"That we should now contemplate how to live with people whose ideas are distant from us, to engage them with love and brotherliness, even as we firmly distance our opinions and intuitions from their positions."[1]
That this quote comes from the correspondence of the one the leading figures of the mussar tradition describing one of the goals of the annual Ellul spiritual journey came as a surprise to me. It was penned by none other than Rav Simcha Zissel Ziv z"tl (1824 - 1898), known as "the Alter of Kelm". He accepted this title, "the elder member of the group", because he felt unworthy of being known as a talmid of his rebbe, Rav Yisroel Salanter. Needless to say, he was one of the greatest students of Rav Yisroel and in turn shaped his own students, Rav Yerucham of the Mir, Rav Eliyahu Dessler, Rav Yechezkel Levenstein, and Rav Elia Lopian, all of whom had impacted their generation immeasurably. His piety was otherworldly and his yiras Shomayim was apparently entirely all-embracing, mesmerizing, and frightening all at once.
Indeed, it is this profound and practical awareness of Hashem which produces a person who can be totally true to all the nuances of the truths that shape his life and at the same time love the brother who disagrees. According to Rav Wolbe z"tl, the influential and thought provoking mashgiach of the Mir, it is only the profound awareness of how much we all mean to our Creator that can produce the balance the Alter strived to achieve. That is why this balance has its place among the spiritual heights to be sought during Ellul.
As I was studying this quote and Rav Wolbe's interpretation that it speaks to the depth of one's emunah, it occurred to me that it also sheds light on the juxtapositions and flow of ideas in this week's parsha. We first study about the aggressive evangelical idolater who does not receive the routinely mandated judicial patience and assumptions of innocence. Then we learn the parsha of the ir hanidachas the theoretical parsha of the city in Israel that is inundated by belligerent idolaters and is to be destroyed. Following all that we read, "You are Hashem's children - lo sisgodadu..." What a jarring non sequitur!
Now, the literal reading of "lo sisgodadu" (14:1) bans the early Semitic practice of cutting oneself and views that as an overreaction, or at least as a poorly directed reaction, to loss. According to Ibn Ezra this is the meaning of the introductory phrase of the pasuk, "You are children of Hashem", i.e. our belief in His concern for us should blunt the depth of our reaction to tragedy. However, the mesora teaches that "lo sisgodidu" also rules against establishing "agudos agudos", factions and walls within a community[2].
After reading about the obligation to confront and remove those who aggressively and programmatically seek to destroy the very core of our faith, we are forcefully reminded to see all who do not cross that line as Hashem's offspring. In turn, Hashem asks that we all subscribe to the unity of our people and subject ourselves to its requirements.
It is that attitude, "banim atem laShem - you are Hashem's children", that, according to Rav Wolbe, determines that one's deeply felt faith and religiosity will be empathetic and engaging, rather than fierce, threatening and self-righteous. He argues that the mitzvah of ahavas Shomayim - to love Hashem - assures that our beliefs must be accompanied with that love and that it spills over to all that Hashem loves, all of his children.
Studying the parsha of the cities and the well-planted spies that attempt to undermine our entire enterprise reminds us of how uncompromisingly protective we must be of the greatest gifts and challenges given to us. It is palpable faith naturally coupled with a robust ahavas Shmayim that in turn assures that we are as protective and as loving of Jews as we can possibly be.
[1] Quoted in rav wolbe's "be'emunoso yichye" page 93. Loosely translated
[2] That means that whereas we are all encouraged to maintain authentic and well-based customs and practices, we must refrain from doing so within a community that has a decidedly different observance. Refraining from putting on teffilin on chol hamoed in a bais hamedrash in Yerushalyim, despite one's personal practice, is the classic modern illustration of the mesorah's principle. Clearly, maintaining one's practice of putting on teffilin on chol hamoed when it does not set one apart from the community is mandated. Yet even a firmly based communal legacy must be set aside if it would create the image of two groups distinguishing themselves in their observance.