Parshat VaEtChanan is a monumental parsha. It contains two of the most foundational texts of our tradition: the Shema and its first paragraph, and the second telling of the Aseret HaDibrot (Ten Commandments). This is no ordinary Torah portion.
What is it about the word Shema that makes it so extraordinary? It serves as Judaism’s declaration of faith, our spiritual “pledge of allegiance.” We’re commanded to recite it twice each day, in the morning and at night. Recently, I have found myself reflecting on its very first word: Shema.
Shema is the imperative form of the Hebrew verb meaning “to hear”, but it is better understood as “listen”. What does it mean to listen—to truly listen? Are we actually listening to one another, or are we simply waiting for our turn to speak?
Today is Tisha B’Av, the ninth day of the month of Av, our national day of mourning. It’s a day marked by grief, loss, and remembrance. Across our long history, the Jewish people have endured profound tragedy, and we have set aside this day to commemorate those calamities through fasting and other expressions of mourning.
Our tradition teaches that the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE was brought about by a particularly destructive evil: sinat chinam—baseless hatred. Hatred is terrible enough; hatred without cause is even more devastating. To illustrate this, the rabbis tell the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.
The Gemara teaches:
Jerusalem was destroyed on account of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. There was a certain man whose friend was named Kamtza and whose enemy was named Bar Kamtza. He once prepared a great feast and instructed his servant to invite Kamtza. The servant mistakenly invited Bar Kamtza instead. When the host saw Bar Kamtza at the banquet, he demanded that he leave. Bar Kamtza pleaded to stay, offering to pay for everything he ate and drank. When that failed, he offered to pay for half the feast. Then he offered to pay for the entire feast. Each time the host refused. Finally, he seized Bar Kamtza, stood him up, and threw him out. (Babylonian Talmud, Gittin 55b–56a)
The rabbis continue by explaining that Bar Kamtza, humiliated before the assembled guests, sought revenge by betraying the Jewish people to the Romans, setting in motion the events that culminated in the destruction of Jerusalem and the Second Temple.
Whenever I read this story, I’m struck not only by the hatred, but also by the complete absence of listening. What if the host had paused for even a moment to hear Bar Kamtza’s plea? What if one of the guests had listened, intervened, and worked to calm the situation? What if Bar Kamtza had recognized the irrational anger of the host and chosen to walk away?
At every stage of the story, no one truly listened. Pride drowned out compassion. Anger silenced understanding. The result was hatred that ultimately led to destruction.
Our world today often suffers from the same affliction. We have become remarkably skilled at acting deaf to one another. We ignore the pain of others. We make assumptions instead of asking questions. We spend more time speaking than understanding. Even within the Jewish community, we have drifted further apart, and too often we allow sinat chinam to deepen the fractures between us.
Hatred struggles to survive where genuine listening exists. Truly hearing another person’s words, experiences, and perspective—even when we disagree—has the power to prevent so much of the pain that divides us today.
Perhaps that’s one of the enduring lessons of the Shema. Before we are commanded to love God, before we affirm God’s oneness, we are first commanded to listen.
The antidote to sinat chinam is not necessarily agreement; it is genuine listening. Not the kind of listening that merely hears words before dismissing them, but the kind that seeks to understand, wrestles with another’s perspective, and treats every person with dignity. We don’t have to agree with one another, but we do have to begin by hearing one another.
On this Tisha B’Av, may we hear the call of the Shema with renewed purpose. May we learn to listen more deeply—to God, to our tradition, and to one another—so that the hatred that once destroyed Jerusalem never finds a home among us again.
