Thoughts on Controversy

Jews often say that whenever you have two Jews together, you are likely to have three opinions. We laugh because it’s true, but beneath the humor lies something profound. Judaism treats disagreement not as a flaw but as a sacred tool. We are urged to consider multiple possibilities for understanding any concept. There are countless commentaries on the biblical and rabbinic texts. A limitless God, we believe, would hardly limit divine words to a single meaning. Each of us hears Torah through the filter of our own experience, and the tradition welcomes that multiplicity. We always are seeking a new understanding, a chidush (something new), something that will provide a new insight.

From the outset, rabbinic literature embraces this reality. The very first Mishnah in the tractate of Berakhot, the laws of prayer, presents three opinions about the latest time one may recite the evening Sh’ma, each rooted in a different understanding of the verse which commands us to speak of these words “when you lie down and when you rise up.” A fourth opinion suggests the verse is not about time at all but posture. Should one literally lie down to say the Sh’ma at night? The Mishnah begins not with certainty but with machlochet: principled disagreement.

Pirkei Avot distinguishes between two kinds of machlochet. “Every controversy that is for the sake of heaven will endure; but one that is not for the sake of heaven will not endure.” The classic example of a dispute for the sake of heaven is that between Hillel and Shammai. The example of a dispute not for the sake of heaven is the rebellion of Korach. Notice that the text does not say “the dispute between Korach and Moses.” Even among themselves, the rebels disagreed. Their argument was driven by ego and ambition, not by a desire to clarify truth.

Hillel and Shammai, by contrast, disagreed in order to understand the divine will. They were colleagues, not adversaries. Even when they differed on matters of marriage law, their families still married one another. While Hillel and Shammai themselves disagreed on only three technical points, their students found over 300 issues on which to differ. One of the most famous concerns the lighting of Chanukah candles: Shammai taught that one begins with eight and decreases each night; Hillel taught that one begins with one and increases until on the eighth night we light eight candles. The halacha follows Hillel, but elsewhere the Talmud records a heavenly voice declaring, elu v’elu divrei Elohim chayim, “both are the words of the living God,” even as it instructs us to follow Hillel in practice, halacha k’veit Hillel, the law follows the school of Hillel.

Why Hillel? The Talmud offers several reasons. The students of Hillel were humble and kind; they taught both their own view and that of Shammai, and they taught Shammai’s view first. Practically speaking, the halacha follows the majority, and Hillel had more students. Others suggest that Hillel’s views were in consonance with those of the common person, while Shammai represented the elite. Mystically, Hillel represents chesed, lovingkindness, while Shammai represents gevurah, strictness. In this world, the rabbis teach, lovingkindness must prevail.

Yet later Jewish mystics introduced a striking idea: that in the days of the Messiah, the halacha will follow the school of Shammai. Rabbi Mordecai Tzvi Halevi Tziyon, in Halacha K’veit Shammai L’Atid Lavo, explores this teaching and its sources. The notion is not found in ancient texts, but it reflects a deep truth: both schools sought only to discern God’s will. One path was chosen for now, but the other was preserved because circumstances change, and a view set aside today may illuminate tomorrow.

This principle is not limited to Jewish law. It is central to the work of the Supreme Court. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, often in the minority, wrote dissents that were meticulously reasoned and morally forceful. She said, “Dissents speak to a future age… the greatest dissents do become court opinions and gradually over time their views become the dominant view.” Like the teachings of Shammai, dissenting opinions are preserved because they may yet guide a future generation.

We live in a time when public disagreement often resembles Korach’s rebellion more than Hillel and Shammai’s principled debate. Too many elected officials seem motivated not by the search for the common good but by the desire to defeat the other side. Jewish tradition offers a different model: disagreement rooted in humility, curiosity, and a shared commitment to truth.

In the opening chapter of Pirkei Avot we find a teaching from Shammai himself, the representative of gevurah, the strict school: “Make the study of Torah your primary occupation, say little and do much, and greet every person with a cheerful face.” Even the voice of strictness reminds us that the foundation of all disagreement must be kindness, restraint, and respect.

If we could recover even a fraction of Hillel and Shammai’s spirit, arguing passionately, listening generously, and remembering that our opponents may also speak “the words of the living God,” our disagreements might once again become sources of wisdom rather than division.