Yevamos 45b: The final halacha is: if a non-Jew or a slave fathered a child with a Jewish woman, the child is kosher, whether the woman was single or married.

יבמות מה ע”ב והלכתא: עובד כוכבים ועבד הבא על בת ישראל ־ הולד כשר, בין בפנויה בין באשת איש.

Cindy was a student at Boston University who became closer to her Jewish roots under the influence of the Bostoner Rebbe and Rebbetzin. She frequently attended the Chassidic Center, often came to help the Rebbetzin with household chores, and did chesed for mothers in the community. With time, Cindy became engaged to a boy named David she had met at the Chassidic center, and all agreed that theirs was a perfect match. Both were newly religious and thoroughly committed to their Judaism and to each other.

One evening, she called the Rebbe and sobbed, “Rebbe, I’m in trouble. I’m supposed to get married at the end of the month, and I just learned that I’m… that I’m a mamzer!”

“Cindy,” the Rebbe said gently, “I don’t know why you suspect that you might not be a legitimate Bas Yisroel, but mamzerus is a somewhat esoteric and very technical halachic term and is often misinterpreted. Why don’t you come over and we’ll talk about it.”

The Rebbetzin escorted Cindy into the study and placed a box of Kleenex at her side. Cindy made quick work of the tissues even before she commenced her tale of woe. Her sobbing plunged them all into a state of deep despair. The saga was but four hours old, yet its ramifications would affect and conceivably ruin a lifetime.

Earlier that afternoon at her university, a noted Torah scholar had lectured on the sanctity of marriage. In the course of his talk, he had explained that the term mamzer does not necessarily apply to a child born out of wedlock, a common misconception, but to one born of a woman who has remarried without receiving a get from her previous husband. “Even before the lecture was over,” Cindy related, “I rushed out to call home. I confronted my mother and insisted that she tell me if her first husband had given her a get. As you know, Rebbe, my mother is not at all religious, and I doubt that she’d ever bothered with a get. She wouldn’t answer my question and when I pressed her, she became very flustered. ‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked. ‘Because it affects me in the most serious way,’ I said. I begged her to be honest with me because my future depended upon her answer. But she reacted with a tirade against religious observance. “You chose this absurd way of life, this cult of yours. Now your belief will bury you!”

Although the Rebbe had had to deal with terrible devastating situations like this in the past, experience didn’t make it any easier. The plight of this sweet young girl, a neshamala who had practically grown up in his home, was like a knife in his heart. The Rebbetzin was dabbing at her eyes, and the Rebbe too was on the verge of tears. He entreated the Ribono Shel Olam to spare Cindy from the tragic fate of being a mamzer. He prayed for an eitzah, anything that might confirm her legitimacy.

After questioning Cindy for several minutes, the Rebbe thought it might be more productive if he were to speak to Cindy’s father, Mr. George Fried, instead. “Are you still in contact with your father?” he asked. “No, Rebbe, no one knows where he is. He has simply vanished. Last year I wanted to send him a birthday card, so I called my grandparents, but even they –“  

“Grandparents?” the Rebbe cried excitedly. “Your paternal grandparents, they’re alive? Where do they live?” “In Dallas,” Cindy replied, startled by the Rebbe’s keen interest in this detail. The Rebbe dialed the number and an elderly Mr. Fried answered.

The Rebbe identified himself, explaining that he was calling about a very important matter. Cindy’s grandfather responded to all of the Rebbe’s questions but made no significant contribution. Then the Rebbe asked, “Did your son have a bar mitzvah?” Instead of replying right away with a simple yes or no, Mr. Fried covered the mouthpiece and a muffled conversation between him and presumably his wife took place. Finally, the grandmother got on the line and told the Rebbe that George had been confirmed at the local temple when he was thirteen. She passed the phone back to her husband.

Something indefinable prompted the Rebbe to ask the next question. “Was that the same temple where he had his bris, that is, his circumcision?” Silence followed and then some awkward hemming and hawing. The Rebbe asked Cindy if she would please step out of the study so that he might continue the conversation in private. He explained to the Frieds that while under normal circumstances he would never pry into someone’s personal life, these were not normal circumstances. “Cindy’s future is at stake,” the Rebbe declared, and paused for the words to sink in. Only when he was certain that they grasped the gravity of the situation did he proceed to detail his relationship with their granddaughter. “I am a rabbi, he said, a Chassidic rebbe, in fact, if that means anything to you. Will you accept my word that what you tell me I will never reveal to a living soul?”

“Yes, Rabbi,” they said apprehensively. In a somber voice, the Rebbe asked them if, in fact, their son was adopted. They hesitated for a while and the Rebbe implored them to be frank with him. After what seemed an eternity, Mrs. Fried confessed that they had adopted their son at the age of fifteen months. No one, she said, including George himself, was aware of this. She told the Rebbe that although they had wanted to adopt a Jewish baby, they had been unable to get one and had to accept a child whose natural mother was gentile. (The Rebbe later received independent confirmation of this.) The Frieds had never formally converted him to Judaism.

“Boruch Hashem,” the Rebbe sighed and resumed breathing. He could not remember ever being so happy to learn that a Jew was not a Jew. Since George Fried was not Jewish, Cindy was not a mamzer. Mamzeirus applies only to the offspring of a forbidden union between Jews. Cindy could marry David.

Source: The Bostoner, by Hanoch Teller, p. 150

Yevamos 42a: Rava said: The reason why a woman must wait three months after her divorce to get remarried is because she might have a baby and we won’t know who the father is, and the baby might end up marrying his sister from his father’s side.

יבמות מב ע”א: רבא אמר: גזירה שמא ישא את אחותו מאביו.

The Taz in Yoreh Deah 195:7 brings that Rabbeinu Peretz was once asked: why is a Jewish woman particular not to sleep on another man’s sheets, out of fear that she might get pregnant from that man’s sperm, but she has no problem sleeping on her husband’s sheets when she is a niddah? (Based on the Pischei Teshuva 195:8, this would be permitted only when the sheets were not specifically designated for the husband, or when the husband is not present.) If she gets pregnant from her husband’s sperm, wouldn’t the child have the spiritual disadvantage of being a “ben niddah”? Rabbeinu Peretz replied that since the child was not born from a forbidden sexual act, he is not a “ben niddah,” and even if he were born from another man’s sperm, he would not be a mamzer. The real reason to avoid another man’s sheets is so that the child knows who his father is, so that he doesn’t end up marrying his sister.

This problem is relevant today when couples do artificial insemination from a sperm donor. By law, the sperm donor’s identity has to remain confidential. Rabbi Yisroel Reisman once had a bochur in his yeshiva who knew that he was conceived from a Jewish sperm donor. Rabbi Reisman was not able to obtain his name, but he got the month and year when the donor was born. He and his beis din wrote a letter for the bochur saying that he could marry any girl, provided that her father was not born in that month.  

Source: Shiur by Rabbi Reisman, Yoreh Deah 195

Yevamos 122a: When Rabban Gamliel heard this, he recalled that men were once killed at Tel Arza, and Rabban Gamliel had permitted their wives to remarry based on the testimony of one witness.

The Seder Hadoros learns that this was Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh remembering a story about his grandfather Rabban Gamliel Hazakein. Rav Ovadiah Yosef (Yabia Omer v. 5 YD 21) proves from this that in Talmudic times, a grandson was named after a living grandfather, as is the Sephardi custom today.

But Ashkenazi custom, brought in Sefer Chassidim, Section 460, is not to name a baby after a living relative, because people are superstitious about it, and Chazal’s rule (Pesachim 110b) is that when it comes to demons, witchcraft and the like, if someone is particular about it, he is affected by it.   

יבמות קכב ע”א: מתוך הדבר נזכר ר״ג שנהרגו הרוגים בתל ארזא, והשיא ר״ג נשותיהן על פי עד אחד,

שו”ת יביע אומר ח”ה חיו”ד כא: וכן הוא בסדר הדורות (ערך רבן גמליאל דיבנה אות ב’) כתב דרשב”ג שהיה מעשרה הרוגי מלכות קרא לבנו רבן גמליאל (דיבנה) ע”ש אביו רבן גמליאל בחיים חיותו.

ספר חסידים תנט-תס: כל הניחושים כנגד המקפידים וכתיב כי קפדה בא ובקשו שלום ואין (יחזקאל ז,כה). מכאן כל דקפיד קפדו בהדיה (פסחים קי ע”ב). ומתוך שאין אדם יכל להזהר בהקפדות נכשל. נכרים שקוראים לבניהם בשם אביהם אין בכך כלום והיהודים מקפידים על כך ויש מקומות שאין קורין אחר שמות החיים אלא אחר שכבר מתו.  

Sometimes, quarrelling in a marriage can be a good thing. There was once an Ashkenazi couple that had a newborn baby boy, and they disagreed on what to name him. Both husband and wife had fathers who had recently passed away. The husband wanted to name the baby Avraham, after the wife’s father, while the wife wanted to name him Moshe after the husband’s father! They went to ask a rav, who ruled in favor of the husband.

“But,” said the wife, “my grandfather is still alive and his name is Avraham Yitzchak.” She called him on the phone. The grandfather declared, “I would have no problem if the baby is named Avraham. I come from several generations of rabbis, and the family always gave names even if they happened to be the same as the names of living people.”

The rav consulted Rav Elyashiv, who responded, “Even though he may not have a problem, since most Ashkenazi Jews are makpid, you should not give him that name. One must not trifle with a Jewish custom.”

Source: Tuvcha Yabiu, Parshas Bereishis, quoted in Veyikarei Shmo Beyisroel p. 458

Yevamos 121a: If a man fell into water whose shore can be seen, his wife is permitted, but if the shore cannot be seen, his wife is forbidden.

יבמות קכא ע”א מים שיש להם סוף אשתו מותרת ושאין להם סוף אשתו אסורה.

שו”ע אה”ע יז,לב: ראוהו שנפל לים אפילו טבע בים הגדול אין מעידין עליו שמת שמא יצא ממקום אחר ואם נפל למים מכונסים כגון בור או מערה שעומד ורואה כל סביביו ושהה כדי שתצא נפשו ולא עלה מעיד עליו שמת ומשיאין את אשתו.

Among the 1500 people who died when the Titanic sank in 1912 was a young Jewish man named Shimon Meisner from Novopraga, a town in the province of Kherson, Russia. He left behind his poverty-stricken wife and three small children. The widow came crying to the rav of her town, Rabbi Yaakov Meskin, asking him to pasken whether she was permitted to remarry. She was also upset that he had instructed her sons not to say kaddish; he explained that agunah was a complex subject and it would take him some time to reach a conclusion; meanwhile, saying kaddish might mislead people to think that she had already received a heter.

Rabbi Meskin wrote a teshuva permitting her based on the opinion of the Mabit, cited in Kuntres Agunos (printed at the end of Even Hoezer 17), that only when the man falls into the water do we fear that he came up somewhere else, but when he was in the cabin of a sinking ship, and the water comes in and fills up the cabin, he is presumed dead, since the walls around him prevented him from escaping.

The Kuntres Agunos says that the Beis Yosef disagrees with the Mabit. However, Rabbi Meskin argued that since the entire chumra of “water whose shore cannot be seen” is Rabbinic in origin, we can rely on the Mabit here.

However, there is a problem with this. The Mechaber in 17:32 says that if a man fell into the ocean and later a leg was found, we cannot assume it was his leg unless it has a clear, distinctive mark (סימן מובהק). Now, why do we need such a clear mark? Any sign should be good enough, since we are dealing with a Rabbinic prohibition! The Panim Meiros answers that the Mechaber is talking about a case where only one witness saw the man fall. On a Torah level, we would require two witnesses to testify that a man died. Relying on one witness is a Rabbinic leniency. In a case of “water whose shore cannot be seen” the Rabbis did not apply their leniency, so it goes back to being a Torah prohibition.

Here too, since there were no kosher witnesses testifying that Shimon Meisner was on the Titanic, the case should be judged as a D’oraisa and we should not rely on the Mabit.

To this, Rabbi Meskin responded that we have other reasons to be lenient. Mrs. Meisner received a letter from the Russian consul in London, reading, “To Mrs. Tzivia Meisner of Novopraga, in the province of Kherson: Your husband Shimon Meisner was traveling on the Titanic and drowned. I will try to send you a share of the donations collected for the bereaved families of Titanic victims.” This testimony that Meisner was on the ship, which the consul surely heard from the owners of the ship, counts as מסיח לפי תומו – a non-Jew giving information without the intent to permit the wife the remarry. The consul’s intent was only to provide her with a donation, not to permit her to remarry.

Rabbi Meskin continues for 7 pages; then he sent his teshuva to Reb Itzele Ponevezher for his approval, and he prints Reb Itzele’s response: also lenient, based chiefly on the Mabit.

Source: Sefer Beis Yaakov, by Rabbi Yaakov Meskin Hakohein, rav of Novopraga and later rav of Burlington, Vermont, Siman 49

[What is puzzling here is: how does the Mabit’s heter apply to our case? Why couldn’t Meisner have been on the deck of the ship, not surrounded by walls?

It’s true that aside from many wealthy people who had luxurious cabins above deck, the Titanic also carried poor immigrants from Eastern Europe in third class cabins. Perhaps Meisner was sleeping in one of those cabins on the night of the shipwreck. But then again, perhaps he was not. Rabbi Meskin does not quote any testimony of survivors who saw him there. The most we know is that he was on the ship, and that he was not among those saved on the lifeboats.]

Yevamos 62b: If a man loves his wife as himself, and honors her more than himself, guides his sons and daughters on the proper path and marries them off young – Scripture says regarding him, “You shall know that there is peace in your tent.” (Iyov 5:25)

יבמות סב ע”ב: ת״ר: האוהב את אשתו כגופו, והמכבדה יותר מגופו, והמדריך בניו ובנותיו בדרך ישרה, והמשיאן סמוך לפירקן, עליו הכתוב אומר: וידעת כי שלום אהלך.

The Vilna Gaon’s travels took him to the city of Amsterdam, where he was invited to stay in the home of a very wealthy man. The Gaon was exhausted, and he welcomed a few days of rest before continuing on his journey. The wealthy man took a liking to the Gaon and invited him to stay as long as he wished. The Gaon accepted gratefully because he found it comfortable and convenient in the man’s home, especially because there was a minyan in the vicinity three times a day. The Gaon stayed there three weeks, and then, thoroughly refreshed, he took his leave of his host.

The host parted with him with great reluctance and escorted him from his home with pomp and fanfare. As the wagon was about to leave, the wealthy man stepped forward for one last word with the Gaon. “Over the last three weeks,” he said, “I have become convinced that you are one of the great scholars of the Jewish people. I have seen how you conducted yourself and how you spent all your time learning. So, if you don’t mind, I would like your advice. You have also had the opportunity to observe me and my household. Do you approve of what you have seen? Is there anything you would have me change?”

“Heaven forbid,” said the Gaon. “You have a beautiful home. May the Almighty give you strength to continue in this way forever. However, since you ask, I will mention one thing. Our sages speak about a man who loves his wife as he loves himself. That means it should be the same and not more. A man’s respect for his wife should exceed his respect for himself, but with regard to love, they should be the same. This is the Talmud’s guideline. In your home, I saw something else. I saw you bring her water to wash her hands. I saw you bring her coffee to her bedroom, when you yourself do not even drink coffee. This is the only flaw I noticed.”

“Let me explain,” said the man. “It goes back to my childhood. I come from a distinguished family and my father was a well-known Talmid Chacham, but he was not a wealthy man. When I was nine years old, my father arranged a match for me with the nine-year-old daughter of a wealthy man who lived not far from our town.

The marriage would take place when we reached the age of fifteen. My prospective father-in-law agreed to give his daughter a handsome dowry and to support us. In the meantime, he paid for my clothes and shoes, and he hired a private tutor for me. I made great progress in my learning during those years.

“Just when I was turning fifteen, my prospective father-in-law’s fortunes took a turn for the worse, unknown to us, and he basically lost his money. When the date set for the marriage drew closer, my father went to see him and discuss his commitments to me. He admitted that he could not he could not fulfill them, and the engagement was broken. A short while later, I became engaged to the daughter of another wealthy man who lived in a nearby village. We were married, and not long afterward, I fell ill.

“My father-in-law spent a lot of money on doctors and medicines, but it was all to no avail. Seeing no hope for my recovery, my father-in-law sent me off to the communal poorhouse. I lay there in my sick bed, getting worse and worse every day. My father-in-law came and asked me to give a get to my wife, which I consented to do.

“Eventually, my condition stabilized, but I was still sickly and debilitated, barely able to walk under my own power. One day, a beggar came over to me in the poorhouse and said, ‘It is obvious that you are a Talmid Chacham, and you are extremely poor. I would like to make a proposal. You and I will form a team. I will rent a wagon and transport you from village to village. You will answer people’s questions, and they will give us money.’ I agreed, and this is what we did. We used to come to a town with me lying in the wagon, too weak to walk on my own power. I would explain a difficult Tosafos or a piece of Maharsha to the people, and they would give us more money than they gave the other beggars. We did rather well for ourselves considering our situation.

One day, we came across another beggar who was doing virtually the same thing we were. He was transporting his daughter in a wagon. She was also, apparently, too weak to walk on her own power. He went from house to house, and people took pity on his stricken daughter and gave generously. At my partner’s urging, we made a broader partnership. We both went collecting with our respective wagons, and at the end of the day, we would pool our earnings and divide them equally. It was a good arrangement, and it worked well. After a while, it only seemed natural that the daughter and I should get married, even though we were both exceedingly infirm. We had a very small private wedding. After the chuppah, my new bride began to cry bitterly.

“’Why are you crying?’ I said. ‘How can I not cry?’ she lamented. ‘My father used to be a rich man. When I was nine years old, he selected for me an exceptional boy from a distinguished family. He took care of the boy for five years, dressing him and buying him shoes. Then my father lost his money, and the engagement was broken. Now look how far I have fallen. I am still young, but I am as sickly and feeble as an old woman. And I am being married to a beggar who is as sick and feeble as I am. And who knows what kind of a family you are from? Don’t get me wrong, you are a good man, but look how far I have fallen. Look what has become of me.’

“I was shocked when I heard these words because she was clearly speaking about me. I told her who I was and that she was my first bride. At first, she was incredulous, but after we spoke for a while, she saw that it was true. We were both overjoyed to have found each other again. Our fortunes turned right after we were married. We both returned to health, and we prospered. The Almighty helped us at every step of the way and blessed us with fine, upstanding sons and daughters. This then is my story. I know that I caused her years of anguish and that anything I do for her will not be enough to erase my debt to her.”

The Vilna Gaon nodded gravely. “In that case,” he said, “you should continue to do as you have been doing.”

Source: Dear Son, by Rabbi Eliyohu Goldschmidt, page 122, quoting Yeshurun

[The question is: why did the Vilna Gaon hold there was anything wrong with loving one’s wife more than oneself? Perhaps the Gemara just means that the minimum is to love her as himself, but one who wishes can go beyond that! Rabbi Goldschmidt’s answer is that loving her as himself shows that he sees the two of them as parts of one whole. Just as a person treats his right hand equally to his left, so too he treats his wife as himself. But if he treats her better than himself, it must be that there is an ulterior motive. As an example, he writes that he once saw an old man give up his seat on a bus to a young, healthy woman. He obviously needed the seat more than she did, but his attraction to her motivated him to do it.

The trouble with this explanation is that granted, doing an inappropriate favor for a strange woman may stem from the yetzer hara, but when the woman is his own wife, what is wrong with hoping to increase her attraction to him? Aren’t love and attraction the glue that helps keep marriages together? Perhaps Rabbi Goldschmidt meant that sometimes, his acts of service do not increase her feelings for him; they only satisfy his one-sided desire for her.

So this is the Gaon’s explanation of why Chazal say a husband should love his wife as himself – and not more. Of course, this story might not be so reliable; after all, many tales are circulated about the Gaon’s travels during his self-imposed exile.  

A different approach to this Gemara is possible. Let’s start with the question: Why does the Gemara say that a man should love his wife as himself, but honor her more than himself? What are the definitions of honor and love, and why does he need to honor her more than himself, but love her equally?

Rashi gives us two explanations of honor. In Yevamos he says זילותא דאיתתא קשה מדגברא – dishonor, or embarrassment, is harder for a woman to bear than for a man. Therefore, if there is a demeaning job to do in the home, such as taking out the garbage, he should do it rather than leave it for his wife. Similarly, if one of the children speaks disrespectfully toward him, he may waive his honor (אב שמחל על כבודו כבודו מחול – קידושין לב ע”א) but if he speaks disrespectfully to his wife, he must stick up for her honor and reprimand the child.

In Sanhedrin 76b, Rashi explains that honor means buying her jewelry. Similarly, the Maharsha in Yevamos says it means he should buy her more expensive clothing than his own. When a husband spends on his wife’s jewelry, he is automatically sacrificing other things that he could have bought for himself with that money. Both Rashi and the Maharsha are thus making the point that when it comes to honor, whatever brings her more honor brings him less honor. This is the meaning of “honor her more than yourself.” Honor her to the point where you put her needs before your own.

Rashi doesn’t comment on “love her,” but from our story we can infer that loving her means doing things for her and caring for her in ways in which he will not need to sacrifice. Serving his wife hand and foot does not cost him money. It strengthens their love, and he gains from it too.

According to this, Chazal mean that there is simply no way for him to “love her more than himself” because the more care he displays to her, the more he gains. He is always benefiting equally with her. Incidentally, we can derive another lesson from this story: the danger of breaking an engagement is real. One source for this in Chazal is the Midrash of the weasel and the well brought by Rashi on Taanis 8a. This is why it’s so important for both sides to sign a document saying that they release the other side from the obligations of the engagement. In some cases, they need to annul their vows before a Beis Din.]

Yevamos 39b: Abba Shaul says: One who marries his brother’s wife for the sake of her beauty, for the sake of marital relations, or for some other ulterior motive, is considered as if he is having an immoral relationship.

Rema, Even Hoezer 165:1: Even if both of them wish to do yibum, we do not allow them, unless it is obvious that they intend to do it for the sake of the mitzvah.

יבמות לט ע”ב: אבא שאול אומר: הכונס את יבמתו לשם נוי, ולשום אישות, ולשום דבר אחר ־ כאילו פוגע בערוה, וקרוב אני בעיני להיות הולד ממזרֹ וחכמים אומרים: (דברים כ״ה) יבמה יבא עליה ־ מכל מקום.

אה”ע קס”ה ס”א רמ”א: ואם שניהם רוצים ביבום אין מניחים אותם לייבם אא״כ ניכר וידוע שמכוונים לשם מצוה (טור בשם ר״ת).

רמב”ם יבום וחליצה ד,יז: יבם שרגלו הימנית חתוכה אינו חולץ בשמאל ואם חלצה מעל שמאלו חליצתה פסולה , היתה רגלו עקומה לאחור או הפוכה על צידה או שהיה מהלך על ראשי אצבעות רגליו הרי זה אינו חולץ שהחולץ צריך לנעוץ עקיבו בארץ וזה אינו יכול ואם חלצה למי שרגלו כך חליצתה פסולה.

אה”ע קסט,לד: היתה רגלו עקומה לאחור או הפוכה על צדה או שמהלך על אצבעות רגליו אינו חולץ:

Yisroel Chaim and his wife Chaya lived in Jerusalem, and had no children. When Yisroel Chaim passed away in 1925 at the age of 35, the Beis Din asked Chaya, “Did your husband have any brothers?” “Yes,” she said, “he had one brother living in New York.” The Beis Din in Jerusalem wrote to a rav in New York, asking if he could locate the brother and help arrange a chalitzah.

The rav in New York managed to locate the brother. As the brother came into the rav’s house, the rav noticed that he was limping on his right foot. “Can you please take off your shoes and socks?” said the rav. The man did as he was told; the rav saw that his whole foot was bent backward, and he was walking on two of his toes. In such a case, the Rambam (Yibum Vachalitzah 4:17) and the Shulchan Aruch (Even Hoezer 169:34) rule that one cannot do chalitzah. And Ashkenazim, following the position of Abba Shaul, do not practice yibum nowadays. But then what was the solution for the poor widow? Was she to remain single for life?

The rav sent the question to Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzensky in Vilna, who replied, “The poskim such as the Shvus Yaakov, Knesses Yechezkel and the Beis Meir permit yibum even today in such situations. Even if the brother is already married, he may marry the widow; Rabbeinu Gershom’s ban on polygamy does not apply in this case. Furthermore, after marrying her, he may divorce her immediately, even without her consent. This is all cited as practical halacha by the Pischei Teshuva, Even Hoezer 165:3.”

Although the Shav Yaakov disagreed, invoking the rule that “anyone who cannot do chalitzah, cannot do yibum,” the other poskim argued that this rule does not apply when the chalitzah can’t be done for purely physical reasons. Reb Chaim Ozer adds that the Ritva in Chullin 92 says this explicitly. Therefore, the best solution for this case was that the brother in New York should marry his deceased brother’s wife.

However, if that was impossible, Reb Chaim Ozer said that if the man was able to push his right heel into the ground, even painfully, they could rely on a combination of two lenient opinions and do chalitzah with the right foot, and then again with the left foot (because perhaps in a case like this, the man learns to favor his left foot and he has the status of a lefty, who can do chalitzah according to some Rishonim).

Source: Achiezer 3:20

Yevamos 97b: If twin boys were in their mother’s womb and she converted to Judaism, and the twins grew up and married wives, and one died, the other need not do chalitzah or yibum, but he is forbidden  by the Torah to take his brother’s wife.

The Nimukei Yosef (Yevamos 3b in the Rif’s page numbering) implies that they are only forbidden to take each other’s wives in the case of twins, but if a woman converted during pregnancy, had a baby, and then became pregnant again as a Jew and had a second baby, they would be allowed to take each other’s wives.

The Shach (Yoreh Deah 269:6) rules in accordance with the Nimukei Yosef. 

יבמות צז ע”ב: שני אחים תאומים גרים, וכן משוחררים ־ לא חולצין ולא מייבמין, ואין חייבין משום אשת אחֹ. היתה הורתן שלא בקדושה ולידתן בקדושה ־ לא חולצין ולא מייבמין, אבל חייבין משום אשת אחֹ.

נימוקי יוסף ג ע”ב בדפי הרי”ף: אם נשא אשת אחיו או גר או עבד אינו חייב משום אשת אח אפילו היו לו בנים לאחיו ממנה כיון שהיתה הורתן ולידתן שלא בקדושה אבל היכא דהוו תאומים והיתה לידתן בקדושה חייבין משום אחותו ואשת אח ומשום דדמו לאחין מן האם ולא מן האב לכך אין מיבמין.

The Torah tells us, “And the children of Shimon were Yemuel, Yamin, Ohad, Yachin and Tzochar, and Shaul the son of the Canaanite woman.” (Bereishis 46:10) Rashi explains that “the Canaanite woman” refers to Dinah, who was taken captive by the Canaanite prince Sh’chem.

The commentators all ask: How could Shimon marry his full sister Dinah? True, the Torah had not been given yet, but even a non-Jew is forbidden to marry his sister, as long as they share a mother!

Rabbi Avrohom Tzvi Kamai zt”l hy”d, the last rav of Mir, answered as follows. The Torah describes Dinah’s birth: “And after that, she [Leah] gave birth to a daughter and named her Dinah.” (Bereishis 30:21)

The Gemara comments: After what? Rav said: After Leah judged herself and said: Twelve tribes will be born to Yaakov. Six have already come from me, and four from the maidservants – that makes ten. If this one is a boy, my sister Rochel will not even be equal to the maidservants. Immediately, the fetus became a daughter. (Berachos 60a)

The Targum Yonasan tells the story slightly differently. It’s not that the fetus was transformed from a son into a daughter, but rather Yosef was originally in Leah’s womb, while Dinah was in Rochel’s womb. The babies were miraculously switched, and Leah gave birth to Dinah.

According to this, Shimon’s conception was from Leah, while Dinah’s conception was from Rochel. At  conception, they did not share a mother, only a father, and a non-Jew is allowed to marry his paternal sister. True, at birth they did share a mother. But we see from the Nimukei Yosef and the Shach that birth from the same mother is not enough to make people siblings. They must also have been conceived by the same mother. 

Source: Mishulchan R’ Eliyahu Boruch, Vayigash

[The Nimukei Yosef does not explain why twins should be different. In the case where one fetus underwent geirus inside his mother, and thus is a ger, and the second baby was conceived after his mother’s geirus and is thus not a ger, they are permitted (on a Torah level) to take each other’s wives. If so, twins who underwent geirus in their mother’s womb should be the same. Since they were conceived as non-Jews, they are unrelated to each other.]   

Yevamos 60b: Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said, “The graves of non-Jews do not transmit tumah through a roof, as it is written, “And you, My flocks, the flocks of My pasture, you are man” (Yechezkel 34:31). You are called “man” but the non-Jews are not called “man”.

Tosafos: The Ri said that the halacha does not follow Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, but rather Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel, who disagrees with him in Oholos.

Oholos 8:1: A large wooden closet can block tumah from ascending.

Raavad Nezirus 5:15: The kohanim nowadays are already tamei meis, so they are not liable for the sin of coming in contact with tumah.

יבמות ס ע”ב: תניא, וכן היה ר״ש בן יוחאי אומר קברי עובדי כוכבים אינן מטמאין באהל, שנא׳: (יחזקאל ל״ד) ואתן צאני צאן מרעיתי אדם אתם, אתם קרויין אדם, ואין העובדי כוכבים קרויין אדם.

תוספות יבמות סא ע”א ד”ה ממגע. ואר״י דאין הלכה כר״ש דרשב״ג פליג עליה כדתנן במס׳ אהלות (פרק יח מ״ט כתובות עז.) והלכה כמותו במשנתנו וצריכים כהנים ליזהר מקברי עובדי כוכבים.

אהלות פ”ח מ”א: אלו מביאים וחוצצים.השדה והתבה והמגדל.

ראב”ד בהשגה על הלכות נזירות פ”ה הט”ו: מעתה טומאה וטומאה אפילו פירש וחזר ונגע פטור והכהנים בזמן הזה טמאי מת הן ועוד אין עליהן חיוב טומאה והמחייב אותם עליו להביא ראיה.

The philosopher Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) specified in his will that he wanted his body to be preserved as a lasting memorial, and this instruction was duly carried out by his friend Dr. Thomas Southwood Smith.

In 1850, Southwood Smith donated the body to University College London, which Bentham had helped found, and from then until 2020, the body was displayed at the end of the South Cloisters in the main building of the college. Upon the retirement of Sir Malcolm Grant as provost of the college in 2013, however, the body was present at Grant’s final council meeting. As of 2013, this was the only time that the body of Bentham has been taken to a UCL council meeting. (There is a persistent myth that the body of Bentham is present at all council meetings.)

Bentham had intended this “auto-icon” to incorporate his actual head, mummified to resemble its appearance in life. Southwood Smith’s experimental efforts at mummification, based on practices of the indigenous peoples of New Zealand and involving placing the head under an air pump over sulfuric acid and drawing off the fluids, although technically successful, left the head looking distastefully macabre, with dried and darkened skin stretched tautly over the skull.

The auto-icon was therefore given a wax head, fitted with some of Bentham’s own hair. The real head was displayed in the same case as the auto-icon for many years, but became the target of repeated student pranks, with students from rival King’s College London often the culprits. The head is said to have at one time been found in a luggage locker at Aberdeen station, and to have been used as a football by students in the Quad. These events led to the head being removed from display.

In 2020, the body was put into a new glass display case and moved to the entrance of UCL’s new Student Centre on Gordon Square.

In 1965, Dayan Aryeh Leib Grossnass of the London Beth Din published a teshuva written to kohanim who were students at University College. Dayan Grossnass describes the question as follows: “Many years ago, the leading professor of that university, who was one of the most famous in the world, left a will instructing that his body be kept permanently in the hall of the university. He also instructed that at special gatherings, his body should be displayed as he looked in his lifetime, sitting at his place and giving a lecture. After he died, they removed the head from the body, mummified the body and connected an artificial head made of wax, and placed him on a chair in a glass box with wheels on the bottom to transport it from place to place, with a book in his hand, as if giving a lecture. His knees touched the glass of the box. All the time, they keep this box inside a large wooden closet next to the wall, with a door that opens and closes. Sometimes they open the closet to show the body to whoever wants to see it. When there is a gathering, they take the glass box out of the wooden closet and display it in the middle of the hall. The head that was removed from the body was mummified and placed in a small wooden box atop a platform on the wall of the hall. Occasionally, if people are interested in seeing it, they take down the wooden box and open it. According to the information given to me, it has been about 20 years since they last took the box off the platform. Anyone attending any lecture or visiting the library must pass through this hall; there is no other entrance. May kohanim pass through the hall when the body is inside the glass box inside the closet? And may they participate in gatherings when the glass box is taken out of the closet and wheeled to the center of the room?”

Dayan Grossnass then proposes two reasons to be lenient: 1) The body of a non-Jew, according to some opinions, has no tumas ohel (does not transmit tumah to those under the same roof with it); and 2) The wooden box and/or the glass box might serve as a roof over the body, which would block the tumah from ascending the ceiling of the building and spreading to everyone in the building.

Regarding the first argument, he shows that a non-Jew’s tumas ohel is the subject of a dispute between Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai (Yevamos 60b) and Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel (Oholos 18:9). Tosafos and the Rosh rule strictly, while the Rambam (Hilchos Tumas Mes 1:13) rules leniently. The Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah 372:2) concludes that it is better for kohanim to be strict and avoid coming under the same roof with a dead non-Jew.

Regarding the second argument, he says that the wooden closet, although not connected to the building, is an ohel of its own, blocking the tumah from ascending to the ceiling of the building and spreading through the hall. The reason is that a large wooden closet is not susceptible to tumah, and we have a rule that anything not susceptible to tumah is able to block tumah. Although other vessels made of material that is not susceptible to tumah (e.g. stone) would nonetheless not block tumah from ascending, that is because they are physically small like any other vessel and simply can’t contract tumah for a technical reason. But a large wooden closet has the status of an ohel, not a vessel, and therefore blocks the tumah. This is explicit in the Mishnah, Oholos 8:1.

Dayan Grossnass wrote the above based on what he was told by students. Later, he visited the college himself and saw that the wooden closet was actually bolted to the floor. Thus it was definitely considered an ohel to block the tumah.

However, he counters, perhaps the closet can only block the tumah from going up, so that, for example, if the body of Bentham were in this wooden closet outdoors, a kohein would be allowed to sit on top of the closet. But in our case, the closet was indoors, and the Rambam writes in Hilchos Tumas Mes 20:1 that if a small tent stands inside a large tent, and a dead body is in the small tent, everything in the large tent becomes tamei. And although the Raavad disagrees, that is only when the small tent has its own entrance to the outdoors, and thus the body will eventually be carried out directly to the outdoors without passing through the large tent. But in our case, the wooden closet only had one exit – to the college hall. This principle is known in the Gemara as סוף טומאה לצאת – since the tumah will eventually go out through that door to the college hall, the college hall is tamei even now.

To solve this problem, Dayan Grossnass proposes that since Bentham’s body is in a glass box, and even when they take it out for gatherings, they wheel out the entire box, not just the body, this is not called “the tumah will eventually come out”. This is because the glass box is also an ohel within an ohel. But that would depend if glass has the same property as wood – does a large glass box act as an ohel?

The tumah of glass vessels is Rabbinic: because they are made from sand, Chazal gave them the status of earthenware (Shabbos 16b). Regarding earthenware, there is a dispute between Rashi and his teachers as to whether a large earthenware vessel can act as an ohel to block tumah (Shabbos 44b). But even according to Rashi who is strict with earthenware, glass certainly acts as a blocker. We see that Reb Chaim Brisker (Tumas Mes 19:1) learns that the Rambam holds like Rashi and the Raavad holds like Rashi’s teachers. Yet even the Rambam is explicit that a large glass vessel blocks tumah (Hilchos Keilim 3:3).

One objection could be raised: the glass box containing Bentham’s body has wheels and can be moved from place to place, despite its large size. (This was written in 1965, but as of 2020, the body is in a glass box without wheels.) Tosafos (Shabbos 84a) says that a large wooden vessel that can be dragged by men is considered a regular vessel and is susceptible to tumah. Rav Grossnass however theorizes that, perhaps, with glass we would not be so strict. Also, perhaps this glass box is different because it was made never to be opened.

Thus the argument to be lenient goes as follows: first of all, maybe a non-Jew has no tumas ohel. And even if he does, maybe the halacha is like the Raavad that a tent inside a tent is not a problem. And if you say, even the Raavad is strict in cases where the tumah will eventually come out – here the tumah will never come out because it’s inside a glass box. And if you say, a large box does not block the tumah because it is moveable by virtue of its wheels, maybe glass is different.

What about the box holding the head? Even though it is a wooden box made to rest, and therefore not susceptible to tumah, still it’s too small to be an ohel. Dayan Grossnass responds, based on a Chazon Ish, that that is only true according to the Rambam Tumas Mes 13:4, but according to the Raavad 28:5 even a small box is considered an ohel. So for the Rambam l’shitaso, we can rely on the Rambam’s own ruling that non-Jews are not metamei baohel. And according to the opinion that a non-Jew is metamei, we can rely on the Raavad, who holds the box is an ohel.

However, there is another problem: perhaps the wooden closet or the glass box itself has the status of a “kever” – a grave (i.e. a mausoleum)? True, the Rambam (chapter 12 of Tumas Mes) says a wooden coffin is not a kever. But the Raavad disagrees. And even the Rambam only said it regarding wood, because it’s not earth, but glass is made from sand, which is earth. And although the body is visible and burial usually means it is hidden from view, in this case the wooden closet makes it hidden, so it should be considered a kever and thus be forbidden. This is especially true in light of the bolts holding it to the floor; perhaps even the Rambam would agree that wood can be a kever in that case. To these arguments, Dayan Grossnass replies that the floor of the college hall separates the glass from the ground, so it’s not a kever.

After discussing the matter with the Tchebiner Rav, Dayan Grossnass realized that there is yet another reason to be lenient: the Raavad (Hilchos Nezirus 5:15) holds that a kohein who is already tamei (which applies to all kohanim nowadays) is not forbidden Mid’oraisa to come in contact with a meis. Since it’s only Mid’rabanan, we can rely on the opinion that non-Jews are not metamei ba’ohel. He quotes many teshuvos who relied on this combination, including a very interesting teshuva of the Maharsham (1:215) about visiting a royal museum containing Egyptian mummies.

Since Dayan Grossnass’ heter is based on a combination of several disputed opinions, we must ask: what about the rule that a sofek tumah in a private domain is always tamei, even if there are several sfeikos? To this, Dayan Grossnass provides three answers: 1) That rule applies only to a sofek about the facts, not to a sofek in the law. 2) The college hall is a public domain because many people are constantly walking through it. 3) The rule of “private domain” only applies when we’re not sure if something became tamei or not, and we need to decide what to assume. But tumas kohanim is an issur, and so it follows the regular rules of issur v’heter.

Source: Pamphlet published by the London Beth Din, 1965, #14, “B’inyan Dinei Ohel Hameis.”

[Utilitarianism teaches that people should do whatever results in the most happiness for the most people. It’s ironic that Jeremy Betham, as the founder of utilitarianism, thought he was giving people happiness by putting his body on display forever; he confidently envisioned that “if it should so happen that my personal friends and other disciples should be disposed to meet together on some day or days of the year for the purpose of commemorating the founder of the greatest happiness system of morals and legislation, my executor will from time to time cause to be conveyed in the room in which they meet the said box or case with the contents therein, to be stationed in such part of the room as to the assembled company shall seem meet.” But who did he end up benefiting? Scholars of the Torah, which teaches not utilitarianism but right and wrong, mutar and assur – from whom his strange request continues to serve as a springboard for discussion of the deepest sugyos in Shas. Indeed, everything that is done in the world is “for Israel, that they should learn Torah” (Avodah Zarah 2b).    

It’s also ironic that Bentham chose not to be buried, but according to one possibility brought up in this teshuva, he was indeed buried in the glass box, which is like sand.]

Yevamos 40a: One who performs chalitzah has no special status in inheriting the deceased brother’s property; he is like any other brother.

יבמות מ ע”א: החולץ ליבמתו הרי הוא כאחד מן האחין לנחלה.

Rabbi Avrohom Yehoshua Heshel, the Ohev Yisroel, was known as the Apter Rav. Actually, he only served as rav of Apta for 8 years. The rest of his rabbinic career was spent in other cities: before Apta he was rav of Kalbisov, and after Apta he went to Yasi and Mezhbizh. When he announced to the town of Apta that he was leaving, the townspeople were upset and asked him, “Why? Is the rav not satisfied with his salary? When you came to our town, you asked for an unusually high salary, and we have been paying it with no complaints. And the salary you will receive in your new position will be lower.”   

The Apter Rav replied: I will explain with a story. Once there were two brothers who were orphaned at a young age. They went to live in different towns with different families, and had little contact with each other. They each grew up and married, but neither was blessed with children. One brother became wealthy, while the other struggled in poverty. The wealthy brother, who lived in Apta, became ill and felt his end was near. He called over his wife and told her, “You must know that I have a brother and his name is Shmuel, but I don’t know where he lives. When I die, you will need to get chalitzah from him. When he comes here and gives you chalitzah, give him a sizable portion of the money I am leaving you.”

After he passed away, the widow went to the rav of Apta and told him what her husband had said. The rav sent letters to all the surrounding towns asking if there was someone by that name, and the brother was eventually located. The rav of his town said to him, “Go to Apta and give chalitzah to your brother’s widow. And know that there is a large sum of money waiting for you there.” Reb Shmuel went home and told his wife, Bassheva, the news. “Now we will no longer be poor!” he said.  But Bassheva said to him, “Look at the amazing, rare mitzvah that Hashem has sent our way! Go and give the chalitzah, but I have one request: Do not accept any money for this mitzvah. I want you to do the mitzvah completely l’shem shamayim!” Her husband agreed. Just to be sure, she made him swear to her that he would not take a penny.

Reb Shmuel came to Apta and gave chalitzah. The widow then offered him a sack of money containing half of her husband’s wealth. But he steadfastly refused to accept it. She asked the rav what to do – how could she fulfill her late husband’s request, when the brother would not take the money? The rav advised, “Give the money to the Kehillah treasury instead.” 

In heaven the angels could not contain their excitement and danced for joy. Such a powerful love for a mitzvah this couple had, that they gave up their only chance to be wealthy! The Heavenly Court decided that they would be blessed with a son in their old age.

“I am that son,” the Apter Rav concluded. “And the reason I asked for a high rabbinical salary was because I wanted to collect my inheritance from the Apta kehillah treasury. Now that I have finished collecting it, I am moving to a different town.”

Source: Kindline Yiddish Magazine, Parshas Ki Savo 5782, based on a story told by Rabbi Leibish Langer

[The obvious question here is that this was not payment for the mitzvah; the brother of the deceased inherits all the money in any case, since there was no father or any other brothers. The answer may be that the widow’s kesubah takes precedence over inheritance, and in this case her kesubah was more than half of the husband’s fortune. Thus, some or all of the sack of money was not rightfully the brother’s inheritance, and he would only have been accepting it as payment for the mitzvah.

In fact, the idea of paying him for the chalitzah was not the dying husband’s own; it is a takanah, brought by the Rema in Even Ho’ezer 163:2.

וכל זה מדינא אבל הקהילות תקנו תקנה אם יתרצו היבם והיבמה בחליצה יחלוקו כל הנכסים שהניח ואפילו אינה מגיע החצי לכדי כתובה וכו’ ואותו החצי שמגיע לחלק יורשי הבעל נוטל החולץ ואין לאב ולא לשאר אחין חלק בו אפילו תפסו מוציאין מידן דעיקר התקנה היתה כדי שיתרצו בחליצה ולכן החולץ עיקר בזה.

“The above (that the brother giving chalitzah is like any other brother) is the original law. But the Kehillos enacted that if the widow and her husband’s brother agree to chalitzah, they split up all the property left by the dead husband equally, even if her kesubah amount was more than half of it. The brother giving chalitzah takes the entire half; his father and brothers have no share in it. Even if they seize it, we take it away from them, because this takanah was made as an incentive for the brother to agree to do chalitzah, and therefore the brother giving chalitzah takes all.”

Thus, since the money was rightfully the widow’s and was being given to Reb Shmuel only to motivate him to agree to do chalitzah, as per the above Rema, Reb Shmuel and his wife declared, “We don’t need any incentive to do a mitzvah; we love to do mitzvos.”]  

Yevamos 62b: Rabbi Akiva had 12,000 pairs of students from Gevas to Antipras, and all of them died in the same period, because they did not treat each other respectfully. And the world was desolate until Rabbi Akiva came to our rabbis in the south… and they were the ones who built back the Torah at that time.

Bereishis Rabbah 61:3: Because they were stingy with each other. And in the end he established seven disciples… he said to them, “My sons! The first ones died because they were stingy with each other. Be careful not to do what they did.” They arose and filled all of Eretz Yisroel with Torah.

יבמות סב ע”ב: שנים עשר אלף זוגים תלמידים היו לו לרבי עקיבא, מגבת עד אנטיפרס, וכולן מתו בפרק אחד מפני שלא נהגו כבוד זה לזה, והיה העולם שמם, עד שבא ר״ע אצל רבותינו שבדרום, ושנאה להם ר״מ ור׳ יהודה ור׳ יוסי ורבי שמעון ורבי אלעזר בן שמוע, והם הם העמידו תורה אותה שעה.

ובבראשית רבה סא,ג מסיים: למה? שהיתה עיניהם צרה אלו באלו. ובסוף העמיד שבעה וכו’ אמר להם בניי, הראשונים לא מתו אלא שהיתה עיניהם צרה אלו לאלו תנו דעתכם שלא תעשו כמעשיהם, עמדו ומלאו כל ארץ ישראל תורה.  

In June of 1999, Michael Kaufman, founder of VISA (Visiting Israel Students Association) and today a lecturer at Aish Hatorah, brought 25 college age young men and women, with little or no Jewish background, to attend kiruv programs in Jerusalem. Unlike VISA’s usual “foreign exchange” students, this group had not been attracted to the country in order to study at universities, but only because the tour was heavily subsidized, costing them very little.

At the end of the tour, Michael had the idea to bring them to see the Mirrer Yeshiva. The other leaders of the tour thought it would be a turn off, but he persisted. They first visited the rosh yeshiva, Rabbi Nosson Tzvi Finkel, who asked them each about themselves, their families and hometowns. Then they walked through the beis medrash and watched the hundreds of talmidim learning, most of whom paid virtually no attention to the visitors. Everyone was awed by the experience.

As they went out, two of the boys came over to Michael and said, “We want to learn here.” When he recovered from his shock, Michael said, “You know, of course, that what you’re saying might be akin to children in kindergarten announcing that they would like to take courses in nuclear physics.”  “If what they learn there is the Jewish nuclear physics, then that’s exactly what we want to do,” replied the boys.  

Michael consulted with Reb Nosson Tzvi, who gave his approval. While the rest of the group flew back to the States, arrangements were made with a number of American bachurim to leave their regular chavrusas for one hour every day, in order to learn with these two novices in a non-structured manner for the next two months. At the end of this period, the two college students concluded that it would be best to learn in a yeshiva that catered to their backgrounds. So they left Mir to attend institutions for baalei teshuva in Jerusalem, where they stayed for a number of years. Today both are married with children; one is learning in a kollel in Jerusalem, and the other works in kiruv in a western American city.

Michael came to Reb Nosson Tzvi again after that summer and commented that several of the Mir bochurim showed great potential in the field of kiruv. He suggested that they attend a 90-minute class each week, for six weeks, on kiruv techniques. “Absolutely not!” said Reb Nosson Tzvi. “Their job here is to learn Torah – not to be involved in anything else but the study of Torah!”

“But,” Michael protested, “the Midrash Rabbah (Bereishis 61:3) says that Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 talmidim died because they were stingy with each other. This is usually explained to mean that they were concerned only with learning Torah for themselves, and not with others.”

At this point the Rosh Yeshiva recited the continuation of the Midrash from memory: “And Rabbi Akiva subsequently appointed seven talmidim –  Rabbi Meir, Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Yossi, Rabbi Shimon, Rabbi Elazar ben Shamua, Rabbi Yochanan Hasandlar, Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov… and said to them: ‘My sons, the first disciples died only because their approach to Torah was narrow. Make it your business not to emulate them – don’t learn Torah only for yourselves, but rather go out and teach it to others. Therefore, they went out and filled all of Eretz Yisroel with Torah.”

Reb Nosson Tzvi then smiled and said, “The seven talmidim whom Rabbi Akiva sent out were established talmidei chachomim. Our talmidim are not yet in that category. Their task is to learn Torah and to grow in Torah until they attain the status of talmidei chachomim. Until that time, they must remain within the walls of the beis medrash.”

Sources: In One Era, Out the Other, by Michael Kaufman p. 436-442; quoted in For the Love of Torah, by Hanoch Teller, p. 214-218

[To be sure, the seven Tannaim mentioned were already great talmidei chachomim before they began to spread Torah. But how did Reb Nosson Tzvi deduce that the earlier 24,000 were on such a level? Perhaps they were young beginners, and still they were faulted for not sharing whatever they knew with others! – Apparently, Reb Nosson Tzvi reasoned that since the Midrash compares the two groups, they must have been on a similar level.

But we can conjecture that Reb Nosson Tzvi’s position was based on his own wisdom and experience, not only on the Midrash. He held that yeshiva talmidim should not go into kiruv until they have accumulated enough Torah knowledge to answer the questions posed by Jews who have grown up in the modern secular world, instead of just repeating what they have been taught to say, or referring the questioners to others. Also, he was concerned that kiruv workers should be strong enough in their own knowledge and emunah not to be influenced by the people and material they may encounter.]