These and These

• What examples can you think of where you can take a "these and these" approach, i.e. where you believe there are multiple possible true answers even if you find yourself more closely aligning with one?
• What examples can you think of where you can't tolerate or find your way to that approach? Why not?
• What do you think makes it possible to take that approach? What qualities need to be present?

From "Argument as Emergence, Rhetoric as Love" by Jim Corder:

Each of us is an argument, evidenced by our narrative. What happens, then, if the narrative of another crushes up against our own -- disruptive, shocking, incomprehensible, threatening, suddenly showing us into a narrative not our own? What happens if a narrative not our own reveals to us that our own narrative was wanting all along, though it is the only evidence of our identity? What happens if the merest glimpse into another narrative sends us lurching, stunned by its differentness, either alarmed that such differentness could exist or astonished to see that our own narrative might have been or might yet be radically otherwise than it is? Do we hold our narratives? Keep telling the story we have been telling? At all costs?

We react, of course, in many different ways. Sometimes we turn away from other narratives. Sometimes we teach ourselves not to know that there are other narratives. Sometimes - probably all too seldom - we encounter another narrative and learn to change our own. Sometimes we lose our plot, and our convictions as well; since our convictions belong to our narratives, any strong interference with our narrative or sapping of its way of being will also interrupt or sap our convictions. Sometimes we go to war. Sometimes we sink into madness, totally unable to manage what our wit or judgment has shown us: a contending narrative that has force to it and charm and appeal and perhaps justice and beauty as well, a narrative compelling us to attention and toward belief that we cannot ultimately give, a contending narrative that shakes and cracks all foundations and promises to alter our identity, a narrative that would educate us to be wholly other than what we are...

How can we take that one chance I mentioned just now and learn to change when change is to be cherished? How can we expect another to change when we are ourselves that other's contending narrative?

To discuss: the questions in Corder's last paragraph in the section above.

Reflection by Rabbi Aaron Alexander on Rashi's commentary on Genesis 28:5

I guess if you just randomly opened up to Genesis 28:5, learning that Rebecca was Jacob and Esau's mother could be useful. But if one has even a cursory knowledge of the story, or has been following along up until this point, this information is totally superfluous.

Enter Rashi. He always has something to offer, an insight that doesn't render the words useless. Once again, he delivers, but not in the way we would expect. "I have no idea what this comes to teach me." Brilliant.

• When was the last time you said "I don't know"? Was it difficult? If so, why?
• When was a time when you realize (in retrospect) that "I don't know" could have helped you?
• Is "I don't know" different from "I don't know what this has come to teach me"? How so (or why not)?