It has always seemed remarkable to me that widely different
viewpoints can be correct at the same time. Human nature does not easily
accept this truth, though. We are quick to register that only one opinion
can be correct. So, once we have decided which direction represents the
right course, everything else must therefore be wrong. Yet, experience
proves this to be incorrect.
Pesach is a case in point.
On this date we celebrate our freedom from the ruthless tyranny
of the taskmasters. Yet burning questions remain. Did all
the Egyptians really need to suffer in order to free the Jews? Did so
many have to die in the thick waters of the Reed Sea? Why did our
enemies have to die? Or, why didn’t
they have to suffer as greatly as the Jews for their crimes?
And exactly how are we supposed to feel “as if we were
personally liberated” (as the Hagggada indicates) when we have never suffered
that kind of pain? That is why the Pesach seder assists with the
difficulty by telling the story of Liberation in four different
renditions. One narrative is about numbers. One is about
history. Another is about empathy through stories and one is through the
descriptions of the Pesach plate and foods.
The complex variety of perspectives reminds me of a story I once
heard about a father and his son driving to an engagement party. The
father, impatient, asks, “How far have we gone already?” The son, looking
forward to his bride says, “How much more do we have to go?”
Because of their inner world the father and son perceive the
outer world entirely differently. They are both correct.
Families are often difficult to keep together because each
member possesses their own reality which at times may not only be different,
but conflicting. The same is true for larger groups. Communities
are hard to form and contain because every person has their own reality.
Is it any surprise that some of the Israelites were rebellious? Or that
some wanted to return back to Egypt? That should be no more shocking than
people harboring disparate views on Israel. Or the fact that someone’s
seat at our seder table may be unoccupied.
Not so long ago before the Russian revolution, an advisor to the
Czar and his general were assassinated. The assassination was a bomb,
which tore through the carriage, slew the horses, and killed the prince.
Some reactions at the time: The Imperial Guard mourned their general. A
coachbuilder bemoaned the destruction of his artistry. The prince’s horses, the
finest in Europe, horrified a horseman. A New York Times reporter wrote,
“The old regime is dead; a new order is born.”
Of course, they were all correct. Yet, I suspect, if they
were in the same room after the event discussing what had happened they might
have had vigorous, loud, and perhaps painful disagreements. Our faith
insists that we overcome our personal objections to differences by getting
along. That is why the term “k’llal Yisrael” (the corpus of Israel) figures
so prominently in nearly every Jewish text. We do not have to agree – in
fact, arguing is a measure of testing truth – but we do have to take care of
one another. How we accept or reject divergent opinions is a measure of
our faith and this sacred principle.
A colleague was constantly asked by his children whether he
liked certain congregants. When they asked him, “Daddy, here comes
so-and-so, do like him?” he would answer, “I like the whole world.”
After a while they learned to ask, “Daddy do you like this one
or do you like the whole world?”
At Pesah we are reminded of the incalculable value of accepting
differences. When we do, we become better people and more responsible
stewards of our fellow Jews.
“What a caterpillar calls the end of life the Master calls a
butterfly.” –Richard Bach
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