What Happened to Please, Thank You, and I Respectfully Disagree?

A few weeks ago, I was invited to a gathering at a friend’s house. I met a woman there whom I had not seen in 20 years. She was a friend, a client of my law firm, and a former member of my synagogue. When conversations started in different spots around the room, this old friend and I were in a group of five people. At some point she mentioned an idea that was, well, rather Trumpian. One of the other people said let’s not talk about that tonight. But those conversations have a way of continuing. When some other slightly political comment was made (I am not sure, but I think it came from me), three of the people walked away. I continued to converse with my friend. We talked about my transition from lawyer to clergy, and we continued to talk about the issues of the day.

Truthfully we agreed on very little. We agreed on the need for controlled borders, although her grandparents came to this country legally, and I’m not so sure about one of my grandmothers. We disagreed about who was at fault. She said one political party. I acknowledged that Fox News said that, actually screamed that, but I thought neither party really wanted to stop illegal immigration. If they wanted to stop it, they could have passed legislation when they had complete control of the government. Neither side did, I said, because they had too many wealthy contributors who needed the cheap labor. That level of cynicism she was able to fully appreciate.

We also completely agreed that we were witnessing an increase in antisemitism and we were both very scared. When we discussed issues, we were both polite and expressive. At some point she looked at me with a rather sad expression, and said, “I know some of my opinions are not agreed with, but notice, no one else would even talk with me.” I thought she looked rather pained. We talked some more, and at the end of the evening as I was leaving, she leaned over and said it was great seeing me again, and I should keep doing what I was doing because I brought light. That was the light the Jewish people are supposed to bring to the world. I think that light may be nothing more than continuing to talk to everyone in a civil manner. I think we have lost the ability to have civil discourse, and a free and civil society depends on it.

Do we remember when please and thank you were part of our regular vocabulary? My parents expected us to follow basic rules of civility no matter where we were. Mind your manners, think before you speak, don’t curse (I did not hear my father curse until I was a teenager, and no one cursed in front of my mother until I was in my 30s). We were taught to address elders politely and respectfully, dress appropriately, and that it was a shanda to air our dirty laundry in public.

Then again, we did not think anyone else cared about our minute-by-minute activities, nor did we feel compelled to send out pictures of our lunch (I heard a comedian ask the other day what your friends would have thought 50 years ago if you mailed them pictures of your lunch!). Social media has protected bad behavior by allowing people to engage in anonymous attacks and name calling. Speech has been reduced in length, but also in generosity and kindness. It has however become very effective in inciting upset, anger and even hate.

Candace Kwiatek, a Jewish educator in Ohio, expressed the sense that although there has always been an expectation of civility, we have constantly been lowering its bar. She further pointed out that although the Bible sets out certain laws to help create a civil society, no laws were needed to “instruct Abraham to greet the three strangers approaching his tent or remind Rebekah to water the camels of Abraham’s servant or tell the jailed Joseph to respond kindly to the butler and baker. No laws guided Pharaoh’s daughter to rescue the endangered baby Moses or pushed Jethro to offer Moses caring leadership advice. In each story, only human decency prompted the interaction.”

Judaism speaks of civility as derech eretz, (literally “the way of the land”). In common speech, Chabad.com says, “derech eretz means acting decorously and with respect, particularly toward parents, elders and teachers. Having the habits of derech eretz are key to maintaining good relationships and living a stable life as a Jew. Under the general rubric of derech eretz, the sages caution us against overeating, eating too quickly, or staring at someone else who is eating. Also, one should not talk too loudly or too much, and should greet people pleasantly. Likewise, people with derech eretz are careful to spend only what they can afford.  In order to raise children with derech eretz, it’s important not to spoil them by accustoming them to having delicacies. In general, to have derech eretz usually means to live ethically, responsibly and with dignity, and to be considerate of others.” It requires good manners, basic human decency, it requires menschlichkeit.

How do we balance civility with our disagreement, disapproval or even disgust for others’ politics?  Hillel and Shammai were models. Rabbi Laura Novak Winer, in a Moment magazine article on balancing civility and disapproval, told a Talmud story. For three years there was a dispute between the School of Hillel and the School of Shammai. Then a bat kol, a voice from heaven, announced, Eilu v’eilu divrei Elohim Chayim, ‘These and those are the words of the Living God.’” This phrase, “these and those,” expresses the possibility that two different positions can both be viable, because both are made in the name of heaven. This demands respectful listening, dialogue, and debate. We may not agree; in fact we may never agree. But we must recognize the humanity, in the image of God, of those people with whom we engage in dialogue.

In Talmudic debates, our sages respected each other and listened carefully, then restated their opponents’ positions before their own. Unpopular positions were not silenced, in fact both the accepted opinion and the dissent were published. And in the famous Hillel/Shammai Talmud story, a Roman asked to be taught the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Shammai dismissed him. Hillel taught, “What you hate, do not do unto your neighbor — the rest is commentary.” According to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, this was an example of Shammai stressing the present, Hillel looking at potential. Perhaps mining for potential is a good way to engage in dialogue, even with someone whose questions feel offensive.

It has become painful to watch our society fragment. Basic values of compassion, respect and truth have been ignored. Fear and suspicion are the controlling emotions. For some it’s the fear of the other, For some it is the fear of the diminishment of our rights. Both sides have places where they only hear polarized, unsubstantiated, vehemently expressed views. Both live in bubbles and justifying uncivil behavior because the other side is worse.We should be very concerned and alarmed. Civil political debate cannot be found. And outside of politics? Check out the parents at children’s sporting events. The comments you hear yelled at the other teams should be embarrassing. And airports, checkout lines, and customer service desks seem to be an opportunity to exhibit offensive behavior.

Have we given up on telling our children (or ourselves) no phones at the dinner table? Has our extreme connectedness, 24 hours a day, every day, all year, caused us to never want to miss anything, and to think we must always be available? Have we gotten more entitled, less patient, and certainly less cordial? Will incivility get worse? Can it? Is there anything we can do to reverse this course?

Religious communities can play an important role by reinforcing principals which emphasize basic human decency. We can covey the wisdom we have learned through the ages, explaining that we disagree yet still listen and learn from each other. Failure to do this may further isolate people with whom there is the potential (remember Hillel) to find some common ground. We must deal with others acknowledging we were all created in the Divine image.

The stranger we meet on the street or the opponent we hear in a debate is as entitled to our respect, just like our friends. That may not be our human nature – but it is how we can walk in the way of the land, the way of God.