Rabbi Janet Marder

September 4, 2009

Words to Live By

As I’m sure you know, in rabbinical school they teach you to begin your sermons with a funny story. Unfortunately, my story tonight is not so funny.

Last week, at a political barbecue in Twin Falls , Idaho , the conversation turned to wolf-hunting, recently legalized after years when it was banned because the wolves were endangered. Those who want to kill the animals for sport now need to buy a “wolf tag” for $11.50. During the discussion a woman called out, “How about Obama tags?”  Rex Rammell, a Republican candidate for governor, didn’t miss a beat. He said, "Obama tags? We'd buy some of those." Newspapers reported that the comment was greeted with laughter.

Afterwards, responding to criticism  – the harshest of which came from his own party --Rammell said he was just kidding. He refused to apologize for what he called “an innocent joke.” He urged people to lighten up. "Take a deep breath and relax," he said. "We're not going to go out and hunt Obama." He then gave a further demonstration of his sense of humor, saying, “Anyone who understands the law, knows I was just joking, because Idaho has no jurisdiction to issue hunting tags in Washington , D.C. ”

In the following days Rammell called a series of press conferences and demanded that Republican leaders apologize to him, for blowing his little witticism way out of proportion.  He seemed not to grasp that it was hard for some Americans to laugh at the idea of killing a president – any president.

Nasty humor seems to be a sign of these uncivil times. Certainly, there was plenty of it directed at former President Bush. Jokes that are rooted in aggression – racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semitic -- are staples of stand-up comedy. And recently, controversy swirled around, of all things, a fashion column in the New York Times called “The Critical Shopper.” The writer, Cintra Wilson, commented with sneering disdain about the opening of a J.C. Penney store in midtown Manhattan .

“Why would this dowdy Middle American entity waddle into Midtown in its big old shorts and flip-flops” without even a makeover of its logo, she asked. She added that Penney’s “has always trafficked in knockoffs that aren’t quite up to Canal Street’s illegal standards”; “a good 96 percent” of the clothing is polyester; the racks are full of sizes 10, 12 and 16, but not Wilson’s [size] 2; the petites department has plenty of clothing “for women nearly as wide as they are tall”; and the store “has the most obese mannequins I have ever seen. They probably need special insulin-based epoxy injections just to make their limbs stay on.”

Cintra Wilson was at first baffled why so many readers were offended when she mocked plus-size women who could not afford to shop at exclusive Manhattan boutiques. Her column was dubbed, among other things, “a voice for class privilege,” “hateful,” “genuinely cruel” and “smug.” The Times’ Executive Editor, Bill Keller, deplored its arrogant and condescending tone towards average Americans, saying that his mother was a Penney’s shopper for much of her life, and that she would have found the article “snotty” [See Clark Hoyt, “The Public Editor,” NY Times August 23, 2009].

Having some fun, sometimes vicious fun, at another’s expense is a time-honored tradition. In the form of satire, it goes back at least to the ancient Greeks. Laughter is supposed to be the great unifier, but these days it often divides us. Some people snicker over comments that others find obnoxious. Shared laughter is a bonding experience – but the opposite is also true. If you confess you’re not amused by wit that has a hostile edge, you risk being called politically correct, humorless or oversensitive. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you take a joke?”           

Is nasty humor a big deal? It wouldn’t seem so, in the greater scheme of things. Certainly there are bigger problems on the horizon than a wisecrack that stings or wounds. But for Jews, using comedy as a weapon turns out to be a moral issue.

Our basic teaching on this subject comes from Leviticus chapter 25, where it says,“ You shall not wrong one another” [verse 17]. Now, there are many places in the Torah that condemn various ways of wronging others – stealing, cheating, violent aggression and so forth. But this verse, in Leviticus, has traditionally been understood to mean the specific sin of wronging a person with speech – an act that’s called in Hebrew “on’a’at d’varim” [Baba Metzia 58b-59b].  

It refers to any statement that causes pain or distress to another, using words in a way that embarrasses, insults or deceives the person you address. Verbal wronging is considered more serious than monetary wrong, because if you steal money you can pay it back -- but full restitution for a significant emotional injury is impossible.

Cruel, malicious speech that brings another to tears certainly falls into this category, but so do other, more subtle forms of verbal wrongdoing. Here are some examples, cited by the Talmud, of behaviors that are considered “on’a’at d’varim,” harming another with words:

• Calling someone by a derogatory nickname, or by any embarrassing name, even if the person is used to it.

• Publicly asking an uneducated person a question you know he or she can’t answer – thereby drawing attention to the person’s ignorance

• Asking a salesman the price of an object you have no intention of buying, thereby leading the salesman on and wasting his or her time

• Referring someone who has come to you for help to another person for assistance when you know the other person cannot help (commonly known as giving someone the run-around)

• Selling a person damaged goods without identifying the damage, even if the price is fair

• Offering a gift to someone or inviting someone over to dinner if you know that the person will not accept

• Complimenting a person if you don’t really mean it

We live today amid a plethora of words. We’re drowning in messages -- they come at us from all directions – via tv and telephone and texting, books and magazines, talk radio and billboards, snail mail and email, the internet and social networking websites. In our time, words are everywhere, and words are cheap.

Judaism comes to us from an ancient time when communication tools were few, books were rare and precious and language was regarded with reverence. Our Sages marveled at the divine gift of words – the uniquely human capacity to construct intelligible sentences, to frame thought in a form comprehensible to others.

The Hebrew Bible is saturated with this sense of the power of language. It tells the story of a God who creates the universe with words – just as modern magicians, who also bring new things into being through their words, call out “Abracadabra” – derived, by some, from the Aramaic “abara kedabara – “it is created as it is spoken.”

Human beings, made in God’s image, also bring worlds into being through their words – constructing ideas, imagining new realities, calling forth new possibilities. It is language that allows us to conceive what does not yet exist.

For Judaism, the power of words is intoxicating, evoking amazement, gratitude and awe. But out of this sense of awe comes Jewish tradition’s cautionary approach to speech. Words matter. They have weight and consequence. We ought not treat them lightly. So, for instance, the Torah warns us not to bear false witness; not to take God’s name in vain, to use it casually or for unworthy purposes; not to make careless vows or facile promises; not to gossip or spread rumors.

Our Sages teach us to use words mindfully, with care and thought and sensitivity – not to blurt them out heedlessly but to weigh them judiciously. They were acutely conscious of the grave harm that could result from ill-chosen language – and they knew how often we misuse the gift of words. Our Yom Kippur confession, called the “Al Chet” lists forty-four sins for which we ask to be forgiven. Fully one-fourth of these are for sins of speech. The Talmud, understanding that words used to humiliate another person can kill the spirit, compares the sin of public ridicule to that of bloodshed.

The book of Proverbs sums up this Jewish respect for the double-edged potency of spoken language, saying “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” [18:21 ].

Here, as so often, Jewish tradition offers a counter-cultural message. Our secular culture values those who are verbally adept and eloquent --quick of wit and quick of tongue. It encourages self-expression, spontaneity and free speech. Judaism celebrates, instead, those who think deeply and measure their words. It encourages us to “say little and do much,” as the Mishna puts it [Pirke Avot 1:15], and urges us to think about the feelings of others rather than uttering whatever happens to be passing through our mind at the moment.

Many of us have studied the Jewish teachings about “lashon ha-ra” – literally, “evil tongue” – referring to gossip, slander and other forms of unethical speech. Less well-known is the mitzvah of “lashon hatov – good or worthy speech” – or, in a phrase from the Book of Proverbs (15:4) “lashon marpeh – a healing tongue.” Both terms refer to the practice of deliberately and consciously using speech to bring goodness into the world.

Sara Rigler, a Jerusalem writer, suggests some practical examples of how to make lashon ha-tov part of our daily life. “Every night at dinnertime or bedtime,” she writes, “tell your spouse one positive thing about each of your children. [For example:] ‘When [Rebecca] spoke on the phone with her grandmother today, she showed her a lot of love and respect.’ We should also note our spouse’s good points to our children  [unfortunately, some couples do the opposite and complain about their mate to their children]. ‘Daddy was very tired tonight, but even so, he helped you with your homework.’

“Similarly, we should mention our friends’ good traits to one another. ‘[David] is so reliable. He promised to do something for me, and even though it was inconvenient, [he] followed through.’ We should speak lashon ha-tov about those who work for us as well (many people harp on the flaws of their employees): ‘My assistant wasn’t feeling well, but she came in today because she knew it was important and I really needed her’.”

Concludes Rigler, “With each of these simple statements, you fulfill the most glorious of all mitzvot, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’” [Cited in Joseph Telushkin, A Code of Jewish Ethics, vol.2].

Life and death are in the power of the tongue.

Language changes the world. Words shape a culture, create a climate, cultivate particular ways of thinking and feeling. We know what it feels like to spend time with people who are sarcastic, cynical, cranky and mean-spirited. Their words pollute the air around them, creating a toxic cloud that everyone breathes in.

It doesn’t have to be that way. A family, a community, can create a different atmosphere; they can build a shared culture of honesty and kindness with the simplest possible materials – the words they speak.  We can do it, too.

There’s a famous reading by an unknown author that I’ve always liked, because it conveys the sweetness and humility of the Yiddish language. It’s called “All I Got was Words.” In it, an elder looks back on his childhood, realizing that his parents, people of modest means, couldn’t give him many material comforts. Their most important gifts, he realizes, were the words his parents spoke in the family home. Those words filled his consciousness and formed his soul; they created the man he is today.

The reading concludes like this:

The years have flown, the world has turned.

Some things I've forgotten, some things I've learned.

Yet these words I remember:

Zog dem emes (Tell the truth)

Gib tsedakah (give to the needy)

Hob rachmanos (Have compassion)

Zei a mensch (Be a decent person).

Words to live by.