has nothing at all to do with religious doctrine. Apparently, the prohibitions' stringency itself, regardless of the motivation behind forcing its violation, does not allow for its suspension under any circumstances, even to save life. How, then, could the Ba'al Ha-ma'or allow for violating these prohibitions to save life when the one forcing the Jew is driven by personal, rather than religious, ambitions?

Rav Yair Kahn, in his series of VBM shiurim on Masekhet Ketubot this past year, suggests the following approach to resolve this difficulty. The obligation of "yeihareg ve-al ya'avor" consists of two components. First, as we mentioned in light of the Gemara in Pesachim, the unique stringency of these transgressions results in their exclusion from the general principle allowing (and in fact mandating) the violation of Torah law to save life. The provision of "piku'ach nefesh," which affords preference to human life over Torah law, does not apply to these three sins. But there exists an additional aspect, as well: the obligation of "kiddush Hashem," the sanctification of God's Name. When confronted, Heaven forbid, by a challenge of this sort to his loyalty to God, a person is obligated by the mitzva of kiddush Hashem to surrender his life rather than desecrate the Jewish faith.

When a person is physically coerced to violate a prohibition, only one of these two aspects applies. Recall the analysis presented yesterday, that in such a scenario of physical coercion, halakha dissociates the individual from the act committed. If a person performs an action only by force of physical coercion, he is not technically considered as having performed the act; he was but an instrument in the hand of the coercive force. Thus, for example, a person physically forced to worship an idol has not committed an act of idolatry; he simply served as an object through which his oppressor worshipped an idol. Consequently, the first of the two halakhot of "yeihareg ve-al ya'avor" does not apply. This halakha says that the interest of saving life does not affect the prohibition of idolatry, for example. But, as we explained, a person worshipping an idol by force does not violate this prohibition at all. By virtue of this halakha alone, therefore, one need not surrender his life to avoid idol worship by coercion, since in any event worship under coercion does not constitute a violation. Only the second aspect of the obligation, the mitzva of kiddush Hashem, requires one to surrender his life rather than bow down to an idol. Even though one would not violate the prohibition of idolatry should he worship an idol by force, the mitzva of kiddush Hashem nevertheless mandates that he sacrifice his life rather than agree to perform the worship.

This distinction, Rav Kahn explains, easily resolves the difficulty raised against the Ba'al Ha-ma'or. When a gentile coerces a Jew to violate a sin for his (the gentile's) personal gratification, then neither of the two aspects of "yeihareg ve-al ya'avor" applies. Since the Jew acts under coercion, we do not consider this an act of sin, and thus the stringency of the prohibition is inconsequential. The mitzva of kiddush Hashem does not apply, either, because the gentile does not seek to undermine the Jewish faith. Since the oppressor intends merely for his personal benefit, we do not look upon the force applied to a Jew as an affront to God or His Torah. Therefore, the violation of the given sin does not desecrate God's Name, and the person need not surrender his life.

When it comes to medical treatment, however, the first of the two aspects indeed applies. Since, as we explained yesterday, no physical force is exerted upon the patient to violate the given prohibition, we cannot dissociate him from the forbidden act. Since he performed the action with willful intent, he is considered as having committed the act and, as we saw yesterday (in the Rambam), he is liable for punishment. Therefore, the prohibition still applies in all its stringency, and the provision of "piku'ach nefesh" does not obtain. Thus, although the mitzva of kiddush Hashem does not apply here, since the individual does not confront ideological opposition to Judaism, the first halakha does apply, as the stringent prohibition stands to be violated.

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