Diversity, Dignity and Democracy

Noah 5777 / 5 November 2016

Any quizzo or trivial pursuit fans or lovers of statistics will be happy to hear that today’s d’var Torah will begin with some trivia! I’ll ask a few questions and, since we don’t have Shabbat friendly buzzers, you can raise your hand if you have an answer.

• How many languages are spoken in the City of Philadelphia?
  Answer: 146
• How many languages are spoken in the United States?
  Answer: 350, including 150 distinct Native American languages
• And in the world?
  Answer: There are roughly 6,500 spoken languages in the world today.
  (Caveat: 2,000 of those languages have fewer than 1,000 speakers.)

Hold onto these statistics. Now for some Torah.

The beginning of Genesis chapter 11, which we read this morning, presents the story of a monumental building project. It takes place generations after the flood. The earth has been repopulated, and while we might imagine that there was already some diversity in language and expression, the Torah stresses that at the time of the building of the Tower of Babel, Migdal Bavel, “everyone on earth had the same language and the same words.” “וַיְהִי כָל-הָאָרֶץ שָׂפָה אֶחָת וּדְבָרִים אֲחָדִים.”^[1] On the surface, the story appears to be about cooperation in a creative endeavor to maintain unity among all human beings. And yet, God punishes them for it. A reason often given is that the people had excessive hubris. Their desire to build an edifice up to the heavens was an affront to God.There is a rabbinic tradition that reads our story differently, as one of the suppression of diversity and individual expression, an approach to the text that is powerfully relevant to this moment in American society.

First let’s take a step back a chapter for some context. Chapter 10 of Bereishit bridges the narrative of Noah and the story of the Tower. It follows the lineage of Noah and his wife, as the generations proliferate from a couple into a multiplicity of peoples making up the second iteration of the human race. It reflects both a growing diversity and fundamental unity in a society that is- literally- one human family. In this chapterBavel appears for the first time, as part of the kingdom of Noah’s great grandson, Nimrod. Described in verse 8 as “the first man of might on earth,” Nimrod is the first monarch mentioned in the Torah, According to many commentators, it was Nimrod who founded the institution of monarchy, and he was the first person to forcefully subjugate other people and arrogate lands for himself. In the words of the 14th century French commentator Radak, “…until [Nimrod] arose, no man had aspired to rule over a people.”^[2] Seen by the Sages as a beguiling and bloodthirsty tyrant who inspired awe and fear, Several Talmudic sources assert that Nimrod was the mastermind behind the tower.^[3]

In a quest for global dominion, the Tower of Bavel was a means of surveillance, and maintaining control and fear. But its most egregious aspect was that it stripped people of their individuality, and independence. On the surface it was a project devoted to reaching a higher power. Brilliantly, Nimrod unified the people of his kingdom, and beyond, behind a massive public works project that seemed to be about cooperation and reaching the Divine. However, according to a midrash in Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer, the people were so focused on the project of building the tower that they lost sight of the dignity of the individual. “If a person fell and died [during construction], they payed no attention to him. But if a single brick fell, they would sit and say ‘Woe to us; when will we lift up another one in its place?’.”^[4]

As R’ Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, the 20th century Talmud scholar and philosopher, writes,“[The builders said:] It is upon us to arrange a new order for the world, it is upon us to control a new society. It is upon us to rule over the cosmos, and to organize new principles of the Heavenly kingdom. [They did this] in order to realize their ideal, the subjugation of the whole world; to command everyone how to live and what to do; to separate families; to destroy the freedom of the individual and all values by which people live.”

Referencing the midrash above, Rav Soloveitchik, notes that “the values by which people were measured were not their spiritual merit, but rather only the number of bricks which they could bring to construct the tower.” Then, in a rare political reference, he says, “Those evil ones, the generation of the Tower, were like Mao Tse Tung or Krushchev… they wanted to show their ability to overpower the meaning of the individual.”^[5]

The people of the generation may have been unified by the building project, but that unity came at the cost of their individuality and dignity. Earlier I translated the opening verse of chapter 11-  וַיְהִי כָל-הָאָרֶץ שָׂפָה אֶחָת וּדְבָרִים אֲחָדִים- as “everyone on earth had the same language and the same words.” One can also translates the verse as, “while everyone on earth had the same language, there were very few ideas actually being expressed.”

The consequence for the generation of the tower was that God confounded their language. This divinely enforced diversity of experience and expression forced people to work to understand each other. Here in the United States, there are 350 distinct languages spoken. One might come to the mistaken conclusion that our differences preclude the possibility of unity and mutual understanding.

In the fall of 1908, while the US was in the midst of absorbing the largest influx of immigrants in its history, a play opened in Washington whose central theme of assimilationism and title image would influence our discourse on immigration and our national identity, and would come to be used as a metaphor for America itself. The play was the Melting Pot, written by Israel Zangwill, the London-born son of Russian Jewish immigrants. The play caused quite a stir in the American Jewish community, as can be seen in a sermon delivered in New York that winter, months before the play debuted in that city. Speaking at Temple Emanu-El in February of 1909, Rabbi Judah Magnes forcefully challenged the notion that one must abandon his identity- his language, culture, customs, history and ideals- and fully assimilate to become a true American. “America is not a melting pot,” he argued; our strength and beauty stem from our diversity, not homogeneity.

Magnes acknowledged, that “Democracy has the tendency to level all distinctions, to create the average type, almost to demand uniformity.” But if we can honor the diversity of citizenry and create what he called  “a variegated national culture,” then “that Americanism which is not yet a finished product, but which is in the making, might eventually become like a garland of blossoms of many colors, rather than a vast field of flowers of the same size and color.”^[6] 

As a nation of immigrants, the true strength of the United States has always been found in our diversity. But, though our country is more diverse than ever by any measure, most of us increasingly live in bubbles, effectively removed from people that look or think differently than we do. That is not the only barrier to communication in America today.

In the current political climate in America, there is a deep mistrust- of the political and economic systems, of our elected officials and candidates, of our political opponents, and of those who hold views different that ours. We often make assumptions about how others around us think. We might assume that others have similar views to our own, that we have “the same language and the same words.” On the other hand, we might look at those who are different from us and make the mistaken assumption that we are so different that we can’t possibly find common language and common ground with those who may have different views. Both of those assumptions are problematic.  Rather, our diversity is a value and an asset. When we work to communicate with each other, we can learn from each other and our differences.

In a conversation with Krista Tippett in a recent On Being podcast,^[7] interfaith activist Eboo Patel talked about the importance of diversity and the obstacles we face in realizing our diversity. In a healthy, religiously diverse democracy, Patel said, “people are invited to make their personal convictions on matters of ultimate concern public, knowing that their neighbor has a different definition of justice than they do.” In America today, we are often no longer willing to tolerate different views in matters of ultimate concern, let alone to engage constructively in disagreements around them. He named what he sees as “the most dangerous trend in our society right now”: “what Andrew Sullivan calls the ‘scalping trend,’ which is- if you disagree with me on one fundamental thing… I will neutralize our entire relationship, and I will take your scalp and hang it on my wall as a trophy to make sure that everybody else who has that opinion know that I’m coming for them. How do you have a society where people who disagree on where to draw the line in the Middle East can perform heart surgery together or serve on the PTA together?” Patel asked. “Isn’t that what a diverse democracy is? And it feels to me like the central thing that we do is nurture that ethic of… ‘I will disagree with you on this set of things and continue to work with you on this other set of things.’”

We may not live under the authoritarian regime of Nimrod, but like the generation who built the Tower of Babel, America today does not know how to hold a multiplicity of voices around issues fundamental to our identity and values. We must not confuse unity with uniformity. The beauty of our nation has always been that our unity stems from our diversity.

The heart of our country is hurting. Even if our prefered candidates are elected into office on Tuesday the work is not done. The real hard work begins on November 9- the work of healing the heart of our country. But how do we break out of our bubbles and begin to honor our diversity and difference? What can our Jewish tradition teach us about how to get along with those who seem most different from us? Our Sages acknowledge that it is a great spiritual challenge to live with diversity of opinion and to remain in conversation with, and cultivate empathy for, those who think differently than we do. Nonetheless, our rabbis assert that it is essential for our humanity to see the humanity of others.

Part of the wisdom of the Talmud is in its presentation of multiple opinions, the words of both the majority and of the minority. One of the most ubiquitous set of debate partners in the Talmud is  the great rabbis Hillel and Shammai. The Talmud teaches that “the words of both the School of Shammai and the School of Hillel are the words of the living God, but the law follows the rulings of the school of Hillel.” Why is this the case? The Talmud spells out that the students of Hillel made sure to study not only their own opinions, but those of the students of Shammai, and that they behaved with modesty, humility and kindness toward those with whom they disagreed.

Throughout the generations, our rabbis continue to wrestle with this idea of pluralism and the validity of contradicting opinions. In another early rabbinic text from the late second century, known as the Tosefta, the Sages ask “If some rule that something is impure and others pure, if some forbid something and others permit it, why should we continue to learn Torah?” If we’re not going to find the “right” answer, what is the point of learning at all? In response to this conundrum, we are reminded of the shared source of conflicting conclusions: “All the words were given by a single Shepherd, one God created them, one Provider gave them, the Blessed Ruler of all creation spoke them.” The truth is complex and as humans, we can never fully know the will of God. Each of us does our best to figure out how to live well and we need each other to expand our understanding of why we are here. The rabbis then offer these beautiful words of advice, “Therefore make your heart into a many-chambered room, and bring into it both the words of the House of Shammai and the words of the House of Hillel, both the words of those who forbid and the words of those who permit.”^[8]

What a difficult and essential lesson this is for us as human beings and as Americans. Our work this in the days to come is not to build a ziggurat to the heavens or to become a melting pot, but to be heal the heart of our nation so that it may hold each and every person who calls America home, knowing that all human beings are created in the image of God.

May we make room in our hearts for those with whom we disagree. May the teachings of our tradition help us to bring healing to the heart of our country.

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