Byline: Elisheva Gray

Argue for the sake of heaven

When they were having their animated disagreements so many centuries ago, could the wise Jewish sages Hillel and Shammai have imagined how much we would still look to them today to help us navigate our fragmented world?

Mishna Avot, a third-century collection of teachings, reminds us that “any mahloket (disagreement) that is l’shem shamayim (for the sake of heaven) will continue to exist, but one that is not for the sake of heaven will not continue to exist. What is a disagreement that is for the sake of heaven? This is a disagreement of Hillel and Shammai.”

In our world that is both full of beauty and goodness and yet also permeated with divisiveness and polarization, Hillel and Shammai remind us that it was, and is, possible to hold opposing views while still respecting and learning from one another. A disagreement for the sake of heaven is one in which the parties are motivated by a genuine desire to seek the truth of the matter. There is no selfishness or lust for power. Rather, the disagreement is approached with humility, curiosity and a willingness to listen.

I recently completed an eight-week Mahloket Matters alumni fellowship through the North American branch of the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies. I had previously studied at this pluralistic yeshivah (place of study) in Jerusalem, which is itself exemplary in demonstrating diversity, inclusiveness and a willingness to face challenging issues in respectful, cooperative and productive ways. What attracted me to applying for the fellowship was the topic – civil discourse. We would be delving into how to navigate difficult conversations and disagreements. When we all met, virtually, at the first class, we found that we shared a common concern about the fragmentation and jagged edges in our world, as well as a desire to learn and to equip ourselves with more skills to better navigate the types of thorny issues we face in our world.

Our studies were grounded in Jewish texts, which provided wonderful launch points for many of our discussions. We shared thoughts and ideas about what it means to have a disagreement l’shem shamayim and tried to bring those ideas forward to today. As Hillel and Shammai taught us, it is possible that sometimes both sides can be right and still hold opposing views. It’s also possible to debate an issue without harming relationships. Entrenched positions leave little room for genuinely listening to the other side or having the humility to admit that one might be wrong, qualities much needed for any truly healthy and productive disagreement.

U.S. Supreme Court Justices Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia, may their memories be blessed, perhaps provide a more contemporary example of Hillel and Shammai. They were judges who held vastly different views on many issues and yet had a warm and lengthy friendship, never mind a shared love for opera, which they often indulged in together. In a statement that Bader Ginsburg released to the public on the death of Scalia in 2016, she said: “We disagreed now and then, but when I wrote for the Court and received a Scalia dissent, the opinion ultimately released was notably better than my initial circulation. Justice Scalia nailed all the weak spots – the ‘applesauce’ and ‘argle bargle’ – and gave me just what I needed to strengthen the majority opinion.”

Over the eight weeks of our studies, our diverse group from all over North America questioned, challenged, debated and confronted a multitude of issues, from moral foundations to creating our own mini Sanhedrin(Jewish High Court), taking on the role of judges and tackling some controversial issues from all angles. It was an enriching and meaningful experience, the fruits of which we are each now able to bring back to our own communities, with the hope that the small ripples we create through sharing our learning will radiate outwards and help, even in small ways. Help to smooth some of the sharp edges, soften rigid positions and create the safe spaces people need to have productive and healthy disagreements that create the fertile potential for new solutions to emerge – all for the sake of heaven.

Elisheva Gray is a lay leader and active member of the Victoria Jewish community and an alumna of the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies.

Going from brokenness to wholeness

From left to right, Julius Maslovat, Carmel Tanaka, MP Murray Rankin and MLA Rob Fleming at the Victoria Holocaust Remembrance and Education Society’s annual Kristallnacht Commemoration on Nov 9. (photo from Victoria Hillel)

The following remarks have been slightly modified from the original welcoming and closing addresses given at the Victoria Holocaust Remembrance and Education Society’s annual Kristallnacht Commemoration, which took place at Congregation Emanu-El on Nov 9.

Shalom and welcome. Thank you all for coming to share in this evening of remembrance and resiliency. It is a dark Monday night in November, but you have chosen to be here. That is a statement in itself, and we thank you for taking part in tonight’s program.

We are remembering Nov. 9, 1938, a tragic night of destruction that carried on into the next day and was a portent of things to come. Remembering events such as these, as painful as they are, is vital. We don’t need to dwell on them so much as we need to draw on them for the lessons they can offer us.

Rabbi Harry Brechner of Congregation Emanu-El reminded me recently that one of our congregants, Steffi Porzecanski, may her memory be forever blessed, was a witness to the Night of Broken Glass. She lived in Berlin at the time. She would talk about how you couldn’t walk on the streets afterwards without feeling and hearing pieces of glass crunching under your feet. By the end of the destruction, some 1,000 synagogues had been burned, windows smashed, Jewish property damaged, ritual objects and cemeteries desecrated and some 30,000 Jews sent to concentration camps.

Sometimes, words are not sufficient in the face of epic horrors. Rabbi Leo Baeck, who also lived in Germany during this period, and who was eventually sent to Theresienstadt concentration camp in 1942 but did ultimately survive, wrote a prayer some years before for Jews to read at Yom Kippur. This prayer was eventually banned by the Nazis. Near the end of the prayer, he says: “We are filled with sorrow and pain. In silence, will we give expression to all that which is in our hearts in moments of silence before our G-d. This silent worship will be more emphatic than any words could be.”

photo - Elisheva Gray, left, and Micha Menczer
Elisheva Gray, left, and Micha Menczer. (photo from Victoria Hillel)

This is where we would like to begin tonight – allowing the silence to speak. I ask you to join me in just looking around our sanctuary and at our windows. All of the colors and nuances of our magnificently crafted windows can’t be fully appreciated at night, but they are, nevertheless, beautiful windows. At our early morning service on Thursdays, those of us who come are often treated to an extraordinary light show, as the soft, morning light gently begins touching on the blue glass.

We have all experienced the sound of breaking glass. Can we even begin to imagine the quiet and tranquility being shattered by the sound of window glass suddenly crashing to the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces, as happened in synagogues throughout Germany and Austria, beginning on that November night in 1938. The only reason? Because we were Jews. How would we feel if we witnessed that happening here, in our sanctuary, in our community, to these very windows?

As a symbol of our desire to work together in unity, to respect one another’s differences and to strive for a community that has tolerance and respect at its centre we will rebuild a window together tonight, a window resembling one of our very own windows.

While we are blessed to live somewhere where we haven’t had to witness an event like Kristallnacht, we also must be realistic of the need to remain vigilant and caring for one another in a world where such events have taken place and could, potentially, take place again. The more fractured and fragmented our world becomes, the more vital it is for us to come together, to put our differences aside and see each other on that most human level, stripped of labels and roles and categories. We may all pick our fruit from different trees, but we all share the same garden.

Tonight, as we commemorate the tragic events of that fateful November night and all that followed in its wake, we also recognize the strength and resilience of our people, the courage of the survivors, and we look towards the future with hope for a world where no group is targeted for attack, as the Jews were on the Night of Broken Glass and in the years that followed.

We are truly honored to have Holocaust survivors with us tonight, as well second- and third-generation descendants, representatives of political leadership, law enforcement agencies, faith groups and persons targeted for their sexual orientation, religious or political beliefs, participating in this symbolic reconstruction and in our candlelighting ceremony.

Our candlelighters will light seven candles. Six of them represent the six million lives lost in the Shoah. The seventh candle represents the many other persecuted victims of the Shoah. It is also our candle of hope.

Closing remarks

I’d like to thank our wonderful planning committee, our readers, volunteers and musicians for their hard work and dedication. Thank you, as well, to Rabbi Harry for his help and for his words. We are, again, especially honored and deeply grateful to our survivors, descendants of survivors and everyone who helped us with our candlelighting and our window building, especially Julius Maslovat (child Holocaust survivor), the b’nai mitzvah children from Congregation Emanu-El, local grandchildren of Holocaust survivors, MP Murray Rankin, Rabbi Harry of Congregation Emanu-El, Very Rev. Ansley Tucker, Constable Rae Robirtis from Victoria Police Department and Carmel Tanaka (Victoria Hillel director, granddaughter of Holocaust survivors and interned Japanese-Canadians).

The many problems out there in the world sometimes seem too big and too overwhelming for us to solve. Rebuilding our window here tonight may seem small in comparison to the challenges that face us in the wider world. But tonight, as we gathered to remember a difficult chapter from our past, it is our hope that, together, we injected a little more shalom into the world.

In Hebrew, every word has a three-letter root from which other words are formed. From the same root for the word shalom, peace, comes the word shalem, whole, and shlemut, wholeness. Each time we inject more shalom into the world, we are, in essence, diminishing brokenness and creating more wholeness. A little shalom goes a long, long way.

Our window may be fragile, but it is full of possibility. The cracks are a necessary reminder of our vulnerability. They are the scars that must be there, reminding us of our past, reminding us of the Night of Broken Glass.

A window allows us to look in – in this case, looking into the past, back to Nov. 9, 1938. And a window allows us to look out. What is that world that we, as individuals and as a community, want to see when we look out? A window also shows us our reflection. Who do we see looking back at us? Who do we want to see?

Elisheva Gray is a member of the Victoria Holocaust Remembrance and Education Society and is on the planning committee for the Kristallnacht Commemoration in Victoria.