by Rabbi Yisrael Rutman

Mid-20th century America prided itself on being the “melting pot” of the world, the country where people of all races and religions could dissolve their old-world identities in the making of something different and better. When self-image and reality refused to get along, the image was modified. Instead of a melting pot, a stew pot, a single conglomeration in which the ingredients retain their original identity. But a stew pot also implies high temperatures, simmering resentments. The more friendly-sounding “diversity” came into use, reflecting some of the glamor of biodiversity, the multiplicity of species that give ecosystems their vitality.

But the terminology of plausible co-existence suffered a damaging blow this summer when Harvard social scientist Robert Putnam published his years-in-the-making study of diversity in America. Putnam’s team interviewed some 30,000 people in 41 different communities, and the results were not to the liking of their author, himself a leading proponent of cultural diversity. After checking and re-checking the data, Putnam felt forced to conclude that residents of mixed neighborhoods tend to “distrust their neighbors, regardless of the color of their skin, to withdraw even from close friends, to expect the worst from their community and its leaders, to volunteer less, give less to charity and work on community projects less often, to register to vote less, to agitate for social reform more but have less faith that they can actually make a difference…” Despite decades of high-minded rhetoric, an uncomfortable truth emerges: that, unlike ecosystems, there seems to be an inverse ratio between diversity and social health.

The well-known phrase for this—”birds of a feather flock together”— comes from Jewish tradition: The Talmudic statement in full reads: “All birds flock with their own species, and men live in the vicinity of those who are similar to them” (Bava Kama 92b). Even without the tools of modern social science, the sages seemed to have known something about human interaction only recently disclosed to Professor Putnam.

The parallel between nature and society is likewise drawn by one of the early rabbinical authorities, Sefer HaChinuch, in his commentary on the biblical prohibition against working an ox and an ass together. He explains that the reason for this is the anguish experienced by the members of different species when harnessed together. It violates their herd instinct; a form of tsa’ar ba’ali chaim, causing unnecessary pain to animals. (It’s worth emphasizing, too, that the Torah taught the principle of humane treatment of animals long before it became the norm in Western civilization, and that it comprised not only physical but psychological abuse.) The Chinuch says that we should be just as careful to avoid putting individuals with conflicting personalities to work together.

In Talmud Pesachim (50a), the principle is applied to variance in Jewish custom. Some Jewish communities in ancient Babylonia restricted work on the morning before Passover so as to ensure that people would not be distracted from their preparations for the festival, burning chametz, baking matzah, and so forth. But elsewhere, work was permitted until the afternoon. The Talmud rules that a person should abide by local custom so as to avoid strife.* For it’s part of human psychology to be rattled by the sight—right there in front of your eyes!—of ideas and behaviors that are not only not in accord with what you’re used to, but may actually violate things you consider sacrosanct.

If love had ears for the ancient wisdom, many an unhappy marriage might have been avoided. Thus, the Sforno writes: “One should try to marry a woman who is fitting for him, and suitable to become attached to him, for unless the man and woman are similar to each other, the bond will not be a true bond. If they are similar, they will share the same opinions” (Genesis 2:24). Opposites sometimes attract, it is true, but the risks are more pronounced. Egalitarianism to the contrary notwithstanding, differences in socio-economic background are particularly problematic. And as the Midrash puts it, “Happy is the man whose wife is from his city” (Yalkut Mishlei 5). In the age of globalization the differences between cities have greatly diminished. But in former times, a city was often a self-contained culture. Think of the European city-states of the past. Or go to Bnei Brak.

Tradition also advises that “a person should not be awake amongst those who are sleeping, nor sleeping amongst those who are awake; cry amongst those who laugh, though laugh amongst those who cry; no stand amongst those who sit…a person’s behavior should not be at variance with other people’s behavior” (Derekh Eretz Zuta 5). It may sound petty, but think about how annoying it is when some idiot is giggling during a tragic scene in the movies; or standing up and blocking your view of the screen. Conflicting sleeping habits can be maddening and play havoc with one’s biological clock. My son had to change rooms in his yeshiva dorm last week because his roommates were staying up until 1:30 in the morning.

By no means is any of this to be construed as an endorsement for cliques, factionalism, racism or just plain looking down on others who are different from yourself. What it does mean, though, is that a realistic appraisal of human nature will enable us to know what to expect of ourselves and others. Only then can we begin to formulate public policy and order our personal lives wisely.

* This is an oversimplification, but lack of space does not permit a detailed discussion.

Source: Rabbi S. Wagschal, Derekh Eretz, Chapter 6.

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