Listening to the Other Side - Rosh Hashanah Day 1 Sermon
Two thousand years ago, two scholars made an artform of arguing. Named Hillel and Shammai, there wasn’t much the two agreed upon. They fought about how many candles to put in the Hannukah, how many strands should be on a Tallis, even, as we heard last night, whether the world would have been better had humanity never existed.
One of the amazing things about their sparing was that they remained respectful of one another. Their arguments were “for the sake of heaven”. When they fought it wasn’t to win or to humiliate their opponent but because they were both striving for some greater truth. Debate was meant to get each one closer to the ultimate answers.
And then they died.
And their students continued arguing. But unlike their teachers, these students didn’t know how to debate. Their discourse was toxic. In one of the most shameful episodes in Jewish history, Shammai’s students found themselves outnumbering Hillel’s. Knowing this wouldn’t always happen and like a senate who doesn’t want to squander their majority status, they ruled on every law possible, as quickly as possible, before anyone else might show up and upset the balance. And then, to cement their victory, they turned to violence, killing six students in the school of Hillel. It’s no surprise that the Talmud proclaims, “That day was as difficult for Israel as the day the [golden] calf was made.”
I wish I could say that we’ve learned how to behave in 2000 years, but sadly, I fear we have not.
Many of us have family members that we no longer speak to because of political differences. Others of us have found ourselves in social situations and rather than disagree with the consensus, kept quiet. Some of us have teens who sit silently in the back of their classroom, too afraid to challenge the opinions of their professors or peers. Or we are teachers ourselves, walking on eggshells around our students, worried if we don’t tow the party line it might mean censure.
And then of course there is Washington. Politics is certainly more broken than I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. There may not be the violence of Hillel and Shammai’s students among our elected leaders, but there is certainly the hatred and toxicity.
There are plenty of reasons for this.
The most obvious culprit is technology. It’s impossible to talk to one another when we can’t even agree on basic facts. Our phones are echo chambers whose algorithms know what we like and show us just more of what we already believe.
But there are other more subtle reasons we can’t speak to one another. We as a society are pretty bad at facing discomfort. Think back to a time of growth in your life. Likely, there was someone in your past who pushed you. If you are going to expand your horizons you have to break out of your cocoon. That can be unsettling, even painful, and we just aren’t good anymore at facing that unease.
We also live in an age that undervalues humility. It’s hard to admit that we don’t have all the answers. The world is complex and we might sometimes be wrong. But instead of seeing it as a virtue when we change our minds after another has opened them, we view flipping positions as a weakness. Our community heralds hardheaded stubbornness above curiosity, openness, and vulnerability.
What we are left with is a new kind of idolatry. We don’t worship gold or stone, money or prestige anymore. Our age worships ideologies.
I wish I could say that there is an easy answer to our broken discourse. But there isn’t.
Now, before going further, I want to be honest. There are people that we will never be able to talk to. Maybe they won’t sit down at the table with you. Or maybe you are so far away on the facts and basic assumptions of an argument that you can only talk past one another. Or maybe their positions are so far-fetched that to give them any air time would mean completely sacrificing your integrity. For these people, engagement, especially on social media, is a losing battle. You need not waste time with them.
But this category of people is also a lot more rare than we think.
It’s easy to call someone a fanatic or naïve because labeling them as such, lets us avoid the hard, uncomfortable work of listening to them. Our world allows us to avoid facing truths that may be painful or hearing challenges to the opinions that make up our moral fabric. But only when we do, only when we sit down with those on the opposite side of the aisle or fence can we learn again to dialogue.
Judaism understands that everyone has something to teach. Who is wise” our rabbis ask? “He or she who listens and learns from everyone.” (Avot 4:1).
I’ve seen the power of this firsthand. Last year, I began a dialogue with a member of the TNT community over energy policy. I remember sitting down with him, as he tentatively began bringing up questions around the reliability of renewables and the economic consequences of switching too quickly away from fossil fuel. He worried I would judge him as a climate change denier and the conversation would be over before it began. And if he caught me in an earlier era or on a different day, I might have. But that day, I listened. He gave me a book by a prominent author and I read it. In the end, I’m not fully convinced of all his points. There is plenty we still disagree about. But I now believe that one of the most important steps we can take to create a sustainable energy future is to invest in nuclear power, something I would not have entertained even three years ago. This person became an important teacher for me, because I was brave enough and vulnerable enough to listen without judgement.
True dialogue, when it occurs, is Divine. The Talmud is clear about this. God dwells, say our rabbis, between two people when they are learning together. The act of growth, the broadening of our perspective actually brings God into our midst.
No person understood this better than Hillel. There are no shortage of stories about how he took to heart what it meant to be in conversation with those different than him. Where Shammai barred only the most eligible students from the study hall, Hillel opened its doors wide. Everyone, no matter your education, no matter your perspective had something to teach. And because he included so many voices, his schools were known for their creativity and innovation (Avot D’rebbe Natan 2:9)
Hillel also famously invited in someone looking to convert who asked him to teach Torah while standing on one foot (Shabbat 31a). Previously, that same seeker had asked a similar question to Shammai who kicked him out of his school for his impertinence – no one who didn’t have the patience for painstaking study was worth his time. Hillel agreed to teach the man and while standing on one foot, famously said “That which is hateful to you, do not do to another. The rest is commentary. Now go and learn.” In one simple statement, Hillel turned what could be perceived as an obnoxious request into an opening for real conversation. I’m sure that man became a treasured disciple of Hillel and I’m sure Hillel gained a great deal from that relationship in return.
With all this in mind, it’s not surprising that when God is finally asked to decide between the schools of Hillel and Shammai, God chooses Hillel. But it’s not for the reason that we all might think. God doesn’t choose Hillel’s positions because he’s more right. In fact, when God is asked to rule between the two scholars, God responds opaquely:
Elu v‘elu divrei elohim chayim
Both opinions are the words of the living God
In essence, God is saying that there is truth in Hillel and Shammai’s positions. Neither are perfect but both have within them God’s will.
However, God does not stop there. Both Hillel and Shammai may have some of God’s truth in each of their positions, but laws must be simple. If they disagree, then in practice, we have to follow one over the other. To take one debate, you can’t simultaneously be sitting and standing while saying the Shema prayer. You have to pick one.
So Shammai’s positions might be equally true to his contemporary, but, God continues, the law should always follow Hillel.
And the reason is simple. Hillel won, explains God, because he listens. He is patient and forbearing. He is willing to compromise. He gives honor to the other side, often teaching Shammai’s positions before his own. In essence, the law follows him because he is kinder.
Our world needs us to be like Hillel. We have plenty of people who are loud, plenty of people who are forceful. There’s even enough intellect to go around. What the world lacks are people who can listen with kindness and openness and who are willing to change their mind when the opportunity calls for them to.
I want to challenge us to see debate not as a winner-take-all endeavor but as a chance for you and your partner to collectively search for a pathway to Truth.
And part of why this is so hard is because most of us fundamentally misunderstand what it means to “win” an argument.
Hillel and Shammai teach us that real truth comes in many forms. In fact, most of the time when we disagree with someone it’s not because we are right and they are wrong. Most of the time, our hardest choices are between two competing “rights” and what we are really arguing about is how to weigh those “rights” against one another.
Jonathan Haidt wrote an amazing book about this very idea. In The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided By Politics and Religion, he cites six ethical ideas that all societies, political parties, and people hold in some form. They are:
Caring for the other
Living a life that is fair and free of cheating
Being loyal to a group or person
Respecting authority and hierarchy
Having a sense of the pure and impure.
Privileging liberty and freedom while fearing oppressive forces.
Throughout the book, Haidt shows how these values track in our modern political parties. In Democrats you find care and fairness as paramount with the other four falling much lower down in priority. Republicans share a commitment care and fairness but are willing to sacrifice them for values like liberty, authority, and preserving a sense of the pure.
What this means is that an argument or position might feel wrong to us, but when we interrogate it, we realize that we aren’t disagreeing on the values themselves but on how to prioritize them, how to weigh them against one another. You may not like a person’s policy position but you can still appreciate the thought process that got them there.
To dialogue well, empathy is key. If you see the other as the enemy, as your advisory, even if you win, in the long run, you will lose. But if you can inhabit their world, albeit briefly, and figure out why they care so much, you will grow.
Listening is hard. It takes a lot of patience. I remember as a teen seeing a demonstration meant to teach us about the art of conflict resolution. Two people are arguing over an orange. Both claim they need it for a recipe, but if they simply split the orange, there won’t be enough to satisfy either. In the demonstration you watch the mediator try every tack possible, cajoling, bargaining, pleading, offering a banana in its place, only to come up against impasse after impasse. Finally, he asks a simple question – one he likely should have begun with: what do you need the orange for?
It turns out that though both needed it for a recipe, they were going to use it in wildly different ways. One needed the inside of the orange, especially the juice, while the other needed the peel for baking. Suddenly, what seemed impossible was now a simple solution and everyone left happy.
Now, to be clear, this scenario is a fantasy. And most of the time, when we disagree, our problems are much more intractable. But imagine what it would look like, if we led not with judgement, but with intrigue, with curiosity. Imagine if we didn’t jump to conclusion but asked questions. Why do you believe that? What led you to that opinion? What’s behind that statement?
What would it look like if instead of responding when we hear a viewpoint that makes us uncomfortable, even angry, we pause and try to understand what might be behind it. That was Hillel’s gift, and it could be ours as well.
There will be plenty of times that you won’t come around to another's side. Most times, in fact. But at the very least you will have created a shared dialogue that might allow each of you a way into the Truth of the other. In the best of all worlds, you might walk away saying, “I don’t agree with what they said, but a piece of me gets why they said it.”
Sit down with those you disagree with. Be challenged. As long as they too are genuinely stiving for truth they deserve a seat at the table. Do it for the sake of heaven, to heal this toxic world, to expand your horizons, to bring about peace. Then, with an open ear and heart, let the discourse elevate you.
