We Are Builders
The story of Samson and Delilah is a familiar tale. It is made famous by many songwriters. Bruce Springsteen sings, “Romeo and Juliet, Samson and Delilah. Baby you can bet their love they didn’t deny. Your words say split but your words they lie. Cause when we kiss, fire.”
Samson was a judge in ancient Israel. He takes the nazarite vow and pledges not to cut his hair or drink wine. (Numbers 6) His long hair grants him supernatural strength. He uses this strength to protect Israel from its enemy, the Philistines. Delilah eventually seduces Samson and shaves his hair. Now that he lost his strength, the Philistines capture Samson, gouge out his eyes and imprison him in Gaza. Samson prays to God asking for renewed strength. When the Philistines chain him to their Temple’s pillars his strength returns and he brings the house down on himself and all the Philistines. (Judges 16)
Reverend Blind Gary Davis sings, “If I had my way, I would tear this building down. If I had my way, I would tear this building down.” This traditional spiritual about Samson and Delilah is also covered by Springsteen, as well as the Grateful Dead and Bob Dylan.
The rabbis, however, are uncomfortable with the Samson story. They were (and are) builders. They fashioned rabbinic Judaism out of the remnants of the Temple’s destruction. They were worried about people tearing their buildings down. They rejected Samson’s zealotry. The chapter detailing his martyrdom is never read in synagogue. It is not one of the many Haftarah portions. They looked away from the nazarite vow proclaimed in the Torah. They not only rejected violence but could not imagine someone pledging to forsake wine. They shunned zealots.
Why? Zealots destroy things—and often themselves. Remember the Masada story. Fanatics fracture communities. The rabbis argued that being right is not as important as remaining whole. We can hold many opinions. Zealots only see their own opinions and reject everyone else’s. We can embrace a multiplicity of opinions if we prioritize attaching ourselves to our community. When we cast people aside because we disagree with them, our communities, and our countries, begin to crumble.
The Israeli poet Yehudah Amichai writes,
From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.
The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.
But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood.
If we worry more about remaining whole than about being right, then communities and countries will no longer falter. There will be less angst, and then perhaps less original music and poems, but there will be more peace.
The rabbis’ answer is never about having it my way. It is instead about finding our way.