This week we celebrate Lag B’Omer, the 33rd day of the Omer. Our tradition is that on the 33rd day, the plague that resulted in the death of Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 students ceased. The Talmud tells us that the students of Rabbi Akiva all died between the holidays of Passover and Shavuot, “because they did not treat each other with honor.”   

I have long been perplexed by this. How is it possible that people learning Torah together did not treat each other well? Doesn’t the Torah have a positive impact on our character? What issue did the students have with each other that was so profound as to devolve into arguments and disparagement that resulted in their being punished with death? If all they were doing was studying Torah together all day, what could they have been disagreeing about? Certainly not about the Torah itself, for the Talmud states that though people may disagree about the Torah, both opinions are “the words of the living God.”

Rabbi Akiva lived at the time of Roman persecution and was one of the 10 martyrs killed by the Romans.  Though he was a great rabbi, he was not immune to politics. The Talmud Yerushalmi in Ta’anit states: “Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai stated: Aqiba my teacher used to preach, there appeared a star out of Jacob—there appeared Koziba out of Jacob. When Rabbi Aqiba saw Bar Koziba he said, this is King Messiah. Rabbi Joḥanan ben Torta said to him, Aqiba! Grass will grow from your jaws and still David’s son still will not have come.”  

Some say that the fight among the students of Rabbi Akiva was about the legitimacy of the Bar Kokhba rebellion and the permissibility of leaving the Beit Midrash to go to war over it. Thus, they did not just disrespect each other willy-nilly but fought internally about an issue that impacted the welfare and future of the Jewish people. Perhaps something worth fighting over. But then why did God punish them?    

I think the lesson is that even when big questions are at stake, even when we disagree about the present and future of the Jewish people and the direction we must take, we cannot sacrifice Jewish unity.   

Today we are faced with such questions, especially in Israel. Lives are in the balance, and the Jewish people disagree fundamentally amongst themselves about the right course for the nation. But without basic respect for each other, we are weakened, and the very purpose of our existence as a people is cast in doubt, God forbid.  

Kesher Israel is the rare synagogue which has members and visitors from across the political spectrum. Our minyan has included, and I say this from personal knowledge, those from the farthest-right extreme of Israeli politics to the farthest left. When they walk into shul, we see their Jewish selves and recognize their sincerity and commitment to the Jewish people. Ninety-nine percent of the people in the room may disagree vehemently with both of them given how extreme they are, and we may believe that neither has a legitimate voice. Yet, for the sake of Jewish unity, it is vital that we find a way to not divide our people. Here in the Kesher sanctuary, if only for the short length of the weekday prayer service, this happens.