Parashat Korach - The Wisdom of Beruriah by Dr Hannah Marije Altorf - Rabbinic Student
Last week I was walking in the beautiful forest around Vallendar, Germany, when I passed a well. The sign above it told the story of its origin. When a bishop had cursed God after an unsuccessful hunting trip, he and his horse disappeared in a crack in the earth.
Immediately after their disappearance, a bubbling well opened up. The comparison to Korach suggested itself. Korach too was quite high up in a priestly order, though also not at the top. Korach too challenged God, or more precisely, he challenged a divine ordering. He was of the same lineage as Aaron, but did not belong to the inner circle. (Numbers 16: 1-3, 8-11) Finally, Korach too was swallowed by the earth and with him innocents disappeared. (Numbers 16: 31-33)
I was struck even more by one particular difference. The bishop’s demise is immediately followed by a life-giving event. A bubbling well opened up. Yet, there is no such life-giving event immediately after Korach’s death. When he and all his people and their possessions have disappeared in the ground, the people panic and a fire consumes the 250 representatives who had risen with Korach against Moses and Aaron. Then there is more rebellion and the people are struck with the plague. The parashah ends with the consolidation of the priestly power in only a few. This may prevent any further uprising from ever happening again, but life-giving it is not. Not really.
A few days later I walked the same path. The forest was still as beautiful and peaceful. The sign still reassured me of the wondrous spring and the small brook in front of it just added to the beauty and fertility of the place. Yet, my mind was anything but peaceful. It was preoccupied with destruction. That morning the news was full of the US bombarding sites in Iran.
That day was the last day of the JCM conference, the conference where Jews, Christians and Muslims are in dialogue. It had first brought me to Vallendar. Almost a week earlier, at the start of the conference, we mourned the death of a future participant. Shada Hatib, a student of Moshe Lavee, had not made it in time to the shelter when bombs started falling. At that last day of the conference, not all participants were certain when and how they would be able to get home, for Israel’s borders were closed.
Such are the developments in this conflict that I cannot predict what the news will be when you read this, but that last morning I passed the well with a heavy heart. I read the text again, this time with incredulous eyes. It seemed the storyteller hurried all too quickly past the terrible events. What life can come out of destruction? Can any life come out of utter destruction?
I had wanted to write my last d’var as a student at Leo Baeck College on parashat Korach, because I have written my dissertation on machloket, on disagreement. We know from Pirke Avot that the machloket, the dispute or disagreement of Korach and his people counts at the example of how not to engage in disagreement. His machloket is not a machloket l’sheim shamayim, it is not a disagreement for the sake of heaven.
So, in this past year I have studied machloket. I have followed the Machloket Matters course organised by the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, which offers ways in which we can get better at disagreement. Much of it is sound advice that we already know in a way: try to argue issues rather than attack persons; check your motivations – are you trying to win or are you trying to learn and understand; try to listen to the other side; admit when you are wrong: try to find and understand reasons for every possible position.
All this is good advice and it also more easily said than done. If the last year has taught us anything, it is how hard it is to engage in machloket l’sheim shamayim. Instructions alone are often not enough. We must also try, as Hannah Arendt writes, ‘think what we are doing’. What is it to engage in machloket?
Since finishing the dissertation I have been bringing some texts and thoughts to different communities. One text in particular has become an important tool for reflection. It is from Berachot 10a and Rabbi Meir is in conflict with some thugs. When he starts praying for their demise, his wife Beruriah intervenes. Using a clever grammatical argument, Talmudic language and quotes from Tanach, she suggests he could ask for the cessation of sins, rather than the death of the sinners. So, Rabbi Meir does as she suggests. He prays for the thugs and they repent.
This story acquires new layers every time I discuss it with different groups. At first glance it seems to present an ideal machloket. Rabbi Meir shows himself open to sophisticated argumentation. He changes his prayer and the thugs repent. All is well that ends well. Yet, on reflection and in discussion, the story grows in complexity. It is not obvious for instance what convinced Rabbi Meir to change his prayer. Clever grammar points rarely change someone’s outlook. People also need to feel heard and they need to trust their conversation partner. (Here one may also ask who the thugs are and why they are kept away from the reader.)
I suspect that Rabbi Meir was convinced because he knows and trusts Beruriah. What he hears, is not so much the profound Talmudic argument, but rather the deeper questions about the person he wants to be and the world he wants to live in. Is he someone who tries to find a way to live together, or has he given up on others? There is no guarantee that a bubbling spring will open up after utter destruction, though it could. It may be better to avoid any need for divine intervention all together. This is where Korach was failed. Yet, if divine intervention is our only and last resort, Beruriah seem to hold, let’s pray for intervention that gives life. Let’s try and avoid the earth swallowing the innocent as collateral damage and instead aim for the miracle of insight and a change of heart.
Shabbat shalom