Sanhdedrin 44
Our Gemara on amud aleph wonders why the entire Jewish people were punished for Achan’s sin, given the principle that collective responsibility only applies when the sin is known publicly. If nobody knew about Achan’s crime, how could they be held liable?
The Gemara answers: Achan’s offense was not entirely secret because his wife and children knew about it, and they did not protest.
This answer is difficult to understand and seems overly legalistic. It implies that since his wife and children knew, the act was technically not considered secret. But if the point of collective responsibility and punishment is that people should have protested, it follows that those unaware of the sin should not be punished. How, then, does the fact that Achan’s immediate family knew to make the rest of the Jewish people liable?
The Mei Shiloach (Devarim–Nitzavim 5) offers a deeper, spiritual explanation. A sin that is entirely hidden is a private matter between G-d and the sinner. However, if Providence allows the sin to be observed, there must be a reason. There is a chasidic tradition that when a person observes another’s sin, it is also a signal for the observer to engage in introspection and repentance. Even seeing a sin is not accidental; it reflects some connection between the observer and the sin itself.
In Achan’s case, because his wife and children witnessed his transgression, the sin took on a communal dimension. For them, it was a direct call to reflect on their own moral failings and how they may have contributed to the spiritual environment that allowed such a sin to occur. Beyond them, the broader community – friends, family, and neighbors – might not have known about this specific sin, but their general relationship to Achan’s family created a collective responsibility. On some deeper level, they, too, should have been attuned to the spiritual weaknesses or moral lapses that made Achan’s sin possible. Their failure to sense or address these issues rendered them liable to some extent.
This teaches a profound lesson about collective psychology and moral responsibility. Sometimes, when one individual sins, the responsibility radiates outward in concentric circles. Direct observers bear the greatest responsibility, but even the broader community is called to consider in what ways they may have contributed to the spiritual decline that led to the sin.
This idea is fascinating because it reflects a form of systems thinking, an approach later adopted by family therapists in the 1970s. Moving away from the traditional clinical model, where one individual is labeled as the “patient” or “problem,” family therapists began examining the entire system. They saw how unresolved tensions, pains, and conflicts within the family unit could manifest through one individual who became the “identified patient.” For instance, a child struggling with anorexia, school anxiety, or other symptoms might not only have personal issues but could also be reflecting broader family dynamics.
The defiant or symptomatic child may indeed bear responsibility for his or her actions, but deeper questions must be asked: What unhealthy ideas about control, body image, or communication exist within the family? Is the child the weakest link, unable to tolerate the family’s burdens, or even the healthiest one, rebelling against distorted pressures? Although the child’s rebellion may manifest dysfunctionally, it could still represent an unconscious attempt to break free from an unhealthy system.
This systems approach allowed therapists to create more effective interventions by addressing root causes within the family. Similarly, the Mei Shiloach applies this spiritual systems theory to the case of Achan. He argues that even if the surrounding community did not explicitly know about the sin, on a deeper level, they did. Their collective spiritual and moral weaknesses contributed to an environment in which Achan, as the weakest link, acted out. While he bore the direct guilt, the community’s failure to address its own flaws made it indirectly culpable as well.
Turning Sins Into Mitzvos: The Divine Logic Behind Repentance
Sanhedrin 47
Our Gemara on amud aleph describes a situation where a person was obligated to bring a sin offering for an unwitting transgression, but later became an apostate. In this case, even if the person wanted to offer the sacrifice, it would not be accepted due to their heretical status. But what if they later repented?
Ulla says, quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan: If someone unwittingly ate forbidden fat and designated a sin offering, but then became an apostate, and later retracted their apostasy, despite their retraction, the offering remains invalid. This is because once the offering was rejected while the person was an apostate, it cannot be reinstated, even if they later repent.
This principle reflects a general rule in sacrificial law: Once a sacrifice is invalidated for some reason, it cannot be accepted again, even if the reason for its rejection is removed. In this case, the rejection came from the person’s apostasy, which tainted the sacrifice, even though they later repented.
Sefer Daf al Daf quotes a powerful derash from Rav Shaul Moshe Zilberman (Mi-Virshov), highlighting an important nuance. The Gemara does not explicitly state that the person repented; rather, it says they “retracted their apostasy,” which indicates they reversed their declaration or made it known that they had rejoined the community of believers. This is a declaration of intent, not a full repentance for the sin. Rav Zilberman therefore suggests that since full repentance can transform a sin into a mitzvah (as taught in Yoma 86b), the person’s apostasy and the tainting of the sacrifice could be nullified retroactively. In other words, the sacrifice would still be valid because, retroactively, there would have been no apostasy to invalidate it.
At first glance, the idea that a sin can be turned into a mitzvah might sound allegorical or encouraging – like a reward for sincere repentance. But Rav Zilberman takes this teaching literally: Repentance can actually transform a sin into a mitzvah. How do we understand this?
Rav Tzaddok elaborates on this idea in several works (see Peri Tzaddik Vayyigash 8, Takanas Hashavin 5:1, and Tzidkas Hatzaddik 40 and 43). He explains that all actions, even sins, are part of G-d’s will. However, since we cannot know in advance which actions are divinely intended and which are simply sinful, we must resist sin with all our might. On a practical level, sin must be resisted. But in hindsight, it may turn out that the sin was part of G-d’s plan. This is why repentance is still necessary – because sin represents rebellion against G-d’s will.
Rav Tzaddok distinguishes between action and intention. If the action is part of G-d’s plan, it no longer matters, but the intention behind it remains stained. Repentance, which is a change in thought, can correct that intention. Intention is not the same as action, and while thought cannot change an action, a new thought can change a prior one. This explains how the highest form of repentance – done out of love for G-d rather than fear of punishment – can turn sins into mitzvos, as taught in Yoma 86b. When someone’s devotion to G-d’s will is complete, their rebellious intention is erased and even turned into a positive one. Thus, the sin, now aligned with a positive intention, becomes a mitzvah.
Psychologically, this idea can be understood as well. Life experiences, including our mistakes, shape who we are. Even if the sins we committed should not have happened, once we repent and gain the right perspective, they become part of our personal growth. These experiences, which may have seemed negative, can ultimately be seen as necessary steps in our development and thus as part of G-d’s will – turning them into something positive, a mitzvah.
The Secondhand Smoke Of Curses And Sin
Sanhedrin 48
Our Gemara on amud beis discusses the dangers of cursing someone and how it can backfire:
Rav Yehuda says that Rav says: All the curses that David invoked upon Joab were ultimately fulfilled in David’s descendants, due to the curse that Solomon accepted upon himself. David cursed Joab: “Let the house of Joab never lack those who are afflicted with a discharge, or a leper, or who hold onto a staff, or fall by the sword, or lack bread” (II Samuel 3:29). [These curses befell David’s descendants – Rehoboam, Uzziah, Asa, and Josiah.] …This explains the adage: “Be the one who is cursed, and not the one who curses, for a curse eventually returns to the one who curses.”
The Maharsha makes the following observation:
Even though most of these individuals were punished because of their own sins – Uzziah, whose heart became haughty and sought the priesthood for himself; Asa, about whom it is stated in Sotah (1:6) that he was punished because he imposed forced labor on Torah scholars; and Josiah, who was punished for not listening to Pharaoh Necho, as instructed by Jeremiah – nevertheless, were it not for David’s curse, it is possible that their sins would have been atoned for with a lighter punishment than what they ultimately received.
How do we understand this? The spiritual world and the physical world follow similar patterns because they share the same Creator, governed by deeper spiritual universals that act as the “DNA” of everything. Just as physical diseases can have various causes, so too in the spiritual realm – a person might have a weaker spiritual immune system, and an “opportunistic” spiritual ailment can take over. There may also be other spiritual conditions that lead to cascading consequences. So in this case, due to the toxic effects of David’s curse, these individuals, when committing specific sins, were more vulnerable to receiving punishment quickly, rather than having more time to repent or receiving more divine mercy.
This Gemara and Maharsha illustrate an important theological principle in understanding certain statements by our Sages that seem to predict global doom or punishment. For example, teachings that say, “Whoever does or doesn’t do such-and-such will suffer such-and-such a fate,” as found in Mishna Shabbos (2:6), which predicts death during childbirth for certain sins, or Gemara Berachos (31b), which states that someone who is brazen and rules on a halachic matter in front of their master is liable for death. Likewise, our tradition acknowledges the noxious effect of the Evil Eye and the taboo against stating negative or dreaded outcomes to avoid bringing them about (see Berachos 19a: “Al yiftach adam piv laSatan”).
If we view these teachings not as guaranteed consequences, but as illustrating the toxic effect of sin, they begin to make more sense. For example, we all agree that cigarettes are toxic, and no doctor would recommend deliberately inhaling someone else’s smoke. Yet while it may be unlikely that one specific exposure will cause cancer or lung disease, it is still absolutely toxic. When our Sages say that doing or not doing certain things makes one liable for a specific consequence, they are warning about exposing oneself to spiritual toxicity that could accelerate and lead to dire consequences, including death or other forms of doom. This can be understood as the “secondhand smoke of Judaism” effect, which is helpful for those who have excessive fears or struggles with the literal meaning of these teachings.
