In the village where I grew up, down the street from the
home-made ice cream place and the library, across the street from the
playground where I went as a kid and I used to take my son, there is a magical
place. It’s a red-painted barn- like building,
kind of out of place for New England, with the words 1856 Country Store on the
side, but everyone knows it as the Penny Candy Store. It’s the place in the
village to get sweatshirts, soap, doodads, knickknacks, a newspaper, and yes,
penny candy. It’s the perfect spot to meet your friends or take your kid after story
time or some time on the playground, and the best spot to stand in front of to
watch the Memorial Day parade every year. On either side of the door are two
white, painted benches; one says “Democrats” on it,
the other “Republicans”.
It’s supposed to be for a laugh, these two benches divided by the entranceway,
a cute photo you take. This past summer as I was walking with my family past I
looked at those benches, and suddenly it wasn’t so cute any more.
There’s been a lot of discussion since last high holidays on
how divided we are, and how ugly and angry those divisions have become. We read
about neighbors who can’t stand to look at each other anymore getting into
screaming matches and even spitting on each other; racist and anti-Semitic and
homophobic attacks in the wake of the election. And it isn’t just Right vs. Left;
it seems to me that we’re increasingly in the middle of an all-out scrum of all
versus all; left-wing organizations shunning Jews because of Zionism,
right-wing groups and individuals threatening those who don’t observe
intellectual purity. And all those discussions have been filled with a great
deal of blame and accusation; whose fault is it that we’re so divided. Which,
of course, fosters more division, more hostility, more anger. I don’t know
about you; maybe you’re over it. Maybe you feel like this issue has been talked
to death and you just want to be left alone. For me, as a father, as a rabbi,
as a man, it’s scary. It’s exhausting. And it’s sad. It’s increasingly clear
that we cannot move forward as a country and a community in this fashion. As
human beings, we ache for connectivity; we are social animals and we want to be
able to be in relationship with one another in peace. Forget about politics for
a moment; in my neighborhood, there are two neighbors that are having a
constant war with one another about the Lord knows what, but it’s constant and
they are always trying to suck everyone else into this fight. Perhaps you have
had similar experiences. It’s really uncomfortable, to the point of worrying
about folks’ safety. I’m not saying we all have to be best buddies, but a
minimum level of civility goes a long way to keeping the peace. We hunger for
that civility, need to reclaim it and restore it to a prominent place in our
society.
Therefore, as Jews, as human beings, we are compelled to
act. Our tradition teaches us the importance of peace: in text after text we
are reminded that the pursuit of peace is among the most important tasks before us.
Famously we are taught Bakesh shalom v’rodfei hu; Seek peace and pursue it. And
the sages of old have understood that text to mean that, while other mitzvot are
conditional, circumstantial; perhaps we could do whatever we’re commanded to
do, perhaps not; this mitzvah,
however, is not conditional. If there is no opportunity to make peace, we make
an opportunity to make peace. And in the
spirit of the new year, I’d like to suggest that we now could make that
opportunity, to start over, and spend this year in our daily lives rebuilding
what has been broken, healing the divisions we see in our midst.
To pursue peace, we must ask the question: what do we mean
by that word, peace? The word can too easily conjure up a certain kind of
cynicism; “can’t we all just get along” type stuff. Let me be clear by what I
mean by this action, and what I don’t mean. In the spirit of Maimonides, I’ll
begin with what I don’t mean. I do not mean capitulation on deeply held
beliefs. I do not mean moral ambivalence or relativism, that somehow ‘many
sides’ can all be equally right. Peace doesn’t merely mean quiet or order. This
is not about shutting people up or shutting people down. Indeed, I’d argue that
doing so is no peace at all. Many of us feel quite strongly about a whole range
of issues, have attended rallies and vigils and protests; peace does not mean
going home and shutting up. It does not mean minimizing folks’ lived
experiences. None of those things lead to peace. They may lead to quiet, and it
might lead to order, but the ache, the anger, the issues that were there before
will still seep out, will still curdle our relationships with one another. I’m
guessing all of us have apologized at some point or another for something we
didn’t feel guilty of, just to get the conversation over and avoid the
conflict. And I’m also guessing each of us have tried to share a deeply held
belief—perhaps even with close friends—only to be shouted down, perhaps without
the other person even understanding our point of view. Maybe we were doing the
shouting. How many of us are still carrying the scars from that, still holding
onto the anger we felt, the frustration we felt. How many of us are still
carrying that around with us? Does that sound like peace to you? As we read in the prophets, we are forbidden
to proclaim “Peace! When
there is no peace.”
So, what is the pursuit of peace, really? What does our
tradition mean when it compels us to seek peace and pursue it? First and
foremost, it means recognizing our shared humanity. If we take seriously the
idea from our Torah that all of us are created in God’s image, then we have a
moral obligation to lift that up for ourselves and each other. Sounds easy, but
it’s really, hard. To stop for a moment,
stop our own anxieties, our own agenda, our own business long enough to look at
the person and see that it is, in fact, A PERSON that you're looking at ,
requires a great deal of compassion and patience. Especially if they’re yelling
at you. Rabbi Amy Eilberg, who has done a tremendous amount of conflict
transformation work, especially between Jews and
Palestinians, talks about when she’s in difficult conversations, sometimes
painful conversations with others, and before she responds with her own anger,
her own need to be right, takes a deep breath and, looking at each person, says
silently to herself ‘betzelem Elohim, betzelem Elohim, betzelem Elohim.” –“Created
in God’s image, Created in God’s image, Created in God’s image.”
In those moments, when we want to just take the other person
apart, to respond defensively, it takes a willingness to put down our own
weapons, to not, in conflict, fight to win. Rabbi Elisa Koppel last year shared
the idea of makhlokeht l’shem shamayim, a disagreement for the sake of heaven.
Our tradition does not presume that conflict will cease to exist; there will
always be conflict. But, how can we make said conflicts constructive, thoughtful,
and productive?. How can we
avoid demonizing the other side, making broad generalizations of everyone who
disagrees with me? It might feel good in the moment, but is the hangover worth
it? I’ve been a Rotarian for a few years now, as is my father, and the hallmark
for the Rotary organization is something called the Four-Way test. The Four-way
test asks us to take the following questions into account before we speak with
one another: Is it the truth? Is it fair to all concerned? Will it build
goodwill? Is it to everyone’s benefit? It’s meant to be nonsectarian and
nonpartisan, but I can’t help but think of it as awfully Jewish. Can you
imagine having those four questions in your head before you spoke? I don’t know
about you, but I think it would help make a whole lot of conflicts much more
meaningful, and who knows, perhaps we might learn something from the other as a
result.
That idea of learning, of being open and curious rather than
closed and determined, is essential to the work of pursuing peace as well. That
doesn’t mean being soft. It doesn’t mean giving up what we believe. It does
mean being humble; listening to the other without interruption, even when it is
hard. Perhaps especially when it is hard. It means being quick to listen
carefully and slow to interject. It means being aware of one’s own feelings in
the heated moment and recognizing them as authentic but not letting them drive
the conversation. I’ve often shared my teacher Rabbi David Ellenson’s story of
how, when he and his wife would get into a disagreement and the conversation
got too heated she would say “David, this is where you can either be right or
be married.” Our need to win cannot and should not take precedence over our
need to maintain a relationship; we must respond graciously and acknowledge our
own limits. So, when the person shares their pain, their own lived experience,
we would be wise to listen respectfully, and expect the same from the person
we’re speaking to, and apologize quickly if what we say in reflection turns out
to be hurtful. That’s not being politically correct, it’s not being policed,
it’s being a mensch; it’s being kind. And I think we can agree that we could
use a little more kindness. Last Sukkot Ivan Thomas, who created
#wearelove, came and led our congregation in a
process where we could listen deeply and respectfully to each other’s stories.
I doubt anyone who was there that night could say that they didn’t learn
something new about the world, the person they interacted with, or themselves.
And when we open ourselves up, when we respond with curiosity, we create the
opportunity to do exactly that kind of learning. In contrast, Rabbi Eilberg
recounts in her book From Enemy to Friend how she went to an academic panel
where the moderator asked each panelist to ask the other a question, and one
admitted she honestly couldn’t think of one question she could ask the others.
They were so used to articulating their point of view, defending their point of
view, that they hadn’t thought what it would mean to listen to one another.
By now you’ve probably realized that the kind of peace I’m
describing is hard to achieve, especially in a world where it’s easy to go on
the internet, see something that makes our blood boil and then go bananas. To
do this work takes intentionality, self-awareness, humility and courage. Yes,
courage: the courage to be vulnerable in the moment, to open yourself up to someone
else’s world view. It takes compassion, honoring the holiness in the other, and
a generosity of spirit. It’s not easy; we’ve fallen out of the habit. We want
to repost memes and scream into the face of the other—and there’s always an
“Other”. But just because something is hard doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing.
What if we committed to taking these values and, when we encounter someone with
whom we disagree, someone with whom we’re in conflict, work to make them a part
of the encounter. What if we strive, each one of us, to be a little more
curious, a little humbler, a little more willing to listen to each other. A
little more willing to hear someone else’s pain, and be aware of our own. A
little more willing to transform the conflict rather than avoid it. Look, we’re
not going to magically become the Dalai Llama or Reb Nachman of Bratzlav or
Pope Francis—and frankly, each one of them have had moments they weren’t proud
of. Each one of us, no matter how hard we try, will fall. God knows I have. But
that’s not the point; the point is to pursue peace. We may never achieve it,
not fully nor perfectly, but we must still seek out those opportunities and
embrace them to the best of our abilities. Maybe we only change one
conversation; sometimes that’s all it takes to make a difference in this world.
The poet Yehuda Amichai wrote the following:
In 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, a plough.
And a whisper will be heard in the place where the
Ruined house once stood.
Do we want to be right or in relationship? Do we want to
continue to trample the ground and each other in service to our rage and pain,
or do we want to plant new flowers of love and understanding? In this new year,
I am going to commit myself to pursuing peace. I am going to commit myself to
seek understanding, to respect and reflect, and to do what I can to shape the
conflicts I encounter into conflicts for the sake of Heaven. And I deeply
believe that, if each of us commits as well, we can begin to change the world
around us, to move toward a culture of peace. As you leave today you will find
the Rodef Shalom Agreement, a brit, a covenant you make with yourself. I
encourage you to take one, and begin to do the work of exploring what it would
mean for each of us to be that person in our lives. May it be so. Amen.
Rodef Shalom Agreement
I hereby agree, to do my utmost
in being mindful of myself
as a rodef shalom (pursuer of peace),
seeking to understand, respect and assist
in constructively balancing conflicting
needs and perspectives,
between individuals and communities,
in the spirit of mahloket l’shem shamayim
(conflicts for the sake of Heaven).