In this era of religious and political polarization in the world and within our own Jewish communities, we can find a warning against intolerance and a model for pluralism in an ancient midrashic parable. We are tasked with a difficult balance: respecting our diverse perspectives without allowing those differences to fracture our foundation. Parashat Re’eh anticipates this very struggle, offering a prohibition with two essential meanings—one literal, and one serving as a profound metaphor for the structure and survival of the Jewish people. Deuteronomy 14:1 commands:
You are children of Hashem your God. You shall not gash yourselves or shave (lo tikrehu) the front of your heads because of the dead.
On the level of peshat (straightforward reading) this verse refers to the common practice in the ancient Near East for mourners to gash themselves to express their grief and to pacify demonic forces (see Jeremiah 16:6 and 41:5). The Torah teaches that because God loves the people of Israel and looks after them like a parent, they should never be too upset over the loss of a loved one to the point of self-mortification (Ibn Ezra). This law was already legislated for priests (Leviticus 21:5), and here it is extended to all of Israel as a priestly nation (Ramban).
The Midrash Sifre Devarim offers an alternative figurative meaning of this same phrase:
“Do not cut yourselves”: Do not make factions, but rather all of you should be one faction, as it is said, “Who built His chambers in heaven and founded His vault on the earth” (Amos 9:6).
The midrash interprets the verse as a prohibition against cutting the nation into sectarian groups so that Jewish unity does not disintegrate into factionalism. This explanation likely arose during the time of the Second Temple when sectarian fighting over different areas of Jewish law split the Jewish people into many groups, leading to civil wars, and a failed revolution that brought devastating destruction by the Romans.
While we can appreciate the historical impetus for this teaching, how did the sages read this interpretation in the words of the rest of the verse? One possibility (based on Yalkut Shimoni) is to translate it as follows:
You as a group are God’s children [so be unified just as every parent wants their children to stay together]; don’t cut yourselves into separate factions, don’t place a Korah [a play on words with lo tikrehu, do not make a bald spot] among your leaders [literally eyes, as in visionaries] or else you won’t survive [lamet, meaning for the dead].
Another passage towards the end of the Sifre explains this lesson with a parable:
R. Shimon ben Yohai says, a parable to one who brought two boats and tied them to anchors and iron weights, placed them in the heart of the sea and built upon them a palace. As long as the ships are tied together, the palace stands; once the ships separate, the palace does not stand… So too here, you say “together the tribes of Israel.” When they are one faction and not when they are split into many factions.
This is a fundamental and timely lesson. Notice that the parable assumes that each group remains on its own boat, rising and falling with its own weight and keeping its own balance. This is not a prescription for uniformity of practice or of thought; no need for everyone to live on one and the same boat. Nevertheless, the midrash makes the essential insight that one boat on its own will not have the ability to sustain the weight of a palace. One political party, denomination, or local community cannot on its own sustain the needs or fulfill the aspirations of an entire people or a nation. It is only when we tie our collective hopes, challenges, fates, and goals together that we can stand strong against external adversaries. Anchoring our individual boats together can help us turn fractious and deepening debate into fruitful discussion that draws sustenance from the full diversity and vibrancy of our shared intellectual and spiritual texts and traditions.
The midrash does not demand uniformity of thought; debate over every issue lies at the heart of both the Talmud and modern democracies. However, we also need to place those debates into perspective, not make them personal, and keep sight of the larger joint goals to succeed as a holy people and light among nations. The interpretation of this verse moves from the literal – relating to laws of mourning over loss – to the figurative meaning about communal infighting. Similarly, as we celebrate the beginning of the month of Elul and move from mourning on Tish’a b’Av through the seven haftarot of consolation to Rosh Hashanah, let us strive to rectify the baseless hatred that brought so much suffering in the past and replace it with mutual respect and unity.