This piece on parashat Shofetim by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in Hanassi Highlights, Thursday 13 August. If you would like to read it in Hebrew, thanks to ChatGPT, just click here.
There is a fascinating Midrash related to a verse in Parshat Shofetim that describes the procedure to follow when a particularly difficult halachic question arises:
"Ki yipalei mimcha davar lamishpat, bein dam l'dam, bein din l'din u'bein nega lanega... divrei rivot bish'arecha..."
"If a matter of judgement is beyond you to decide—between blood and blood, between law and law, and between lesion and lesion, matters of dispute within your gates—you shall arise and go up to the place that the Lord your God will choose." (Devarim 17:8)
On the simple level, the verse refers to cases that must be brought before the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem for a definitive ruling.
The angels ask a piercing question. How could the destruction have been so complete? Doesn't the Torah itself teach compassion?
"Bein dam l'dam"—the Torah commands that the blood of a slaughtered animal be covered with earth, yet the blood of the Jewish people was spilled like water.
"Bein din l'din"—the Torah prohibits slaughtering an animal and its offspring on the same day, yet King Tzidkiyahu and his sons were killed together.
"Bein nega lanega"—before a house afflicted with tzara'at is dismantled, its contents are first removed to spare them from destruction. Yet the Beit HaMikdash itself was destroyed together with all of its precious vessels.
Where, ask the angels, is the attribute of Divine mercy?
Hashem's answer is striking. The explanation lies in the next words of the verse: "Divrei rivot bish'arecha"—there was conflict within your gates. Internal division had become so pervasive that it undermined the very foundations of the nation.
This Midrash is not suggesting that every disagreement is wrong. Judaism has always cherished debate. The pages of the Gemara are built upon respectful argument, and genuine differences of opinion are often a sign of a vibrant Torah life.
The danger begins when disagreement turns into hostility; when we stop arguing about ideas and begin judging people; when we forget that someone who sees the world differently remains our brother or sister.
The Torah does not ask us to think alike. It asks us to remain one people even when we think differently.
That is an important message at every stage of Jewish history. Communities will always contain a diversity of personalities, perspectives and priorities. The real test is not whether disagreements arise—they inevitably will—but whether we allow them to become divrei rivot bish'arecha, the kind of conflict that tears a community apart.
The Midrash reminds us that the strength of the Jewish people lies not in uniformity, but in our ability to preserve mutual respect, shared purpose and genuine concern for one another, even when we disagree.
Shabbat Shalom!
