by Rabbi Shlomo Goldberg

Al Pi Darko - According to His Way
Insights into Chinuch from the Weekly Sedra

The crowning moment in the life of a toddler's parents comes when their child utters his first word. Especially if that word happens to sound something like "Mommy" or "Abba," our little one is greeted with great love and admiration, excitement over his remarkable achievement, and every mode of positive reinforcement. I do not know what happens exactly, but somewhere between the ages of one-and-a half and sixteen, these same parents, now accompanied by exasperated teachers, seem to be exceedingly concerned with how to get these once sweet little talkers, to "please be quiet!" Every year in fact, I commiserate with parents and teachers on how children these days seem to have no qualms about saying anything they want, to anyone, at any time, things that even we, who definitely were not angels, would never have dared to say to any adult.

Rav Shlomo Wolbe, shlita, in a remarkable essay printed, ironically, in a banquet journal, explains this phenomenon: "We teach a child to speak. Once we teach him to speak, this becomes his nature, to speak and to chatter without end. Do we ever teach this child how to be silent as well? Behold, silence (like speech) is also a tool." Rav Wolbe, shlita, is recommending a truly novel approach. Instead of viewing silence as merely an absence of speech, silence should be seen as a tool, as a positive, active force. As such, it becomes necessary to define, teach, encourage, and reinforce the skills inherent in active silence, just as we do for the skills of speech.

Rav Wolbe's, words are rooted in an insight from our sages into this week's sedra. Yaakov Avinu had a deal to work for his uncle, Lavan, for seven years, and - in exchange - marry Rochel. Rochel knew that her father, Lavan, would switch the bride to her sister, Leah, at the last minute (as Leah was the older sister). In one of history's great acts of personal self-sacrifice and spiritual courage, Rochel Imeinu provides her sister, Leah, with the secret password she had contrived with her husband-to-be, Yaakov. To save her sister from embarrassment, Rochel is ready to write herself completely out of Jewish history, for she does not know that Yaakov will be willing to work yet another seven years to earn her hand in marriage after he is tricked into marrying Leah. Concerning the source for this selfless act, the Midrash states, "Rochel took up the staff of silence, and all of her children became 'masters of silence.' Benyamin was called "Yashpeh," for he 'had (yesh) a mouth (peh)', i.e. he knew of the sale of Yosef, but did not reveal it. Of King Saul it is written 'and the matter of the kingship he did not reveal to him.' Of Esther it is written, 'and Esther did not tell of her nation or of her place of birth.'" Far from seeing silence as a mere negation of speech, Rochel used silence as a "staff," that is, an instrument with which to achieve her desired goal. So deeply did she master and refine the use of this tool, that she ingrained its use in the spiritual genes of her children through all generations. It obviously behooves us to define and master the use of this valuable mechanism of silence, a tool that is our proud inheritance from our great-grandmother, Rochel Imeinu.

The Talmud in Tractate Brochos (6b) states that the reward that one receives from going to a cemetery or to the house of a mourner, is dependent upon one's silence. Cemeteries and houses of mourning are places wherein one has an enforced encounter with HaShem's midas hadin, His attribute of strict judgement. Din, unlike mercy, is not something we like, nor understand. I would venture to say that no winner of the state lottery ever cried out in existential angst, "Why me?" "It's about time!" is a more expected response. That is because we understand and readily expect mercy. Judgement, however, is usually beyond our comprehension. Our sages are teaching us that the appropriate response to acts of G-d that defy our conception of the way things ought to be, is not rebellion or argument, but silence. Silence is a proactive admission on our part that G-d runs the world. It demonstrates that although there are many things that we will never fully understand, we remain steadfast in our belief that they still emanate from a caring and loving G-d. Thus, Aharon HaCohen's response to the tragic loss of his two sons in Parashas Shemini was to be silent, "vayidom Aharon," and to humbly continue with his service. (See Rashbam.)

It is natural to speak. Silence must be learned. Rav Yitzhak states in Tractate Chullin (89a), "What is the craft of a person in this world? - That he makes himself as if he is mute. I might think that this applies even to speaking words of Torah, but the verse says that 'righteousness should be spoken.' I might think that one could therefore speak words of Torah to the point of haughtiness, but the verse states, 'you shall judge humanity with fairness.'"

It seems that silence is so important, that were it not for the explicit permission granted in the verse, our mastery of silence would have included even speaking words of Torah! Once granted, there is the danger that one might use speech to take undue pleasure in defeating his study partner in the the battle for a true understanding of Torah. If this occurs, one must immediately raise the "staff of silence" even in the area of Torah, to protect oneself from "taking honor for oneself through another's disgrace."

Speech was created as a tool to unite human beings with each other and with their Creator. Through the evil force of argument, however, this power that binds can become a sword that decimates. When argument and dissension sprout forth, what merit is there for humanity that has perverted the holy power of speech? Our sages state, "Toleh eretz al blima (literally, He hangs the world on a string)- Said Rav Elloy, 'the world exists solely for the sake of those who silence (boleim) themselves during a time of dissension.'" As long as there are those who can take up the "staff of silence" and control their impulses to strike back with words, the world still has enough merit upon which to exist. Suppressing a sharp comeback is a positive act of conscious free will, strong enough to uphold the entire world.

The Rambam, in Hilchos Deos (the Laws of Behavior), provides other examples of active silence. These include avoiding idle chatter in order to speak only words of wisdom or about issues relevant to one's material well being. A sign of the wisdom of one's words is that they are few in number, but of great depth and content. In conversation, one should respond only after a thoughtful pause, and then be as concise as possible. When teaching students, the teacher should speak calmly and pleasantly without yelling or being verbose. In order to follow the dictates of the Rambam, our speech must flow forth from an inner wellspring of silence.

Speech, says Rav Wolbe, is like a violin. The craft of violin making lies not in connecting the strings, but in fashioning the body of the instrument. Similarly, speech is not merely the passing of air over vocal cords. It is a resonance emanating from the deepest level of the intellect, emotion, and traits of our souls. Rochel Imenu taught us that the workshop wherein these elements are crafted is that of the realm of silence. Children who are exposed to fine music in their childhood will continue to appreciate it throughout their lives. Similarly, if they hear from their parents and teachers a refined combination of speech and silence, then, like Rochel, we too will merit offspring who follow our example and proudly carry forth the "staff of silence."

Parsha-Parenting, Copyright (c) 1999 by Rabbi Shlomo Goldberg and Project Genesis, Inc. Rabbi Goldberg is the menahel (spiritual advisor) of Yeshivas Ohr Eliyahu, and a highly acclaimed and popular speaker in Los Angeles.