One of my favorite stories in the Talmud is about two great rabbis — Yochanan and Resh Lakish, who rarely saw eye-to-eye.
Rabbi Yochanan came up through the traditional ranks. He was both wise and — as the Talmud notes — quite handsome. Conversely, Resh Lakish was a gruff man, who became a rabbi after graduating from the “school of hard knocks.”
With Rabbi Yochanan’s encouragement, Resh Lakish quit his career as a gladiator and bandit to forge a new path of study and teaching.
One day, they were arguing about whether a knife, which had become ritually impure, could be “reformed.”
Rabbi Yochanan said, “No,” and Resh Lakish said, “Yes.”
The discussion became heated, with Yochanan insulting Resh Lakish by saying, “A bandit knows about his banditry.” In other words, “As a former bandit, it seems you know a lot about knives.”
Resh Lakish is heartbroken at the low blow comparing him to an impure knife that can never be reformed.
Rabbi Yochanan’s sister—married to Resh Lakish—begs her brother to apologize, but Yochanan’s temper remains hot.
Soon after, Resh Lakish dies, and Rabbi Yochanan is overcome with sorrow.
The rabbis try to comfort Rabbi Yochanan, sending their brightest students to study with him. Most of them tell him how wise he is, but Rabbi Yochanan sends them home.
How he aches for this former adversary, who incessantly challenged him at every turn.
The Talmud quotes Rabbi Yochanan: “In my discussions with Resh Lakish, when I would state a matter, he would raise 24 difficulties against me in an attempt to disprove my claim, and I would answer him with 24 answers, and the law by itself would become broadened and clarified.”
Soon after, Rabbi Yochanan, dies. I picture the two sages arguing in heaven to this day and loving it.
This week, I was thinking about rabbis like Yochanan and Resh Lakish, Hillel and Shammai, and other pairs of debating sages, leading to the common Jewish saying, “Two Jews, three opinions.”
Which brings us to this week’s “special” Shabbat which Jews continue to mark just prior to Purim. It is one of four designated Sabbaths before Passover.
The Mishnah, codified 1800 years ago, notes that a half shekel would be levied so that roads and paths could be repaired after winter rains, in advance of the upcoming Passover pilgrimage to Jerusalem.
For centuries, ancient rabbis have discussed why the amount of a half shekel was chosen across all economic classes. Why not more for the rich, and less for those of lesser means?
And many conclude it was a matter of symbolism—that each of us needs a “second half” to make us complete.
Our synagogue’s baby naming ceremony includes the following quote: “That neither Man nor Woman alone lights the sparks of life, but only both together, generating light and warmth, can create a singular humanity.”
Or, as the Kabbalah, our primary mystic text, teaches: We rely on our loving friends, and relatives to help our dreams come true.
Family and friends can also challenge us—L’Shem Shamayim (in the name of heaven) when they believe we are moving in the wrong direction.
We may not always agree with their advice, but they, like rabbis Yochanan and Resh Lakish, inspire us to question our own truths.
I recently had a conversation with an observant Catholic, who found it unsettling, yet energizing, that Judaism encourages the questioning of texts and teachings, and openly embraces a variety of opinions.
A woman converting to Judaism once observed how jangled she felt while attending her first Seder. “Everyone during the meal was yelling and arguing about politics, but at the end of the evening, everyone hugged and said, “I love you.”
Jews — especially young people — are discouraged from studying Torah alone. Your truth, as Rabbi Yochanan noted, will become more “broadened and clarified” when constructively challenged by others.
So, while we are often irritated or insulted when a friend or family member criticizes us, we must ultimately ask: “Are we better off being challenged out of love, or should we be left alone because no one cares?”
Family and friends—Where would we be without them?
And that is perhaps why the measure of a half shekel was chosen. Because, as the Torah teaches, we are a social species. Our potential is rarely achieved through half measures.
There is a story in the Talmud that discusses events during the sixth day of creation: God is unsure whether to create humanity.
First, God consults the Angel of Truth, who says, “Don’t do it,” noting that in the future, too many will claim to possess the “absolute truth,” and they will fight until they destroy God’s newly created world.
Then, God consults the Angel of Peace, who says, “Yes, create humanity. Over time, people will learn that their truth is not the only truth.
“The world will be brought to completion through compromise.”
And so, this week, as we commemorate the common half shekel levied in ancient times, we are reminded about how much we need each other as we travel through life—not only to agree and support, but also to challenge.
As our tradition teaches, a half shekel cannot easily stand alone.
We need the other half — perhaps that person sitting next to you right now — to make our world complete.
Shabbat Shalom, v’kol tuv.