There is a prayer that follows the Torah reading on Shabbat called Av Harachamim that is common only among Ashkenazic Jews. It is a memorial prayer for martyrs, probably composed soon after the First Crusade in 1096 when a large number of Jewish communities were massacred by the Crusaders on their way to wrest the Holy Land from the Muslims.

There are many different customs as to exactly on which Shabbatot the prayer should be recited. Since mourning is forbidden on Shabbat, some communities limited its recitation to twice a year — the Shabbat before Shavuot (which ends the Sefirah period, a time of mourning, since most massacres in Jewish history took place in the spring months between Pesach and Shavuot) and the Shabbat before Tisha B’Av (the fast day that commemorates the destruction of both Temples). In other communities, it is recited with more regularity, being omitted only on festivals, Shabbat Rosh Hodesh and special Shabbatot.

I give you this background so that you will have a context in which to put the following story. Back in the Middle Ages, when it was not customary (as it is today) to have rabbis associated with particular synagogues, a visiting Rabbi who was renown as a halachic authority (an expert in Jewish Law), found himself in a small, rabbi-less synagogue on Shabbat morning. After the Haftarah was chanted, the Cantor began Av Harachamim. Immediately, half the worshipers began to bang the tables (worshipers sat at tables in those days rather than pews) to get him to stop since they believed that Av Harachamim should not be recited on this particular Shabbat. The Cantor proceeded to the Ashrey, the next prayer. Now the other half of the worshipers banged the tables, indicating that he should he should recite Av Harachamim. The Cantor didn’t know what to do, so he turned to the visiting Rabbi. The Rabbi asked who was the oldest person present. When a man identified himself as such, the Rabbi asked him what custom the synagogue followed when it came to Av Harachamim. The old man answered: “The Cantor begins Av Harachamim and half the worshipers pound the tables. He stops and goes on to Ashrey and the other half of the worshipers pound the tables.” Hearing this evidence, the Rabbi ruled: “Continuing doing exactly as you have been doing.”

The story illustrates something basic to the Jewish character. We Jews are known more for our disagreements than our agreements. The old cliche, “two Jews, three opinions,” is accurate. It is perhaps for this reason that the Talmud, in noting the differences of opinion between the Schools of Hillel and Shammai, comments: “Elu v’elu divray Elohim chayim — Both opinions are the authentic words of the living God.”

To me this suggests that a true community tolerates and accepts diversity. To say that only one point of view is legitimate or authentic is contrary to Jewish tradition and to the Jewish spirit. What makes Judaism alive and exciting is the debate,
the conflicting views, the discussion, the exchange. I believe if God wanted us all to think alike, He would have created us that way. What a dull world that would be. As someone once observed: “When everyone thinks alike, no one thinks very much.”

As we survey the canvas of the contemporary Jewish life, we are saddened by those who insist that only their way is right and authentic and all other expressions of Judaism are invalid or incomplete. We are equally disturbed when those who hold this opinion won’t join with fellow Jews for worship or in projects of mutual interest. Being part of a community means joining together even with those with whom you disagree. Being part of a community means compromising. Being part of a community means not finding a middle ground but the higher ground — not the higher ground of arrogance and self-righteousness, but the higher ground of compromise and understanding.

The fictional story related above (I’m not so sure its fictional, I’m sure it must have happened somewhere) reveals to us what community is all about. Here were two groups of Jews who held opposite views and expressed them, yet they worshipped together. Their common identity as Jews was more important than if a particular prayer were excluded from or included in the service. What united them was far greater than what divided them.

Would that our Jewish community today, both here and in Israel, l could achieve this level of understanding. For this would truly be higher ground.

At the beginning of the Seder we invite all who are hungry to come and join us. So may all come to partake of what Judaism has to offer. Some will prefer kugel and others tsimmes. The table that is Judaism is rich enough and bountiful enough to offer both. There is room for all of us at the Seder table and in Jewish life. And for Elijah and redemption too.