There’s No Chazakah When It Comes to Machloket

 It doesn't take long for many of us to form opinions about people. After enough interactions, we convince ourselves that we know exactly who someone is. We know who is generous and who is selfish. Who is easygoing and who is difficult. Who is reliable and who is not. And once those impressions become firmly established, they can be remarkably difficult to shake. Sometimes those assessments are accurate. Patterns of behavior and our experiences matter. If someone has acted a certain way for years, it is reasonable to expect that they will continue to do so. However, Parshat Korach reminds us that while Judaism recognizes patterns, it cautions us against turning them into permanent irreversible verdicts. As Korach's rebellion reached its climax, Moshe made one final attempt to reconcile and restore. The Torah tells us that he sent for Datan and Aviram, two of the instigators, hoping to engage them in dialogue. Their response was unequivocal: "We will not come" (Bamidbar 16:12). Rashi comments that Moshe's actions teach us an important principle: ein machzikin b'machloket”, we should not perpetuate conflict. Even when a dispute appears hopeless, one should make every effort to pursue peace. The Chasam Sofer suggests that the word machzikin can be understood through the halachic concept of chazakah. A chazakah is an established presumption. When something has consistently been true in the past, we assume it will continue to be true until proven otherwise. According to the Chasam Sofer, ein machzikin b'machlokes means that we must never create a chazakah of conflict. No matter how long-running ill will may be, we should never assume that discord is the permanent reality of their relationship. What makes this lesson so powerful is the identity of the people involved. This was not the first conflict for Datan and Aviram. Chazal portray them as long standing rabble rousers whose opposition to Moshe stretched back years. Time and again they challenged, complained, tried to start trouble and unrest. If any pair could be assumed to never change from their cantankerous and argumentative ways it would be Datan and Aviram.  Yet Moshe refused to make that assumption. He approaches them with the hopes of reconciliation. Moshe's efforts ultimately fail. Datan and Aviram do not reconsider. They do not accept his overture. Instead, they double down on their rebellion and ultimately suffer a tragic fate. Had they changed their minds, the lesson would have been clear: Don’t give up on people because people can change. But perhaps the Torah is teaching us here something more profound: Judaism does not require us to believe that people will change. It requires us to believe that they can change. Life teaches us that change is difficult. Yet unlike in the natural world, human beings are endowed with free will and the capacity to change. A person can reflect, mature, and choose differently tomorrow than they chose yesterday. That possibility may not always be realized. But as long as it exists, we are not allowed to dismiss another person's capacity for change. That is the meaning of ein machzikin b'machloket. We never assume we know with certainty what a person will do. We can be realistic about human behavior without losing faith in human potential. While it is true that Datan and Aviram never changed, Moshe refused to assume that they couldn't. And perhaps that is one of the Torah's most enduring lessons: never confuse a person's past performance with their future potential.