Dear Friends:
I am spending a few days at a Rabbi’s retreat entitled “Our Others, Our Selves—Jewish Identity and Practice in a Multi-religious Age.” Case studies include thorny dilemmas. How should the Jewish chaplain respond to grieving family members in the hospital waiting room who ask him to pray for their dying mother in the name of Jesus? How should the Holocaust Studies professor reply when, after she displays historical Nazi propaganda images to the class featuring grotesque Jewish caricatures, a young black student raises his hand and remarks: “if I showed that in my church, that would be pretty much how they see Jews?” What should the Rabbi do about the banner in the foyer reading “We Support Israel,” when Muslim guests have been invited to celebrate the feast of Ramadan at the synagogue and he knows they will be offended?
The themes we are exploring in the conference arise not just in interfaith relations, but in all interpersonal relations. Not only religious groups conflict with each other, but individuals clash. No two people are alike. The key to healthy interaction is the right balance between passion and tolerance, between personal integrity and interpersonal connection, between telling my truth and convincing you to come around to my way of thinking. Ultimately, it’s a matter of negotiating the boundary between Self and Other.
A well-known Talmudic aphorism offers guidance for dialogue and debate: “Any argument for the sake of heaven is destined to endure; any argument not for the sake of heaven is not destined to endure. What is an argument for the sake of heaven? This is the one between Hillel and Shammai. What is an argument not for the sake of heaven? This is the one of Korach and his company.” (Pirkei Avot 5:17) The first case refers to two foundational sages of the Rabbinic period who often disagree on matters both practical and philosophical. The second case refers to this week’s Torah portion: “[Korach, Dathan and Abiram, together with two hundred and fifty chieftains,] gathered against Moses and Aaron, and said to them: ‘All the community are holy, all of them, and Adonai is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above Adonai’s congregation?’” (Numbers 16:2-3) The example of Korach’s controversy as an improper one is troublesome, because on the face of it, his argument is eminently reasonable. After all, God makes the same claim elsewhere in the Torah: “You shall be to me… a holy people.” (Exodus 19:6) So why is Korach’s argument “not for the sake of heaven?”
In my view, Korach’s transgression lies not in the content of his argument, but in its formulation. It’s not what Korach says that’s wrong, but how he says it. Korach is not interested in hearing the other side of the argument; he is only interested in spouting his own position. As the great Biblical commentator Rashi puts it: “Korach took himself to one side in order to split off from the community.” (Rashi on Numbers 16:1) In contrast, in the dispute between Hillel and Shammai, the Talmud indicates great civility and deference accorded to the opposing faction: “The disciples of Hillel were kind and modest. They would teach both the words of Shammai and the words of Hillel, and, not only that, they would give Shammai’s position preeminence over their own.” (bEruvim 13b) Moreover, even if we knew nothing about the personalities and viewpoints of the particular protagonists Korach, Hillel, and Shammai, the syntax of the aphorism itself would reveal the essential lesson. “An argument for the sake of heaven? The one between Hillel and Shammai”—here, both parties are named, recognized, and honored. “An argument not for the sake of heaven? The one of Korach and his company”—here, only one party is named, and the other (consisting of Moses and Aaron) remains silent, unacknowledged, and therefore disrespected.
Any exchange, whether it takes place between individuals, between groups, between nations, or between religions, is based upon relationship. The greater the degree to which opinions expressed in the exchange diverge, the greater the need for mutual trust and empathy in the underlying relationship. Talking to someone who thinks as we do is easy. Engaging meaningfully with someone who thinks contrarily requires humility and openness. The example of Hillel encourages us to cultivate the art of walking in another’s shoes. Or, failing that, the example of Korach impels us at least to acknowledge that the boundary of Self does not encompass and subsume the Other. The Other is a Self in his or her own right. All the community, all of us, are holy—even those with whom we disagree. May we not raise ourselves above the rest, but may God live in our midst—as part of every interaction.
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