Parashat Korah 5783

Way back in 2017 — which feels like a lifetime ago! — my synagogue started an initiative that we called “Have a Drink with a Political Opponent.”

The concept was simple. We set up a simple online questionnaire which asked questions like: how do you identify yourself politically; what’s the political affiliation of someone you would like to have a calm, rational conversation with; what are some issues of special interest and some issues you don’t want to discuss; do you prefer wine, beer, or coffee. The program organizer then matched people up, and the synagogue offered to cover the cost of the drinks.

We made it clear that this program was for dialogue, not debate: the goal was not to change anyone’s mind, but to better understand others and to have one’s own perspective understood by others.

We created this program after hearing from many people in our community that they could not imagine how anyone could be so benighted as to hold the opinions that they were hearing from the other side of various political debates in the United States at that time. And they could not imagine what a reasonable person from the other side could possibly say to challenge their arguments. (In many cases, they could not imagine the existence of “reasonable” people on the other side.) People from both sides of the aisle were expressing how distraught they were by the tenor of discussion in the United States. Regardless of their political affiliation, they could agree on one thing: it was the other side’s fault.

We operated this program for several months and we deemed it a success. People of diverse political persuasions signed up. Beer was the most popular beverage of choice, with wine and coffee shortly behind. And some reported that for the first time in a long time, they had cordial conversations with people with whom they disagreed about substantive issues. Even though finding common ground was not a goal of these conversations, common ground was usually found. Participants were likely, in these conversations, to stray from the maximally partisan version of the talking points on any issue and describe positions with more nuance. They were more likely to acknowledge that they sometimes felt some conflicts between various values that they held strongly, and that it was not always easy to figure out how to balance these values. In other words, they talked to each other honestly and openly and admitted some of their own vulnerabilities, all of which are preliminary steps to finding some degree of common ground.

Pirkei Avot — Ethics of the Fathers — draws a distinction between two kinds of conflicts (Pirkei Avot 5:17). Some conflicts are in the category of mahloket le-shem shamayim — a conflict for the sake of heaven. But some conflicts are in the category of mahloket she-einah le-shem shamayim — NOT for the sake of heaven — and the paradigmatic example of this type of conflict is the story of Korah that is the focus of this week’s Torah portion.

We see some evidence for this categorization early on in the portion. When Moses and Aaron hear about the complaints of Korah and his associates Datan and Aviram, Moses invites them to come to discuss the complaints face to face. But Datan and Aviram respond contemptuously:  lo na’aleh, “We won’t go up” to talk with you. (Numbers 16:12) They reiterate their grievances and add some ad hominem attacks, and they repeat a second time, lo na’aleh – “we won’t go up.” (Numbers 16:14) Their repeated reaction sends the message: We are not interested in listening to you. We are not interested in discussing it and sorting out ideas. We are simply interested in prevailing in this struggle.

Jewish tradition famously promotes argument and disagreement. But the kind of argument and disagreement that we love is the kind where the two sides genuinely listen to each other and learn from each other, where no one is afraid of the consequences of a free and open exchange of ideas. The ancient sages Hillel and Shammai are the paradigms of this kind of disagreement, referred to as a mahloket le-shem shamayim, an “argument for the sake of heaven.” Datan, Aviram, and Korah, however, represent the other kind of controversy.

Midrash Rabbah comments on Datan and Aviram’s statement: it is notable that the words they used to decline their invitation to talk with Moses and Aaron about their dispute were lo na’aleh, which literally means “we won’t go up,” “we won’t ascend.” They did not say “we won’t go” or “we won’t come,” but “we won’t go up.”

Midrash Rabbah understands their words as an ironic foreshadowing of the fate of Korah and his associates later in the portion (which is the opposite of “ascending”). But there is another way to understand Datan and Aviram’s usage.  Even though Datan and Aviram refused to come, at least their words demonstrated that they understood an important Jewish value — that discussing issues with people with whom one disagrees is a spiritually elevating activity. Any time we express our vulnerabilities and acknowledge the complexity of our thoughts and opinions, we are getting closer to God and closer to our most genuine selves. Datan and Aviram’s words highlight that they viewed such dialogue positively — even if they could not bring themselves to participate in such dialogue. We pray that we will not miss opportunities for such elevation.
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Rabbi Robert Scheinberg, Ph.D., is the Interim Rabbi in Residence at the Academy for Jewish Religion, where he teaches courses in Jewish Liturgy, as well as the Rabbi of the United Synagogue of Hoboken. Rabbi Scheinberg was a member of the editorial committees for Mahzor Lev Shalem and Siddur Lev Shalem, the prayer books used in many Conservative congregations.