THE ART OF APPRECIATING DIFFERENCES
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THE ART OF APPRECIATING DIFFERENCES
The Talmud (Bava Kama 30a) teaches us a profound lesson about achieving true Chassidut—piety. Rav Yehuda says, “One who wants to be a Chassid should fulfill the laws of damages.” Rava says, “He should focus on Pirkei Avot.” Others say, “He should fulfill the laws of blessings.”
At first glance, the connection between Chassidut and the laws of damages (Nezikin) seems unclear. Why is meticulous observance of nezikin, laws of monetary damage, considered an expression of piety? The Torah contains many financial laws, such as those regarding interest—so why are damages specifically highlighted as making one pious?
The Netivot Shalom explains that on a deeper level, the four Avot, primary categories of damages in Tractate Bava Kama—Shor (ox), Bor (pit), Mav’eh (tooth), and Hever (fire)—represent four inner forces within a person:
Shor (Ox) symbolizes arrogance, as Chazal say, “The proudest of animals is the ox.” (Shemot R. 23)
Bor (Pit) represents despair, a feeling of Shiflut (lowliness), being a lost cause, leading a person into a spiral of sin.
Mav’eh (Tooth) reflects uncontrolled physical desires, particularly food indulgence and emotional eating.
Hever (Fire) corresponds to burning, unchecked passions and urges. As we know, when a person wants to overcome their passions, they should say the passuk: “אֵשׁ תָּמִיד תוּקַד עַל-הַמִּזְבֵּחַ לֹא תִכְבֶּה” (Shlah).
True Chassidut is not merely about fulfilling obligations—it is about uprooting these four destructive forces. A Chassid is not simply someone who does good; a Chassid is someone who is good, to the core.
This idea leads us to one of the Torah’s most mysterious prohibitions—Basar B’chalav (meat and milk). Each, on its own, is perfectly kosher. But what is it about this combination that makes it forbidden?
Harav Shneur Ashkenazi presents a fascinating insight: Mixing fundamental opposites in the wrong way is forbidden. Meat is strong, red, and represents Gevurah—strictness, discipline, and strength. Milk is soft, white, and represents Chesed—nurturing, kindness, and expansion. This is similar to Shaatnez, the forbidden mixture of wool and linen: Wool represents Hevel, as Hevel owned all the livestock. Linen represents Kayin, as he owned all the Earth. The mixture of the two led to destruction, so the Torah forbids them together.
However, there is a key difference between Meat & Milk and Shaatnez: Shaatnez is permissible in holy contexts, like tzitzit and the priestly garments. Meat & Milk remain forbidden in all circumstances—even cooking them together is prohibited. Why? Because when meat and milk are mixed, one of the two is fundamentally changed. Hashem allows opposing natures to coexist—only when there is a greater spiritual purpose. In tzitzit and the Kohen’s garments, these contrasts work together in harmony. But when it comes to Meat and Milk, Hashem created different natures and does not want them to be controlled, contained, or changed.
How do we understand this?
Shalom does not mean sameness. Unity does not mean uniformity. A husband and wife are different. One may be disciplined, while the other is spontaneous. One may be detail-oriented, while the other is visionary. Often, we fall in love with someone because they are our opposite—only to later try to change them into our clone. That is Basar B’chalav! That is the attempt to erase difference instead of embracing it.
A marriage thrives when each person retains their identity while learning from the other and complementing one another. There is a need for a right hand, and there is a need for a left.
Ivana Trump once quipped: “Donald married me because he could not get over my Czechoslovakian accent. 13 years later, he divorced me because he could not stand my Czechoslovakian accent. “This reveals an undeniable truth about relationships—the very thing that draws us in at the beginning can later drive us apart. The uniqueness that initially attracts us to a partner—their humor, spontaneity, discipline—can later become a source of frustration.
But this is where the real work of relationships begins. Hashem wants us to learn how to get along with differences because it is in those very differences that love thrives. We don’t complete each other by erasing distinctions—we complete each other by embracing them.
To be a Chassid, to be a refined person, means to understand this delicate balance. It means recognizing our own inner Nezikin—the arrogance, despair, indulgence, and unchecked passion that harm our relationships. It means recognizing the innate, natural Nezikin of our spouses—their arrogance, despair, indulgence, and unchecked passion—which may be the flipside of the very reason we married them in the first place: Arrogance can be Classy. Despair can be Humble. Indulgence can mean Knowing how to have a good time. Passion can be Productive. You can learn to appreciate the inseparable package of good and bad in someone’s character—or you can choke it by trying to change it.
In a world that pushes for conformity, the Torah calls us to embrace our unique strengths while respecting and harmonizing with the strengths of others. Not the erasure of contrast—but the creation of divine harmony.
Harmony is only created through the blend of differences.
