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Big Tents and Open Tents

One of the most powerful metaphors used in both communal life and politics is the “big tent.” It evokes gracious hospitality and open-hearted tolerance. Who does not want to be a host in a big tent which can encompass our friends and family and is big enough to shelter our erstwhile antagonists?  The big tent metaphor is deployed by those who wish to endorse a broad spectrum of beliefs and practices under the shelter of one’s approval and legitimacy. 

In an essay on the nature of tolerance, my teacher Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein - whose tenth yahrzeit is being observed on Tuesday, complicated the metaphor of the big tent. The size of the tent, he wisely pointed out, is not the only salient detail of this metaphor. In addition to considerations of a tent’s size, one must consider whether the walls of the tent are open or closed. If the tent’s sides are closed, are they permeable to light and sound? Are there any doorways? Or is the tent, however large it may be, sealed to everything outside?

My sense is that Rav Lichtenstein himself, as a rosh yeshiva and rabbi with profound reverence for tradition, constructed a relatively small tent to enclose the views and practices that he endorsed. But as a humanist and as a scholar he kept the walls of his tent open in friendship and respect even to those whose views he could not legitimate. 

Ever since I read the essay in which Rav Lichtenstein developed and refined the big tent metaphor I have thought of my own tolerance for sharing a tent with people who are different from me in all sorts of ways. Recently, I have refined the metaphor by recognizing that, in truth, we inhabit multiple tents. Some are relatively small and some are larger. For example, I have very elite standards for people I consider qualified to provide halakhic guidance. It is a very small tent and only includes Orthodox Jews with years of learning and mentorship and training. But my beit midrash is a very big tent. Anyone sincerely interested in what the Torah has to say to us is a welcome participant in my beit midrash and someone I can learn with and someone I can learn from.. 

Larger still is the tent that includes Klal Yisrael - the collective Jewish people. Not everyone in that tent cares one way or another what the Torah has to say, but I think of every Jew as an integral part of Klal Yisrael. I am proud to share that tent with all Jews who feel a collective responsibility for the Jewish people and wish to see it endure and thrive long into the future. This is the central insight of Zionism as we approach the week of Yom Ha’Atzma’ut. Jewish identity is a foundation for our relationship with the Torah and it encompasses Jews who do not meaningfully share a religious worldview. The Israeli Knesset remains the most diverse gathering of Jews who sit together to deliberate and debate the future of the Jewish People. 

The biggest tent, of course, in which I sit is the tent that includes all Americans and in which we try to carry forward our great experiment in self-government. 

In the first years of my career I was captivated by the polemics and arguments and real struggles over the boundaries of our smallest tents. Who could be an Orthodox rabbi? Which ritual practices could be considered normative? Should we keep the walls of our tents open so we could wave and smile to those outside or did we need to batten down the hatches and shut out negative outside influences?

But more recently, I believe the most acute challenges have emerged from our largest tents. And the most salient questions have been not about boundaries but about the spiritual and ethical habits that can maintain peace within those large tents.

In other words, how can the Jewish people, despite profound differences and disagreements, continue to assume responsibility for one another and work productively for a common future? What are the practices and dynamics that make this possible?  How can Americans engage in the deliberations necessary for democratic self-government when the forces pulling us apart are so strong and so very compelling?

One part of the solution is a commitment to treat other people, when evidence suggests that they are decent and honorable people,  as being decent and honorable people. Within Klal Yisrael we assume that our interlocutors have the best interest of the Jewish people at heart. Among our fellow participants in American civic life, we act on the presumption that decent and discerning people arrive at their conclusions and adopt political positions for honorable and reasonable reasons. 

This is very hard to do when the stakes are high. And the stakes are very high. It seems impossible to honor the severity of the real world implications of our disagreements while also honoring the human beings who advocate for opposing viewpoints. It is hard, but it is necessary and it is possible. And the first example of this that I can think of occurs in Parashat Shimini.

The Torah describes the death of Nadav and Avihu on the very day on which the Mishkan was inaugurated in mysterious, almost deliberately cryptic language:

וַיִּקְח֣וּ בְנֵֽי־אַ֠הֲרֹ֠ן נָדָ֨ב וַאֲבִיה֜וּא אִ֣ישׁ מַחְתָּת֗וֹ וַיִּתְּנ֤וּ בָהֵן֙ אֵ֔שׁ וַיָּשִׂ֥ימוּ עָלֶ֖יהָ קְטֹ֑רֶת וַיַּקְרִ֜יבוּ לִפְנֵ֤י ה֙ אֵ֣שׁ זָרָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֧ר לֹ֦א צִוָּ֖ה אֹתָֽם׃ 

Now Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before the LORD alien fire, which He had not commanded them. And fire came forth from the LORD and consumed them; thus they died before the LORD.

וַיֹּ֨אמֶר מֹשֶׁ֜ה אֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֗ן הוּא֩ אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֨ר ה ׀ לֵאמֹר֙ בִּקְרֹבַ֣י אֶקָּדֵ֔שׁ וְעַל־פְּנֵ֥י כׇל־הָעָ֖ם אֶכָּבֵ֑ד וַיִּדֹּ֖ם אַהֲרֹֽן׃ 

And Moshe said to Aharon….and these next words are truly challenging to translate: this is precisely what God had said to me: I will be sanctified by those close to me and gain significance before all the people. And Aharon was silent.

The commentaries leap into the fray to help us make sense of Moshe’s response. Rashi, Netziv, and others all point out that Moshe claims that Nadav and Avihu were close to God בִּקְרֹבַ֣י and should not be considered wicked. Their deaths were the inevitable outcome of bringing an uncommanded fire into the mishkan. We see that demonstrated later in the Torah, in Parashat Korach, when the 250 innocent and sincere followers, who were duped by Korach into joining his rebellion, were themselves killed by a consuming fire when they imitated Nadav and Avihu’s actions. But in suffering the severe and objective consequences of their act, Nadav and Avihu served a positive role of proving that the mishkan and the realm of the sacred must be treated with great caution and great respect וְעַל־פְּנֵ֥י כׇל־הָעָ֖ם אֶכָּבֵ֑ד.

The dynamic that the Torah sets forth is extremely rare and extremely important. We do not pretend that the stakes are small and the impact of actions are negligible. If you bring a strange fire into the mishkan, you’ll die. It could not be more serious than that. But, Nadav and Avihu are treated as spiritual heroes because they acted out of sincere and honorable motives and lost everything. 

Not everyone who sees the world differently is acting out of honorable and sincere motives. And not everyone who agrees with me is an honorable and decent person! But keeping peace within our biggest tents requires the ability to identify bad actors in a way that recognizes that good actors too can end up doing harmful things. 

Israelis who support a renewed ceasefire and those who support continuing the war cannot pretend that the consequences of this choice are small and insignificant. But the State of Israel can only survive if every participant in public debate can recognize that there are good people, who inhabit the same tent and who see the world in different ways. 

In America, it is easy to recognize the life and death implications of dozens of policy debates. If it was possible at one time to obscure the significance of our politics that time is over and may never return in our lifetimes. And we have no shortage of scoundrels in our political life. But if we conflate the categories of people who I agree with and people who are decent, then the future of the country is very grim. 

We can never evaluate the character of someone else by my assessment of the impact of their actions. Oppose harmful actions with counter actions. Oppose bad ideas with better ideas. But never forget that good people see the world in different ways and remain good people. 

Moshe shared a Divine perspective on truly tragic and confusing events. Decent people make decisions with terrible consequences. We need to treat the consequences with deadly seriousness. And we need to honor the sincere goodwill with which those decisions were made. 

I don’t know where the “big tent” metaphor comes from. It is certainly pervasive. Miriam - Webster Dictionary suggests that the first use of the phrase “big tent” in this metaphoric way dates back to 1975. But we have a much older tent. At its core, Sefer Vayikra is an instruction manual for a tent. The Ohel Mo’ed was not very big, but every Jew contributed to its construction and to its upkeep. Every Jew was represented there and every Jew received guidance and inspiration from there. Sefer Vayikra proves to us that even a humble tent can can become an Ohel Mo’ed a location for revelation and worship and where God’s own presence can dwell. 
 

Shabbat Shalom