This past fall, I had the distinct pleasure of watching my youngest child complete her college applications. The pleasure, of course, is in knowing that this is the last time I will need to support a child through this process. This year, however, I observed a change in some of the application essay prompts. More than one university asked my daughter to describe a time when she disagreed with someone and how she handled the situation. Some asked in more creative ways, allowing the applicant to disagree with a person, real or fictional, living in the past or present. Regardless of the wording, American colleges appear invested in how their students react when their thoughts and beliefs are challenged. The Wall Street Journal also took note of this phenomenon in an article published last November after early decision applications were submitted.

There is nothing new about disagreement and yet we seem to find ourselves in exceedingly disagreeable times. Jews, of course, conventionally thrive on disagreement. Bring two of us together and you’ll get three opinions, as the saying goes. Jewish disagreement even appears to have its origins in Torah. In this week’s Torah reading the Jewish People earn the nickname “am keshei oref,” or “stiff-necked people.” This sobriquet is given to Bnei Yisrael by God after the sin of the Golden Calf. God tells Moshe in Shemot 33:5 to rebuke the people by saying, “You are a stiff-necked people. If I ascend among you, I may annihilate you in an instant.” Two medieval commentators, Rashi and Sforno, note separately that like a “stiff-necked” person is unable to turn their neck from side to side, the Jews refuse to turn toward those who admonish them, refusing to take the input of others into account. In other words, they are prone to disagreement.

However, later in Shemot 34:9, in perhaps the first known example of appropriating a slur, Moshe does not shy away from calling the Jews a “stiff-necked people” even while asking God to forgive them. Many commentators, from Rav Ami in Shemot Rabba 42 to Rabbi Sacks in his Covenant and Conversation, have noted the double edged sword contained in this characterization of the Jews. A stiff-necked stubbornness that is exhibited by fortitude and resilience has sustained the Jewish people through the darkest of times. But where does the unreasonable stubbornness end and the virtuous resilience begin? Like Bnei Yisrael, all people are complex. A person’s greatest vice can also be their best strength. However, turning an inherent character flaw into a virtue requires a journey of self-discovery and introspection.

One of the earliest examples of God rejecting uniformity of opinion is at the Tower of Babel. In Bereishit 11:1-9, humanity was singularly focused on creating a tower to reach the heavens. The work progressed efficiently and effectively due to man’s common language and purpose. But God did not desire a world of uniform thought and goals. Rabbanit Yael Leibowitz, on episode 271 of the podcast Orthodox Conundrum, recently proffered that God, believing in each human’s inherent and unique purpose in the world, intervened in the Babel project by creating different languages, and ultimately a world made up of diverse cultures and values. She contends that diversity is necessary in order to refine each person’s unique sense of self. Knowledge of other values and opinions helps us to introspect and be reflective about our sense of self. Our “ideas are sharpened [by] when we contrast them to other ideas.” Humanity, according to Rabbanit Leibowitz, is meant to be in an ongoing chavruta, or collaborative exchange of thoughts, with each other.

So where did this stiff-necked nation begin its journey from vice to strength? At its very inception. The Jews earned their stiff-necked name while encamped at Har Sinai after the sin of the Golden Calf. Moshe appears to argue that their weakness is in fact a strength when asking God to forgive the people, and God responds by forgiving them and tempering this vice with the Torah. When the Gemara in Beitza 25b asks why the Torah was given specifically to the Jewish People, Rashi comments that it was given in order to counterbalance their natural tendencies, as it would channel their intensity and humble them through its study and observance. The nation born with stubbornness in its DNA could in fact be nurtured into respectful deference. But to do so, it must turn its stiff neck toward the voice of another.

Chazal, seeking to establish a new religious order after the destruction of the Temple, also knew that those predisposed to rigidity need a more balanced and healthy approach to life. Chazal’s Talmudic discussions consist largely of dispute and argumentation, with few passages ending in firm agreement and resolution. We rely on the later commentators and Halachists to distill resolutions for us into user-friendly black letter law. Indeed, one could think of the written Torah as the stiff backbone of the written Torah, and the Talmud, or the oral Torah, as the layered muscles, tendons and ligaments that wrap around the Torah’s vertebrae, allowing for freedom of movement. Our Gemara texts are designed to resolve questions by raising alternative views on law, process, translation or experience. Similarly, the Beit Midrash relies on each part of the chavruta taking its stance and defending it: bringing the give-and-take structure of the Gemara to life.

Of course, the benefits of civil discourse aren’t limited to academic pursuits. An emotionally healthy person undergoes self-differentiation, a process introduced by University of Georgetown psychiatrist, Dr. Murray Bowen. According to Bowen, individuals who are well-differentiated can think for themselves and act according to their principles, even when faced with conflict or pressure from others. One cannot, therefore, become well-differentiated without exposure to conflicting opinions; perhaps a risky process to some, but one that ultimately produces a healthier, more confident adult.

Am keshei oref is more than a nickname, it is an immutable human characteristic. However, whether an emotional or academic journey, the process of curbing intransigence need not be antagonistic or aggressive. Chazal took great pains to demonstrate civil discourse and the positive aspects of exchanging opinions. Two of our most famous sages, Hillel and Shammai, disagreed ardently and passionately, but certainly not out of stiff-necked partisanship. The true purpose of debate is not to assert one’s own opinion, but to engage deeply with another, refine our understanding, and seek the truth of God’s will together.