Upgrading the Conversation
Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, the brilliant and renowned founder of the mussar movement, once found himself in a wagon traveling to a speaking engagement with a group of jews, who did not recognize him.
As the journey began, he took out sefer and began to learn. But he became distracted by the conversation around him.
“Did you hear about so-and-so?!” One man asked. “No! What happened?” “Well he and his wife...”
Rav Yisrael Salanter, who did not enjoy talking about other people, noticed that one of the horses drawing the wagon was particularly fine. He pointed it out to his companions, who agreed with his estimation, and the conversation quickly moved from one to another – each man telling his best and worst horse stories.
As the wagon arrived in the city, throngs of people gathered to meet Rav Yisrael Salanter. When the travelers realized who their companion was, they turned to him in shock. “Holy Rabbi, for the last two hours we have been talking, laughing and telling stories about horses – surely their was a better use for your time?!”
“Indeed,” said Rav Yisrael, “but just after I took out a sefer, you began to talk about other people. And Chazal teach out that one speaking Lashon Hara is likened to killing a person. I decided that it'd be rather be guilty of to killing horses, than people.”
Many might argue that the sensitivity and dedication of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter belongs to a bygone era of tzadikim. We can tell the story, maybe even aspire to such lofty heights, but we understand that there are levels beyond us, reserved for only the most transcendent and cautious.
But I disagree wholeheartedly.
I think we all currently exhibit this kind of sensitivity. Each and every one us is not only capable of such Shmiras HaLashon; we are all actively practicing it. But with one fatal flaw. We only do so selectively.
Consider for a moment the last time someone decided to talk badly about your favorite politician. Consider how unwilling you were to engage in even light hearted character assassination. Consider how readily we shut out the haters, ignore the critics, and profess our loyalty to our candidates, sports teams, players, celebrities and talking heads. How quickly do we rise in their defense?
It seems to me that our lack of sensitive speech is less about our capacity and kedusha, and much more about how we identify. It is our emotional connection to a person that makes us so unwilling to speak badly about them. And the inverse is certainly true as well: Our emotional distance from a person is what permits us to speak evil of them. Of course, US politics has trained us to view “other side” as so blatantly evil that it’s not only permissible to speak evil about them. It’s a mitzvah!
But where does it end? When does the identity/distance rubric taper off? Does everyone who identifies with Person-X now not identify with me? What about friends of friends? How far are we willing to permit Lashon Hara in defense of our ideology?
Allow me to suggest that we have drawn lines in the sand a little too deep, a little more often than perhaps we should. Because each and every one of us knows that after ten minutes of conversation, there is far more middle ground than battle ground. But, especially this year, we don’t have those conversations in person. If politics has given us the license to speak badly, technology has given us the perfect vehicle.
If only the starting point was that “we identify with each other”. (This, of course, is what ואהבת לרעך כמוך means.) Perhaps then elevated and nuanced conversations would take the place of flame wars. Perhaps we would feel more guilt than righteousness when we “take someone down” online.
And there is immense personal cost when we talk about others so freely...
Leah's Plight
The Torah tells us of the two daughters of Lavan, Leah and Rachel; both of whom would eventually marry Yaakov Avinu and become mothers of the Jewish nation. But in introducing these two women, the Torah describes them as being very different: > וּלְלָבָן שְׁתֵּי בָנוֹת שֵׁם הַגְּדֹלָה לֵאָה וְשֵׁם הַקְּטַנָּה רָחֵל. וְעֵינֵי לֵאָה רַכּוֹת וְרָחֵל הָיְתָה יְפַת תֹּאַר וִיפַת מַרְאֶה > Now Lavan had two daughters: the name of the elder was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. And Leah's eyes were sensitive; but Rachel was beautiful and fair to look upon.
There's a well known explanation of Rashi in our parsha, addressing Leah's eyes:
רכות – לפי שהיתה בוכה, שהיתה סבורה לעלות בגורלו של עשו שהיו הכל אומרים שני בנים לרבקה ושתי בנות ללבן גדולה לגדול וקטנה לקטן.
She thought she would have to fall to the lot of Esav and she therefore wept continually, because everyone said, “Rivka has two sons, Lavan has two daughters — the elder daughter for the elder son, the younger daughter for the younger son” (Genesis Rabbah 70:16).
It always struck me as odd. Why should that be the deal? Who decided that it should be so? But a careful reading of Rashi reveals to us that their might never have been such a deal. Why did Leah assume that she would marry Esav? הכל אומרים – Everyone said so.
That's the power of speech, of words. Everyone said so, so it became her reality, and she cried over it. So much so that it became her defining characteristic.
Yaakov's Hesitancy
But it’s not just the words that we say. The way we speak, more often than not, says even more.
The Torah tells us of the challenges Yaakov faces in Lavan's home. He is tricked into marrying Leah instead of Rachel and pushed into working an additional seven years. When it comes time to leave, Yaakov is pressured to stay, and work for Lavan. They come to a deal where the spotted sheep would go to Yaakov, and the plain sheep to Lavan. But when Yaakov's flocks begin to increase, Lavan switches the deal. Again Yaakov is successful. The children of Lavan begin to berate Yaakov for stealing their inheritance. All the while, Yaakov remains calm, cool and collected.
This continues for years, until Hashem appears to Him in a dream and tells him it is time to leave and return to Eretz Yisrael. So Yaakov and his family leave in the dead of night to return home. But Lavan is not done. He pursues them, catching up to them and accuses Yaakov of theft and dishonesty.
At this point, Yaakov cracks:
וַיִּחַר לְיַעֲקֹב וַיָּרֶב בְּלָבָן וַיַּעַן יַעֲקֹב וַיֹּאמֶר לְלָבָן מַה פִּשְׁעִי מַה חַטָּאתִי כִּי דָלַקְתָּ אַחֲרָי. And Yaakov got angry, and fought with Lavan. And Yaakov answered and said to Lavan: 'What is my trespass? what is my sin, that you have hotly pursued after me? ..
And indeed, Yaakov deserved to get angry. After two decades of abuse, bullying and persecution, he was well within his rights to get upset. But even in this moment, the Torah reveals to us the majesty of Yaakov: וַיִּחַר לְיַעֲקֹב וַיָּרֶב בְּלָבָן וַיַּעַן יַעֲקֹב וַיֹּאמֶר לְלָבָן – Yaakov got angry, וַיֹּאמֶר, and he spoke to Lavan.
Chazal tell us that there are two ways to communicate: ויאמר and וידבר. The word וידבר connotes a harshness of tone, ויאמר is gentle.
Reb Mendel of Rimanov explains that this is the secret of being a descendent of Yaakov Avinu: Even in the moment when you are most passionate, most angry, most right; in that moment, we speak to other people: ויאמר. We don't yell, we don't degrade ourselves by putting others down.
Chazal teach us that דברי חכמים בנחת נשמעין – the words of the wise are only accepted when spoken with care. No one has ever won an argument by belittling anyone else, by berating anyone else or by shouting them down.
In general, it’s not my derech to give mussar. And דברי חכמים בנחת נשמעין, also means “No one want to listen unless you're giving them nachas.” But Rav Yisrael Salanter would often say it is worth saying Mussar, even if there is only person who listens, even if that person is me.