By R’ Chaim Bruk
Earlier this week, Chavie and I heard our almost-five-year-old say a word that shocked us. While it wasn’t off-the-charts terrible, it’s not a word I want my kids to be using. Upon hearing it, Chavie and I gave each other the look that says, “Yup, she must have heard it from one of us and she’s just repeating it.”
As parents, it’s not easy, but we must be on full alert 24/7, as any slip is ingested by one of our children and embedded in their memory for all eternity.
This came to mind as we wrap up the book of Bamidbar and read the double Torah portion of Matos-Masei. It begins with a lengthy discussion about the power of and consequences of vows. Vows of kids, vows of teens, vows of adults, vows of those who are married. It’s not only a few verses at the commencement of Matos but a full tractate of Talmud called Nedarim. Together with the tractate of Shevuos, discussing oaths, there’s a lot of talk and detail about the power of the words that exit our mouths and how they can impact us, positively or negatively, long term. Contrary to those who think “it’s just a word,” in Judaism words are weighty.
Recently we learned in Yevamos that “Rabbi Shmuel bar Nachmeni said that Rabbi Yonasan would say, ‘A judge should always view himself as if a sword were placed between his thighs and as if Gehinnom (hell) was open beneath him.’” The integrity of the judges, dayanim, sitting on a beis din, a rabbinic court, is so vital. It’s considered life and death for them, ensuring they make impartial decisions and not blast out statements about one party or another without hearing both sides fully and carefully weighing the words they will use when making a ruling.
In this era, any time someone or some group needs to make a statement condemning others, sadly, there is a rabbi or beis din somewhere willing to blurt out a condemnation or approbation without really doing the homework desperately needed before expressing words that can affect others and potentially the energetics of the entire universe. People are always listening, and we therefore need to choose our words wisely and sensitively. We can all do better with our words. Knowing that, like arrows, once they are out of our mouth there is no going back should be a good incentive to make good word choices.
When we moved to Bozeman it was to be expected that a few Jews who aren’t fond of Orthodoxy or Chassidism would be rattled by our arrival, but we never expected to see someone who prides himself as being a “Jewish leader” spend hundreds of hours propagating lies about frum Jews, about our halachah-based traditions, about the Rebbe, zt’l, about chareidi realities in Israel … he threw everything at us. Yet, never once did I respond in kind. I never spoke about the people spewing the negativity or about why they are wrong. I shined light on Yiddishkeit and authentic Torah and mitzvos, and dispensed heavy doses of Chassidus to illuminate the mind, heart, and soul, and the rest is history—tens and tens of Jews have become active with Chabad in Montana. We can’t use the powerful tool of speech for anything but good.
Were there moments I had to bite my tongue? Were there times that I was so close to breaking my rule of “not speaking negatively?” Of course! But I didn’t do it, because Hashem doesn’t just judge us based on which side of the “battle for light” we are on, but how we acted during the battle itself. The means don’t justify the end if the means are unholy, unkind, and impure.
This past Shabbos we hosted six Yeshiva students from Lakewood, a family of seven from Neve Daniel in Israel, an Israeli motorcyclist from Puerto Rico, an Israeli couple from Gdarot, and, of course, about 30 locals. It was a lively, spirited, and special Shabbos. We had so many Torah discussions, conversations about the best hikes and trails in the area, talks about RVs and engine issues, and, naturally, great debates about our modern times and ancient Torah values and how to reconcile them. We sang, ate, made l’chaim, and celebrated Shabbos together like family.
At Seudah Shlishis, one conversation got a bit more complicated because the discussion related to Zionism and Mashiach and whether the growth of Torah and Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael is connected to the Mashiach reality for which we’ve been waiting since creation. There were different opinions, as the yeshiva students had a very different hashkafah than some of the other guests, but the conversation was heartfelt and genuine, not derogatory, without name-calling, labeling, or lambasting the “other.” When we adore the fellows with whom we are talking, we talk to them in a respectful, dignified way.
In Pirkei Avos, we read the famous words: “A safety fence for wisdom is silence.” We often see that statement as a healthy recommendation to refrain from over-talking and putting our foot in our mouth, but perhaps it’s also a lesson to slow down and think long and hard before responding instinctively. It’s hard, and I struggle with it too, yet it’s doable and the Torah wants us to work on this daily. We don’t need to be the first to assert our opinions, we don’t need to respond before the other even finishes his point, and we don’t always have to tell the world our brilliant thoughts. It’s OK to listen, internalize, think it through, and perhaps recognize the other person’s point before arguing or becoming defensive.
I once read a story about a farmer who lost his precious watch while working in his barn. It may have seemed like an ordinary watch to others but it held a deep sentimental value for it. After searching among the hay, the old farmer got exhausted. He didn’t want to give up the search so he asked a group of kids playing outside the barn to help. He promised an alluring reward for the person who finds his beloved watch. The kids rushed inside the barn and went through the entire stack of hay to find the watch. After a long time looking for a watch in the hay, some of the children got tired and gave up. The number of children looking for the watch slowly decreased and only a few tired children were left. The farmer gave up all hope to find the watch and called off the search.
Just when the farmer was closing the door, deeply disappointed, a little boy requested that the farmer give him another chance. The farmer did not want to miss any chance of finding the watch so let the little boy in the barn. After a little while the boy came out with the watch in his hand. The farmer was happily surprised and asked how the boy succeeded to find the watch while everyone had failed. The boy replied, “I just sat there tried listening to the ticking of the watch. In the silence, it was much easier to listen to it and direct the search in the direction of the sound.”
The farmer was delighted to have his watch and rewarded the little boy as promised.
It is in the silence that we can pay closer attention to the ticking of others and the world around us, and doing so will help heal a hurting world, one “silence” at a time.
Rabbi Chaim Bruk is co-CEO of Chabad Lubavitch of Montana and spiritual leader of The Shul of Bozeman. For comments or to partner in our holy work, e-mail rabbi@jewishmontana.com or visit JewishMontana.com/Donate.
