Shlomy & Hymie – you know them, even if you don’t think you do (!), and you may know the story—were friends who had a falling-out. Hymie dropped his ethical guard one day, and started saying mean things about Shlomy to a number of people. The next day, remorseful, he asked his rabbi what he could do to make things up. The rabbi responded with an odd directive: take a down pillow, slice it open, walk up to your roof with it, and let all the feathers go in the wind. Hymie shrugged, but the rabbi had never let him down before, so he did it. Thousands of light little feathers went fluttering off to who-knows-where. Hymie then went back to the rabbi and said, "now what?" She responded: "now, go clean it up -- pick up every one of the feathers, and put them back in the pillowcase." Hymie laughed at the utter impossibility of this instruction – some of the feathers must be in Kharkov by now! But suddenly, he stopped laughing, as he realized the moral of this little exercise – there’s no way to contain the damage done when we spread "the evil tongue."
The ‘evil tongue’ translates back into the Hebrew as Lashon Hara—the collection of laws and morals about the ethics of speech. What I have to say about lashon hara is simple: don’t do it! And in a way, after that story – an oldie but goody – and that directive, I could end the sermon right here (some of you might appreciate it! But if so don’t talk about it – it might count as lashon hara!…). But lashon hara is a big category, and our tradition holds a community’s spiritual guide responsible for helping people know what it is they shouldn’t do. So it’s worth probing a bit.
This subject has come up before, in Dvar Torah / Discussions, and in our educational program. No doubt it will come up again. Often it’s invoked the week we read Tazria/Metzora, the double Torah portion outlining how to handle leprosy and lesions – partly because Miriam’s skin once turned white after she and Aaron may have committed lashon hara (…and partly because, what else should we talk about, leprosy?!). The tradition bids us to constantly review the rules of lashon hara, since it’s so easy to regress even after you’ve committed to guarding your tongue. Thus I hope we all resolve tonight to guard our speech a bit more in the year ahead.
The Al Chet is one of the most famous High Holy Day prayers – next week, we say it five times in 24 hours. Its a double acrostic, with two ‘popular sins’ for each Hebrew letter. A shocking number of these sins deal with speech: Two right at the beginning are, Al chet shechatanu l’fanecha (for the sin we have sinned before You) b’vitui s’fatayim (through the utterance of lips)…v’b’dibur peh (and through the speaking of mouth). Since these two sound so similar, it begs the question, why both? Because hurting others through speech is so common, yet so catastrophic, it deserves the repetition. And then there’s more: b’vidui peh (through the confession of mouth)… b’tum’at sfatayim (through the impurity of lips)… bil’shon hara – through lashon hara, the evil tongue. And we’re only halfway through the Alef-bet! Ahead are still the conversation of our lips, false vows, gossiping and rumoring.
Tonight I’ll make it easy, with a rhyme, to take that list from the Al Chet, and work on our speech during these Ten Days of Repentence. Here are some of the things not to do: Aim, Blame, Claim, Flame, Frame, Maim, Name, Shame. Got it? Let me unpack those a bit, so we get a sense of what lashon hara is, and how to avoid it:
Aim: Our tradition sees words as weapons, when used against someone. As Proverbs (18:21) says, mavet v’chayim b’yad lashon – life and death are in the power of the tongue. Don’t direct your feelings, through spiteful or insensitive speech, at another person. It’s too easy sometimes to take out our anger or frustration or sadness on someone else, often someone very close to us – even though those are the words that hurt the most. Don’t aim.
Blame: We all want to be part of a winning team, and make sure that when something goes wrong in a system we’re part of, we fix it. But publicly assigning blame on the person who seems to be responsible doesn’t help. Even if they have messed up, we should point out their errors in private. Leaders who regularly assign blame end up with nervous followers, and followers who regularly assign blame end up driving away others. Don’t blame.
Claim: Assumptions are also prohibited by the laws of lashon hara. To publicly claim anything about another person is, quite simply, inappropriate. A rumor is a claim, and rumors hurt. You know what they say about the word ‘assume,’ right? Behind the rules of lashon hara is the goal to slow down, check assumptions, and think twice (or more) before speaking. Don’t claim.
Flame: We should also think twice (or more) before sending. As we’ve often noted on our list-serv, email is a bizarrely impersonal medium. Things we wouldn’t dare say to someone’s face somehow seem OK on a computer screen – but it’s not. One offhand remark, or badly constructed thought, or bit of anger or frustration that seeps through in your tone, is enough to count as lashon hara. It takes way more time to undo that damage (if it’s even possible) than it does to proofread before hitting ‘send’. Don’t flame.
Frame: Innuendo is among the worst forms of lashon hara. It’s bad enough to talk about someone negatively behind their back; it’s worse to subtly suggest bad things about someone, while trying to maintain plausible deniability. We need to own our actions, and the implications they carry for others. Don’t frame.
Maim: Words can hurt, or even kill, in multiple ways. Name-calling, stereotyping, dehumanizing language, and exhortations to violence are all forms of speech that maim. We hear these in our own speech and also in pop music, literature, politics. John Cooksey, a Republican congressman from Louisiana, recently suggested how to weed out terrorists: "If I see someone come in and he's got a diaper on his head and a fanbelt wrapped around the diaper on his head, that guy needs to be pulled over and checked." That’s maiming speech. Don’t do it.
Name: Here things get really interesting. Of course it’s wrong to spread lies or exaggerations about someone. But it’s also bad, says our tradition, to accurately state the facts! The laws of lashon hara, in creating a ‘fence’ around blaming or maiming or shaming, say you shouldn’t even name what’s true about a person, unless it’s vitally relevant information. Moreover you shouldn’t even say good things, lest someone else feel the need to offer a rebuttal. That may be going a bit overboard for us, but the point is, don’t create openings for others to commit lashon hara. Don’t name.
And, Shame: One way we hurt others through speech is halbanat panim, the whitening of the face, when blood drains away from public embarrassment. Our tradition says one who publicly insults another, or shames them, is an attempted murderer – they’ve tried not only to drain someone’s blood, but also to ‘kill’ their character. King David committed real murder and adultery, but the rabbis imagine him with the moral high ground rebuking those who publicly taunt him for his now-repented-for crimes, saying they’re worse than he is. Shame on them. Don’t shame.
So this rhyming contrivance has covered most of lashon hara. If it helps you remember what not to do, great. Don’t aim, blame, claim, flame, frame, maim, name, or shame, and you’ll be in fine shape. But there’s obviously more to it than that. For a much fuller treatment, I invite you to join us on two Sunday mornings this winter, January 26th and February 9th, when lashon hara is the topic of our adult education class (see the sheet outside for the full adult ed lineup – it’s quite something!).
Right now, let’s probe just a bit into a few areas of lashon hara that are less obvious, or gray areas where appropriate conduct might not be so clear. Here are a few issues to get us thinking, and speaking more intentionally, as a year full of talking begins tonight:
1. Silence: Remember the old adage, "if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything?" That’s actually a mitzvah. The Talmud (Yevamot 65b) says "Just as it is meritorious to say something which will be heeded, so it is meritorious to refrain from saying anything which will not be heeded." Elsewhere (Megillah 18a) it says, "the best medicine of all is silence – if a word is worth a coin, silence is worth two." I often tell others – and myself for that matter – that "less is more" when it comes to speech. Let’s be conscious of not simply filling up airtime, but instead becoming comfortable with pauses. We complain that the pace of modern life is too fast, but we reinforce it with our constant communication. Turn off the cell phone; let eye contact and body language and touch suffice; make peace with comfortable silence.
2. Listening: When there’s silence, we can hear better – as opposed to constant chatter, in which it becomes difficult to really listen above the din. Listening is a central Jewish value, from Sh’ma Yisrael (literally "listen, O Israel") on down. Listening to others well is the companion to speaking well – I love the phrase, "hearing the other into speech", which suggests active listening (a theme we’ll take up in another adult series, on caring community and para-chaplaincy, on Sunday evenings, starting Nov. 3!). In truth, there’s no such thing as uni-directional communication – it always goes both ways. Paul Hawken, the environmental economist, wrote this recently in Orion Magazine (Spring 02): "Listening…doesn’t judge, know, or argue. When we listen to people, our own language softens. Listening may be the cardinal act of giving. It is a silent quality. I think it is the source of peace."
3. Bittul Zman, literally the wasting or nullifying of time, is a rabbinic prohibition against anything that’s not truly worthy. Much of our speech may not be a direct violation of lashon hara, but it isn’t exactly uplifting, either. How much time do we waste in small talk, discussing things of no consequence? The 19th century Chofetz Chayim wrote the book on lashon hara; his work was popularized in modern Orthodoxy by Zelig Pliskin in "Guard Your Tongue" (1975), who says: "people waste precious time with idle chatter… wasted time is lost for all eternity. One who guards his tongue from loshon hora will keep his conversations to a minimum, giving him ample time for studying Torah." Torah study is of consequence – so are activism and volunteerism, quality time with friends and family, and so on. Every time we speak mindlessly – or equally bad, listen to other’s mindless speech, such as most of what passes for television these days! – we take time away from that which is truly meaningful.
A gray area: Venting. We mustn’t gossip – but isn’t it good to let out our frustrations safely, so they don’t blow up publicly? Shouldn’t the rules of lashon hara be different for partners, best friends, therapy, and the like? The Center for Jewish Ethics at RRC wrote about this, praising the Hofetz Hayim, while questioning his desire to minimize speech altogether: "we…know that communication, about our lives and feelings, about our family and friends, is… essential and necessary to our well-being." It then adds a feminist critique: "what has been commonly and stereotypically called gossip in our culture (women talking), much of the time is actually fostering necessary networking and mutual support systems. This kind of speech provides for the well-being of its speakers, and contributes toward community." So ‘gossip’ may, at times, be OK. Still, let’s not forget what the Talmud says: "Gossip is like a three-pronged tongue which injures three people: the person about whom the gossip is said; the person who listens to it; and also the person who says it."
Which brings us back to these High Holy Days, and the question of forgiveness if we’ve wronged someone. The laws of lashon hara deal with specific instances of blaming, maiming, shaming, etc. – when in fact many of us couldn’t even identify most of our transgressions here – it’s just how we speak, all the time!. I want to let the power of these ten days of repentance open us up to the possibility of transformation, of truly ‘guarding our tongue.’ The laws say that if your listeners didn’t believe what you told them, and their esteem for the person spoken about wasn’t at all affected, it’s ‘only’ a ritual sin: you must sincerely regret what you did, offer a vidui / confession, and resolve to never do it again. But -- if people’s opinion of someone was at all altered by your lashon hara – evil tongue, or even slip of the tongue – it’s an averah bein adam l’chavero, a sin between two people, and you must beg forgiveness directly from the person you hurt – even if they don’t know about it, which means telling them what you did, even months later. Remember that key line from the Mishnah: for ritual sins, you’re covered by Yom Kippur. For interpersonal sins, the day of atonement does nothing, unless you’ve sought and received forgiveness from those you’ve wronged. That’s a lot of feathers for us to try to pick up and make right, but it’s what our tradition, our conscience, and our sense of community demand.
Of course, try as we may, we can’t possibly pick up every feather we’ve released, or smooth over all the feathers we’ve ruffled. What’s called for, then, is a sincere commitment to transforming our modes of communication, our ways of speech. And here too, the tradition helps us out. The Chofetz Chayim’s real name was Rav Yisroel Meir Kagan, but he’s known to us as "the desirer of life" -- the title of his first book, itself borrowed from Psalm 34, a verse we often sing early in our Shabbat service:
Mi ha-ish, he-chofetz chayim, ohev yamim (x2) lirot tov? -- meaning:
‘Who is the one who desires life, loving their days, doing good?’ The answer:
"N’tzor l’shoncha me’ra" – guard your tongue from lashon hara, from evil speech.
"usfatecha, midaber mirma" – and your lips from speaking guile.
"sur mera v’aseh tov; bakesh shalom v’rodfehu" – turn from evil, & do good; seek peace, & pursue it.
We learn from this Psalm that lashon hara isn’t just another law to not do something: it’s a way of life that treasures life; that is ethical; that seeks and pursues peace. There’s also the unspoken opposite: ignoring lashon hara, and going on with our inappropriate speech, is anti-life, anti-love, anti-peace. That’s a heavy trip, but an important one.
Our tradition offers not only sticks, but also carrots, in our crusade to wipe out lashon hara. Midrash Misheli, commenting on mavet v’chayim b’yad lashon – life and death are in the power of the tongue – says, "If you see a person who speaks well of their companion (sh’hu m’daber tov al havero), know that the ministering angels also speak of this person’s merit before the Holy Blessed One." This text suggests that we can do better than simply avoiding lashon hara: we can cultivate lashon tov, positive, affirming, constructive, community-building, loving, sacred speech. We can discipline ourselves not only to guard our tongues against insults, but to be generous with praise – to encourage others through our words – to create a positive and supportive verbal environment in the classroom, boardroom, bedroom and living room. Imagine a community that took lashon tov, the good tongue, seriously! Oh the places we could go if – individually and collectively – we made this our goal for 5763.
Finally, lashon hara isn’t just a bad habit that most of us have slid into – it’s a reflection of our own attributes or patterns or insecurities, which we would do well to consider. It’s not good, but natural, to be judgmental of others, and successful folks tend to have developed experience in judging others. If you have to walk around harboring bad thoughts or feelings about people, the laws of lashon hara limit the damage by bidding you not to share them. But the best and most meaningful way to avoid lashon hara is not to think bad thoughts of others – in which case it’s perfectly natural to not say bad things about them. Here the wisdom of our tradition, from Pirkei Avot, is powerful:
Hillel (2:5) instructs us, al tadin et chavercha, ad sh’tagia limkomo – don’t judge your fellow until you’ve stood in their place. Yehoshua ben Perachia goes further (1:6), saying hevey dan et kol adam b’kaf zchut – judge every person with extra merit in their favor, or, give folks the benefit of the doubt. And Ben Azzai (4:3) says, "al t’hi vaz l’khol adam, don’t be scornful of any person, and don’t be disdainful of any thing – for nobody is without their hour, and no thing without its place."
So the real root of lashon tov, of positive and constructive speech, is positive and supportive thought – giving others that benefit of the doubt, and deeply knowing that they and their contributions have a place. A year ago this week, we saw the extreme of what happens when people deny others’ place, or contributions, or even their right to live. In the world we’re now rebuilding, we must root out any semblance of that closed-mindedness, of that hate. We must guard against negativity in our thoughts and in our words, as well as our deeds. We must do this with those we love most and know best, and, also across oceans and cultural divides with total strangers. We can replace lashon hara with lashon tov – and thus move closer to replacing our olam hara, our broken world, with an olam tov, a good and safe and supportive one.
Remember what we say every morning in prayer: Barukh sh’amar v’haya haolam – blessed is the One who spoke, and the world came to be". If our role is to do Godly work, then we too must be those who speak and create. Our speech can destroy worlds – and, our speech can create them. Let us choose wisely, and rightly, in the year ahead. Shanah tovah.