When I received an email this past spring inviting me to fly to Doha with Evangelical and Muslim leaders, I was unsure how to respond. Interfaith work has always been something I’ve enjoyed. Friendships with pastors and Imams are dear to my heart, but I had never been in relationship with Evangelical pastors, and I had never done this work across the globe, let alone in a country I didn’t know how to pronounce.
I was to be the initial Los Angeles Rabbi participating in a new cohort of clergy leaders with the Multi-Faith Neighbors Network. Founded by Evangelical Pastor Bob Roberts, Imam Mohamed Magid, and Rabbi David Saperstein, this new organization had already successfully created cohorts of cooperation in countries from Pakistan to Sudan to Qatar to Turkey to right here in the United States.
I was nervous and excited as I joined a Zoom call to talk to Pastor Micah Fries, their Director of Programs. I asked him how he got into this work, and he explained that he was an Evangelical pastor for a congregation in Tennessee eager to get to know his neighbors. He invited a local imam to grab a cup of coffee. The Imam said he would if he could bring a guest. The men gathered at a local coffee shop when it occurred to Pastor Micah that the Imam’s guest was his bodyguard. The Imam had been too scared to meet with him without one. Months later, when Pastor Froes invited a rabbi over to his church, the rabbi relayed how frightened he felt even entering an Evangelical church, fearful that white nationalism would rear its ugly head.
I resonated with what Micah had shared. I, too—whether justified or not, equated Evangelicals with white nationalism, with the 45% of Americans who believe the US should be a Christian nation[1] and the 35% who take that even further, believing that a citizen needs to be Christian to be “truly American”[2] I thought of Charlottesville, of the unite the right movement, of anger and antisemitism and hatred. And I wondered—if, out of the blue, I received a call from an Evangelical pastor inviting me for coffee or to visit his church— how would I have felt?
Then I looked at Micah’s face, which was filled with compassion and love, as he described how distraught he felt on learning that the word Evangelical had inspired that level of fear— That because of the way his faith had been used as a weapon of hatred, his gesture of kindness and hospitality was felt as a threat.
Micah describes his faith as a religion of love and acceptance in which hatred had no part. He knew right there that in the name of his faith, he was called to forge partnerships and build relationships—not only with people with whom he agreed but with those with whom he disagreed. Today, he does that through his work with the Multi-Faith Neighbors Network, MFNN.
This organization was founded on a model of relationship building. Its goal is “bringing together clergy to work cooperatively, even in the face of irreconcilable political and theological difference” and demonstrating and acting “on the love, care, compassion, and grace inherent to each of our faith traditions.[3] That was a mission I could get behind.
“Alright,” I told Micah, still a bit nervous. “I’m in.”
We live at a time when polarization is intense and getting stronger. According to last year’s Pew study, 54% of Democrats have very unfavorable views of Republicans, and 62% of Republicans have very negative views of Democrats.[4] Americans see the other party poorly and are increasingly likely to assign negative personality traits to those who disagree with us—seeing the best in ourselves and the worst in others. This is true with politics and just as true with religion.
Over the past several years, I’ve had enough conversations with you to know how deeply these rifts are felt. Some of our relationships with loved ones have fallen apart or remain deeply strained by our religious and political differences. How can we bridge the divides when we don’t even agree on the same set of facts? At some point, we stopped seeing each other.
It wasn’t always this way. It’s true that many avoided talking about politics and religion in polite company, but radio stations at least attempted to handle issues without bias. In 1987, legislation went through that changed the course of national discourse. Until this point, the Fairness Doctrine required broadcasters with opinionated programming on controversial topics to offer a variety of viewpoints. The system was far from perfect, but once illuminated, this paved the way for partisan and ideological news networks. Conservatives soon flocked to conservative channels and liberals to progressive ones. All of a sudden, it wasn’t only that we disagreed; we didn’t even hear what our adversaries were saying. Today, when algorithms determine what shows and articles appear on our computer screens, polarization is becoming even more stark.
“A funny thing happens,” wrote social psychologist Jonathan Haidt. “When you take young human beings, whose minds evolved for tribal warfare and us/them thinking, and you fill those minds full of binary dimensions. You tell them that one side in each binary is good and the other is bad. You turn on their ancient tribal circuits, preparing them for battle. Many students find it thrilling; it fills them with a sense of meaning and purpose.”
The 4th Century Talmud offers another way. It teaches that when two passionate people are engaged in Torah study, they may become adversaries in their disagreement. “But they cannot move from where they are until they have become beloved to one another again.”[5]
The Rabbis understood that when something important is at stake, there is bound to be conflict and disagreement. The Talmud itself is full of arguments and not all of them are pretty, but they are recorded. Even if one view is rejected, it remains in the Talmud with the understanding that attitudes may change over time. As the Mishnah puts it, minority views are recorded “to teach the generations that people shouldn’t be rigid in their opinions, for our ancestors were not rigid in theirs.”[6] We are called to push back on tribalist thinking so that even if we adamantly disagree, we can still become beloved to one another.
While the Rabbis believe that even one individual’s opinion is important, they distinguish between worthwhile and harmful arguments. Worthwhile debates are, as the rabbis put it “For the Sake of Heaven” while harmful ones are not.
An argument for the sake of heaven is one in pursuit of truth, not victory. It happens when people gather together with the intent of figuring out what is best. It comes with humility, with the open-mindedness to hear what someone else has to say, because their words may hold wisdom you have not yet considered.
If an argument is for the sake of heaven, if I win I win, and if I lose, I also win, because I had the blessing of being exposed to a greater truth that previously eluded me.
If an argument is for the sake of victory, if I lose I lose, and if I win I also lose, because in putting down my fellow I am also degrading myself.
There is a story in the Talmud about Reish Lakish and Rabbi Yochanan. They had many arguments over their many years of Torah study together, but this day, it felt personal. They were debating over the ritual impurity of weapons. When Rabbi Yochanan disagreed with Reish Lakish, he replied, “Well, a robber understands his trade,” alluding to the past Reish Lakish had given up long ago to become a Torah scholar and honorable husband to Rabbi Yochanan’s sister. By insulting Reish Lakish’s character, Rabbi Yochanan insinuated that he didn’t belong. Even after describing how hurt Reish Lakish felt, Rabbi Yochanan doubled down, saying, “Where would you be without me.” Reish Lakish’s wife tried to repair the wrong, but Rabbi Yochanan was unwilling. At that moment, he failed to see his partner and friend as a human being. He allowed his anger to outweigh his better judgment.
A short while later, Reish Lakish dies, and Rabbi Yochanan begins to mourn for his friend. He seeks another chavruta person to study Torah, someone who perhaps would understand and agree with him better. He seeks out and finds Rabbi Eleazar. They agree on just about everything. And that’s when it occurs to Rabbi Yochanan: he doesn’t want someone who always agrees with him. Reish Lakish had been brilliant, offering counterpoints and questions to his arguments. Though he sometimes found this frustrating, he now understood these debates helped him to grow and better comprehend the Torah and life itself.[7] Too late, he remembered that his relationship with someone who was not only his chavruta but his friend was far more important than being right. Far too late, he remembered that sometimes people who are different can remind us of exactly who we are in the best way possible.
As I arrived at the conference, I wondered about the people I would soon meet. How would we get along, and how would we challenge one another?
I soon met three of the most exceptional clergy partners I could imagine—Imam Abdelhameed, and Evangelical Pastors Joshua and Noemi Chavez, all from Long Beach. We had traveled halfway across the world to meet neighbors in our own backyards.
There was so much we had in common, so much we were already dreaming of doing together— but I still held my breath. What would it be like to talk about things we disagreed on?
Imam Abdelhameed and I had a chance to discover that over lunch on the second day of the conference. As we learned about one another’s upbringing, values and families, slowly the conversation drifted to politics. Abdelhameed grew up in Egypt, in a conservative family, so I wasn’t shocked when he began to talk about his more conservative views on LGBTQIA+ community. Having a sibling who identifies as trans, I had my own rather strong opinions on the topic. But here is what was amazing: we talked and asked questions about what one another were saying. We listened and gained insight into one another’s beliefs and values. We didn’t try to change one another’s minds, as tempting as that might have been. Instead, we had a conversation—a debate coming from a place of curiosity, a place of relationship building. Although we left the table on opposite events of a debate about a topic about which we both felt strongly— we left it with more respect for one another.
“If the parties in conflict…truly love one another in their heart and soul,” taught Hassidic commentator Eybshitz, “this is the sign that their disagreementis for the sake of heaven. However, if they are enemies and are holding on to hatred for one another through their debate this is not for the sake of heaven.”
Imam Abdelhameed and I had an argument for the sake of heaven, and I was filled with hope for all we had yet to do together.
The rabbis teach that disagreements and differences aren’t meant to be ignored. We’re not meant to compromise values to make someone else feel comfortable. But when we do disagree, we should do it with civility.
There is a story about Shammai and Hillel who debated a matter for three years without being able to find compromise. The house of Shammai claimed that it was right, and the house of Hillel claimed to be right. They called out to God to rule on who was more accurate, and God responded “These and these are the word of the living God.” Both Hillel and Shammai were right. They both held truth, because truth is messy, and sometimes even diametrically opposed arguments contain it. But, the text goes on, we rule in favor of Rabbi Hillel, because even when they disagreed, they always treated Shammai’s opinions with respect.
What if we approached each debate, each argument knowing that no matter how valiantly we disagreed with the person before us, that they had a nugget of wisdom that we are yearning to hear? What if we saw the humanity in one another? What if even after becoming adversaries, we vowed to never leave the table until we had become beloved to one another?
Years ago, a colleague told me about an altercation that took place at the border. Migrants were treated poorly, and placed in entirely unsanitary considitions, if they were let into the country at all. Children were separated from parents, records were lost. All around people were struggling. A group of clergy gathered to protest, demanding better treatment for those whose lives were so in danger that they were willing to risk it all, and travel hundreds of miles away from home for even the prospect of entering the United States. Protestors screamed and made their voices heard. There were altercations between protestors and US border control. It was tense, challenging and deeply painful for all involved. Protestors raised their voices, but soon went home, wondering if they had made a difference.
US border control, now under even greater pressure than before, were less willing to work with the social service groups with whom they had previously partnered, in order to help these migrants. Despite the best efforts of protestors, they had raised their voices in the name of justice, but at the expense of the relationship building between patrol and those locally willing to help. The protestors may have been right in everything that they said, but because their protest was done at the patrol officers, the migrants weren’t helped their efforts, They were actually hurt by it—- though their voices on a larger stage, may have helped others.
Sometimes it isn’t about being right. Sometimes it’s about loving one another. Sometimes its about peace, Shalom.
The Rabbis teach that the word peace isn’t about being polite. It isn’t about hiding parts of ourselves to make someone feel better. It isn’t about making our beliefs known no matter what the cost— rather they remind us that the word Shalom, peace, is connected to the word Shalem, wholeness. In every debate, in every interaction, we are called to bring our whole selves to the table, to proudly talk about who we are and what we believe, and what experiences led us to where we are today. And, we should bring our sense of wonder, our sense of appreciation for the human beings who sit beside us, no matter how different they are in their faith, their belief, or their upbringing.
I recently had a conversation with my new good friend Pastor Neomi Chavez, who I’m so grateful is here with us today— and she told me about what it means to her to be a person of faith: to be true to her own values and beliefs while accompanying others on their individual journeys. She said that yes, she has strong beliefs about politics, gender, Israel and immigration, and a number of other issues, just like us. But she feels no need to impose her beliefs on others. She feels no need to prove that she is right and that she is wrong, because what is most important to her as a person of faith is the relationships she builds. She strives to approach everyone with respect, and love them for who they are and what they bring.
Now, Noemi and I disagree on a lot, but I know that no theological or political difference will get in the way of our friendship. I value her advice, her opinions, her perspective and her very being. I am proud to call her a friend.
There is divisiveness all around us. The media, our allegiances and even our genetics are conspiring against us in our efforts to build a world of peace and understanding. But our tradition does not. Judaism teaches us that however strongly we believe in something, we always have room to learn and grow. It teaches us that it is imperative we honor one another not only at good moments but at times of tension as well. It teaches us not to ignore or run from our differences, but to approach them from a place of curiosity and relationship— to have arguments only for the sake of heaven, and that when we disagree, to strive to never leave the table without first becoming beloved to one another.
May we heed their words and succeed.
Kein Yehi ratzon. May this be God’s will.
[1] https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2022/10/27/45-of-americans-say-u-s-should-be-a-christian-nation/#:~:text=Overall%2C%20six%2Din%2Dten,should%20be%E2%80%9D%20a%20Christian%20nation.
[2] https://www.pewresearch.org/global/2021/05/05/views-about-national-identity-becoming-more-inclusive-in-us-western-europe/
[4] https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/2022/08/17/how-democrats-and-republicans-see-each-other
[5] Kiddushin 30b
[6] Mishnah Eduyot 1:4
[7] Bava Matziah 84b
Rabbi Cassi Kail 