It isn’t newsworthy to observe that our society has become highly polarized over the last several years. Different ways of thinking about politics, social issues and religion, along with many other matters, have turned what used to be differences of opinion, practice and voting habits into a frequent inability to talk to — sometimes even to socialize with — people with whom you disagree.
Part of me would like to write a column about the “good old days,” when people on different sides of these issues could discuss and argue about them with civility and without vilifying those with whom we disagree, but while I am quite sad that so many of us do not live like that today, I feel like that column has already been written many times. However, there is wisdom from the Jewish tradition about disagreements and arguments that I think is worth learning, and, I’d like to suggest, is something that more of us could and should put into practice. I believe that remembering these teachings while engaging in important discussions might be the path towards a more civil and respectful society.
An argument is one of the most basic practices and cultural norms of Judaism, common in settings religious, educational and cultural. A common stereotype says that in any place where you’ll find two Jews, you’ll encounter at least three opinions. I believe that this attitude and approach is a basic element of the Torah, the sacred text of our people which is composed of the first five books of the Bible. The Torah frequently does not provide the Israelites with explicit details about its important rules and practices. Instead, its instructions are often vague and open-ended, a tendency that results in extensive arguments and discussions about many of our most fundamental rules and practices.
One prominent example of this is the collection of rules about Shabbat (the sabbath). The Torah tells us not to work on Shabbat, but it never clarifies what it does and doesn’t define as work. This has led to literally millennia of debate and discussion about this question, as well as many divergent forms of practice regarding this fundamental Jewish precept. The ancient rabbis who compiled the Talmud — the compendium and discussion of rules and laws that was collated between 200 and 600CE — developed an answer to this question based on events described in the Torah, but their answer still leaves a lot of room for interpretation, especially when applying the answer to the very different ways in which we live today.
This kind of non-specificity is quite common throughout Jewish tradition, which has led to countless ongoing questions, discussions and arguments about the specifics of Jewish behavior and ritual practice. I believe that this is intentional; that by deliberately being vague and open-ended, the Torah pushes and requires us to constantly engage in thoughtful and considered debate, instead of allowing us to ever feel fully settled about how we live as Jews.
What we do as Jews — how we live and practice and how we guide our communities to live and practice — is always in process, is always evolving and is always being evaluated and considered and reconsidered. This is both because there is no one final and correct answer to most of these questions, and also because so much of the meaning of these questions comes not from determining the answers, but from the process of debating, arguing and asking the questions themselves. Fortunately, our tradition offers sacred guidance about what does and doesn’t qualify as arguments worth having.
In the Avot section of the Talmud, the following statement is made: “Every dispute that is l’shem shamayim (for the sake of Heaven), will in the end endure; but one that is not for the sake of Heaven, will not endure.” The phrase “for the sake of Heaven” is usually understood to mean having no ulterior motive and is one of the highest compliments that Judaism offers. The many disagreements between the two major schools of Talmudic teaching (two “houses” named for their leaders, teachers named Hillel and Shammai) are then cited as examples of arguments that are for the sake of Heaven; while the attempted rebellion of Moses’ cousin Korach — who challenged Moses’ authority while the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness, in an attempt to take power away from God’s chosen leader of the people — is cited as an argument that was not for the sake of Heaven.
In other words, arguments that are attempts to explore the many sides of an issue are considered praiseworthy, while those that are based on self-interest and that are intended to sway someone else to see things your way are not.
In the Jewish tradition, the ideal purpose of an argument is to explore the different sides of an issue and to try to better understand it, regardless of who will benefit by its resolution. When the Talmud presents disagreements, it shares both the majority and the minority opinion in the matter, because the goal of the discussion is not for only one side to emerge victorious, but instead to thoroughly explore the question that’s being asked.
The arguments between the two Talmudic schools were more often won by the house of Hillel (meaning that Hillel’s position on the issue became the recommended way to practice or behave), but when Hillel’s opinions are cited, they usually also include Shammai’s opinion in the discussion of their argument. The house of Hillel recognized that there’s rarely only one way to see things, and that those impacted by any disagreement are better off being exposed to all sides of the issue.
It is my prayer for all of us that we can learn to disagree and argue in ways that are more focused on the benefits that these discussions can have for everyone, instead of being focused on winning and losing, and that the disputes that dominate public discourse can find a way to be less about our own individual validation, and more for the sake of heaven.
David Katz is the rabbi at Temple Beth El of Williamsburg.
