Yom Kippur Morning 5776 (2015)
In the celebrated Treasury of Jewish Folklore, Editor, Nathan Ausubel brings the story of a simpleton who comes to the local Rabbinic sage for a lesson in Talmud. At first, the rabbi refuses, telling the peasant that he simply didn’t have the training to understand the complex logic of Talmudic debate. Pressing the rabbi, and pleading for one chance to prove his capability, the rabbi agreed to a simple test.
“Very well,” said the rabbi. “Listen carefully.
“Two thieves break into a house coming down the chimney. One comes down with a clean face, and the other comes out with a dirty face. Which one washes his face?”
The peasant thought for a moment, and surprised by the seemingly obvious solution to the riddle, answers, “Of course – the man with the dirty face washes his face!”
The rabbi, stroked his beard, furrowed his chin, and answered, “WRONG! The man with the clean face washes his face. Consider the simple logic: When the man with the dirty face looks at the man with the clean face, he thinks that his face is also clean. But when the man with the clean face looks at the man with the dirty face, he thinks that his face must be dirty, too! So, the man with the clean face washes his face!”[i]
The unlearned chap standing before the Rabbi understood that he had much to learn, and rabbi, well he had another lesson to impart before their conversation would conclude, although I’ll save that final word until a bit later in my message.
This type of playful, semi-serious satire on rabbinic and Talmudic logic is quite plentiful in the annals of our folklore traditions. For it was through the application of certain principles of interpretation that the ancient texts, beginning with the Bible, continued to provide answers to ever-changing circumstances and ever more complex legal problems.
The chimney and face-washing puzzle poked fun at the entire process and its subsequent literature, beginning with one of the very first problems discussed in that 63-tractate long compendium of Jewish legal, religious, folk and philosophical wisdom we call the Talmud. Here’s how the Talmud begins its discussion: Shnayim ochzin batallit – Two men come into court clutching a bolt of cloth, (or perhaps a tallis). The first man swears under oath: I found it, and it belongs to me. The second man also swears under oath: I found it, so it belongs to me. The court resolves such conflicting claims in the following way: The first man swears that no less than half of the cloth is his, and the other claimant must likewise swear an oath, that no less than half of it is his. They shall then divide the cloth or its value between them.”[ii]
So here we have two people discussing a matter, and finding themselves in complete disagreement. Each says, “I found it, it belongs to me.” And each completely and utterly denies the validity of the other claim. So how does the Talmud resolve the conflict? Each claimant is required to step back, and acknowledge that the other’s claim is equally strong. They agree to disagree, and then they divide it up. They know that they must make that compromise so that together they can move onward and forward to other matters beyond their dispute.
The need to develop healthy and effective strategies for resolving our conflicts certainly continues to our day. Witness the aftermath of the past weeks and months, especially with regard to opinions regarding the Obama Administration’s negotiated nuclear deal with the totalitarian, Iranian regime. The debate in this country over the wisdom or the naiveté of the agreement intended to halt the advance of the Iranians as a threshold nuclear threat certainly had the effect of awakening the general population to the real peril posed by the Iranian aspirations. But it also served to create a divide within American Jewry as deep and as acrimonious as any I’ve witnessed in my lifetime.
I think I’d have to go back to 1983 to recall an issue which was so contentious as this past spring and summer’s Iran nuclear discussions. I was still a young student in Seminary, but was present in Los Angeles when our Reform Movement voted to adopt the concept of Patrilineality, a break with recent historical precedent by declaring that the child of a Jewish father OR mother might be considered as Jewish, so long as that status was affirmed by certain timely, formal, and public acts of Jewish identification. Cries rose up from across the continent and overseas that the decision was tantamount to the creation of two separate definitions of Jewish identity, and that our people would be forever divided because of it. The ramifications of the resolution were certainly significant, but tended to fall along denominational lines, and in the end, nothing much changed in the landscape of our American Jewish lives.
This year’s debate, however, over whether to support or oppose the deal with Iran being delivered to Congress by the Obama Administration, created fissures across all the movements of American Jewry. As you likely know, I came out publicly opposed to the deal, but that’s not especially startling, as I was simply among the majority of Americans in that regard, (assuming the polls are correct) distrusting the Iranian ayatollahs to hold up their end of the agreement, and concerned that the deal fell way short of preventing the acquisition of nuclear weaponry by a nation which continues to proclaim “Death to America! Death to Israel.”
But there were, at the same time, many of our co-religionists, my friends and even colleagues who were among those urging confirmation of the agreement, believing along with the President and Secretary of State, and ultimately, our own Massachusetts congressional representatives, that the deal was the most effective way, realistically, to reign in the Iranian nuclear capabilities.
Despite being opposed by a majority in both houses of Congress, the deal has garnered enough support as to prevent a veto override, and so we now begin The Day After. Ensuring that the Iranian regime – repeated violators of numerous international obligations — live up to their commitments under this deal poses one most significant set of challenges looking ahead. But this morning, I want to turn our focus more inward, to the ruptures and schisms within our own Jewish community which have resulted from the past year’s dispute. I think it is imperative now to begin the work of tikkun, of repairing some of the damage done to important relationships, especially within our own, American Jewish community.
The divisive rhetoric brought to the debate across the country did not exclude Jewish participation. Jews who stood in opposition to the agreement struck by the P5+1 with Iran were labeled “war-mongers” and “puppets” of the current, Israeli leadership under Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Meanwhile, those who voiced support for the Administration’s efforts were called “naïve”, “brainwashed”, or much worse, “enablers of the next Holocaust” and “Kapos”. Simply put, from my vantage point, it’s gotten quite ugly, and I believe that we are diminished as a Jewish community to the extent that we are unable to engage in respectful debate and dialogue over matters and with people with whom we fervently disagree.
Of course, divisions among our people have always been a feature of our history. In the early Rabbinic period, the philosophical schools of Hillel and Shammai disagreed on just about every matter that came up for discussion, as they tried to decide how Jewish law should be applied to changing circumstances. In Second Temple times, the Pharisees, Sadducees and Essenes were constantly in opposition to one another’s political, social and religious beliefs. Other long-standing and deep controversies over the millennia include the Karaite’s against the Rabbinites who argued over the validity of the entire corpus of Rabbinic law and halachic decision-making; the Mitnagdim, literally, the Opponents, were known for their staunch opposition to the early Chasidic movement; the champions of higher biblical criticism which included many of our Reform movement pioneers and founders were rebuked by those who maintained the principle of Divine authorship of Scripture. And even in the decades prior to the founding of the State of Israel, the early Zionist Movement was disparaged by many Jews for seeking to use political means rather than Divine salvation for bringing about the return of our people to our ancient homeland.
Internal divisions and debates, then, have always been part of our people’s history, and our sages recognized that there can exist arguments “l’shem shamayim”, for the sake of a holy purpose, which advances, rather than diminishes the strength of the Jewish people. But we also learn that our disagreements can become so severe and out of control that the concept of “l’shem shamayim”, gets upended amid personal attacks and mutual disrespect. The Talmud illustrates such a situation graphically and poignantly:
Once, we learn, in the synagogue in Tiberias, it happened that R. Eleazar and R. Yose differed so sharply about a certain ruling that in their rage a Torah scroll got torn. R. Yose ben Kisma, who was there, said, “I shall be surprised if this synagogue does not ultimately become a house of idolatry.” And so it did.[iii]
Ultimately, that’s the danger of sinat chinam – disagreement that devolves into anger and hatred, and Jewish tradition has always ascribed the ultimate destruction of Jerusalem and the exile of our people not to the military superiority of the Roman Empire, but to the proliferation of sinat chinam, which tore our people asunder.
Our tradition also lifts up as exemplary how the School of Hillel dealt with their rivalry with the followers of Shammai – with humility. We learn that in fact, the followers of Hillel studied even those views of their opponents with which they disagreed; indeed, they studied those views first![iv] There were even instances in which the followers of Hillel, after considering the views of the other side, retracted their original positions and acknowledged that Shammai’s views made more sense.[v]
That kind of humility, a trait known in Hebrew as anavah, is what we should strive to develop both as a spiritual discipline, but today, as a strategy for healing the divisions within our American Jewish community which have grown so deep in the aftermath of this summer’s Iranian nuclear debate. Humility as a moral virtue has long been extolled, going back to the election of Moses as the one suited for delivering our people from Egypt and leading us to the Promised Land. The sage and medieval philosopher, Maimonides, was a student of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, and as such, considered the “golden mean” the middle path between extremes of behavior as the ultimate ethical goal towards which to aspire. However, when it came to humility, he makes an exception to the rule:
“There are some traits,” he writes, “to which it is forbidden merely to keep the middle path. They should be shunned to the extreme. Such a disposition is pride. It is not enough that a man be simply modest: He should be utterly humble and unassuming… That is why in the Torah,” he concludes, “Moses is described as “very humble”[vi], and it is the quality which most qualified him for both leadership and prophecy.”[vii]
My contemporary colleague, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, writes about this kind of humility and the example of the House of Hillel in cultivating the trait as a means of preventing schism, disrespect, and sinat chinam. He suggests that we can all learn a lesson from the behavior of Hillel and his followers. He writes:
“Don’t only read books and publications that agree with and reinforce your points of view. If you do so, and many people do, you will never learn what those who disagree with you believe (at best, you will hear a caricature of their position, presented by people who, like you, disagree with it)… If you seldom hear, read, or listen to views that oppose your own, and if almost everyone you talk to sees the world just as you do, your thinking will grow flabby and intolerant. That is often the case with ideologues on the right and left, both in religion in politics… Humble people,” Telushkin concludes, “are not only more pleasant human beings, but in the final analysis they may well be the only ones who will have something eternally important to teach.”[viii]
Let me be clear: I’m not advocating abandoning our passion; or hesitating to engage in spirited debate, or not standing up for our ideals, values and opinions. But frankly, when we respect the passion, dignity, and opinions of others, and seek to truly understand them, we can arrive to a more nuanced understanding even of difficult matters. The trait of anavah, humility can lead us to a greater grasp of the truth.
The modern, Israeli poet, Yehudah Amichai wrote in a short verse:
Min hamakom she-bo anu todkim,
Lo yitzm’chu l’olam perachim b’aviv…
From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow in the spring.
The place where we are right is hard and trampled
Like a yard.
But doubts and loves dig up the world like a mole, like a plow
And a whisper [of healing] will be heard where the ruined Temple once stood.
In the days following the adoption of the Iranian nuclear agreement, I feel that tikkun, repair of the rifts in our community is essential to the ongoing well-being of American Jewish life, as well as to the State of Israel. In the aftermath of this deal, recognizing the current and future danger of the Iranian regime, we need to be one voice as a Jewish community to the eyes and ears of our congressional leadership, to assure that Israel always receives sufficient military appropriations in order to retain a qualitative military advantage over her enemies, and that the vital strategic alliance between our nations is strengthened and expanded. And in an era when Jewish identity and affiliation is tenuous, whatever divides us from one another also diminishes our vibrancy and vigor as a community going forward towards the future.
“Two men come down a chimney,” riddled the scholarly rabbi. “One comes out with a clean face, and the other comes out with a dirty face. Which one washes his face?” Back and forth went the novice, first suggesting that the man with clean face washes, and then that they both wash, and then that neither man washes, as the rabbi had him jumping through hoops of logical possibilities. In the end, though, the rabbi says to the exasperated student: “Tell me – do you really think it’s possible for two men to come down the same chimney, and for only one to have a dirty face?”
I guess the lesson remains that whether we come through this difficult time with faces clean or dirty, we’re really coming through it together. And I do believe that in order to continue going forward as a unified community of faith, we’d be both humble and wise to clean up our act.
Consider the simple logic.
[i] A Treasury of Jewish Folklore. The Stories, Traditions, Legends, Humor and Wisdom of the Jewish People, Ed. Nathan Ausubel, NY, 1948, p.3f.
[ii] Bava Metzia 1:1.
[iii] Yevamot 96b, cited in H.N. Bialik, Book of Legends, p.707:193.
[iv] Eruvim 13b.
[v] Mishnah, Eduyot 1:12–14.
[vi] Numbers 12:3.
[vii] Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Deot.
[viii] Rabbi Joseph Telishkin, The Book of Jewish Values. A Day-to-Day Guide to Ethical Living, New York, 2000; p. 187.
