Our Gemara on Amud Aleph discusses an opinion regarding the shelamim and bread sacrifice of Shavuous. Ordinarily, the loaves must be brought together with the sheep sacrifice. However, if there are no sheep available, the loaves may be brought independently. The Gemara goes on to say that technically, in such a case, the loaves would be permitted. However, there is a rabbinic decree forbidding their consumption; instead, we must wait until their form decays, after which they may be burned.

What is the reason? “Out of concern lest sheep become available to the nation the following year, and they might say: Didn’t we eat the loaves without any accompanying sheep last year? Now too, we will eat the loaves without sacrificing sheep.”

Let us reflect on the implications of rabbinic enactments such as this. Were people truly so ignorant? Could it be that one year’s practice would permanently distort future observance? Where were the rabbis available for consultation?

The answer is obviously yes—but this reflects our failure to appreciate oral culture. People did not possess books in the manner we do today, nor did life undergo dramatic change every decade. Individuals lived and died in the same locations across generations. Traditions were transmitted primarily through lived custom rather than texts.

For them, minhag was not merely an identity marker or something that fostered belonging—though those are not insignificant benefits. Rather, custom itself embodied the chain of tradition. This explains why custom can sometimes override formal halachic considerations. Custom functioned as a stronger vehicle for transmitting halacha than written records, which were rare. Even when texts existed, they often served as shorthand, as seen in the cryptic nature of Mishnah and Beraisos, which require interpretation, clarification, and sometimes redaction.

This helps explain why Baaley Teshuva often struggle with proportion and prioritization among mitzvos and prohibitions, particularly when raising children. Practices such as introducing brachos, tefillah in shul, tzitzis, and daily observance are absorbed non-verbally through family modeling. Without that background, one turns to manuals and guides, which are helpful but cannot convey what is sometimes called the “fifth Shulchan Aruch.”

Furthermore, since many of us descend from Holocaust survivors only one to three generations removed—whose communities preserved traditions for centuries before being destroyed—we all experience some degree of this Baal Teshuva challenge. In yeshiva settings, exposure to works such as the Mishnah Berurah sometimes produced disdain for the imperfect practices of previous generations. While increased access to halachic sefarim has undoubtedly expanded technical knowledge, something of the intuitive oral tradition—how to live halacha with proportion and balance—has been diminished.

One might argue that the disruption of mimetic tradition caused by the Holocaust forced postwar generations to reconstruct religious life largely from texts. (See Haym Soloveitchik, “Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy,” Jews in America: A Contemporary Reader, Brandeis University Press, 1999.)

A wise observer once noted that as survivors rebuilt religious life, they turned to the great sages who survived for guidance in all areas of life. Yet many of those sages experienced profound interruptions during adolescence due to Nazi persecution. Adolescence is often marked by moral clarity coupled with limited experiential nuance. Young people may form judgments about marriage, intimacy, discipline, and conflict that are not incorrect but lack depth derived from lived experience.

Thus, even towering Torah leaders—despite sincerity and greatness—may have lacked certain developmental experiences necessary for fully observing traditional family and communal dynamics in their natural continuity.

The Gemara (Sanhedrin 36b) rules: “The court does not seat on the Sanhedrin a very old person, one who is castrated, or one who has no children, as those who did not recently raise children may lack compassion.” This teaches that even immense Torah wisdom does not substitute entirely for life experience when rendering judgment aligned with the spirit of Torah.

Today, we often relate to customs the way we relate to potato kugel or cholent—they provide warmth and connection, which is valuable. Yet I lament that we have lost something deeper: the power of authentic living tradition that once guided behavior, emotion, and moral intuition.

Translations Courtesy of Sefaria, except when, sometimes, I disagree with the translation

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Rabbi Simcha Feuerman, Rabbi Simcha Feuerman, LCSW-R, LMFT, DHL is a psychotherapist who works with high conflict couples and families. He can be reached via email at simchafeuerman@gmail.com