Erev Rosh HaShanah: A Rabbi With No Voice
Sermon by Rabbi Jennifer Hartman
2013/5774
About three weeks ago I lost my ability to talk. The first tickles of discomfort began on a Wednesday and by Friday my voice was completely gone. It was less than three weeks before Rosh Hashanah. I needed my voice for the High Holidays. I made an emergency appointment with an ENT. I went in and they had me try to speak and make lots of funny sounds. They did a scope of my vocal cords and had me make more silly sounds. Finally they came to a conclusion. My vocal cords were red and inflamed, most likely the side effect of a cold. There was no infection, no real irregularity. So, what could I do, I asked? How could I fix this? Drink lots of liquids, get plenty of rest, gargle with salt water, try not to cough, and speak as little as possible. Umm, WHAT??? Hello, do you know what I do? I am a rabbi, I speak for a living. I have services tonight and tomorrow. “Not possible” they said. You are going to need to find someone to cover for you. They did not put me on complete vocal rest, but directed me to “say only what is important”.
Say only the words that are important. What an interesting concept to think about. Research says that children in professional homes hear 2,100 words an hour. An hour! That is a lot of talking. No wonder Judaism tells us many times and in many different ways that we need to be careful with what we say. We know that Judaism speaks against lashon hara, having an evil tongue. The Psalms teach us to guard our tongue from evil and our lips from speaking lies. Many Torah portions speak about oaths. We are told, in detail, how to make oaths in order to guarantee it is fulfilled. The Torah teaches that: “An oath must be phrased so as to indicate that swearing is intended; there is no punishment unless a Name or attribute of G-d is mentioned. It must be expressed orally and the speaker's intent must agree with what is said”. We are also forbidden to swear falsely or in vain. What you say, and the way in which you say it, is extremely important.
Of course! There is nothing new here. We have heard professionals tell us that when fighting one should never be accusatory, but instead use “I feel....” We have all been reprimanded for gossiping or idle chatter. And how many times were you told as a child: if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all? We know these lessons and can repeat them back, but as with all lessons it is never completely clear how deep they make it into our psyche. I knew all of these things, but still the idea of saying only what was important was new to me. What do I say? What do I avoid saying? Most importantly when are the times during the day when I really need to speak? I knew I had to avoid speaking at all other times.
It turns out that not only do I spend much of the day talking, I also enjoy speaking. I like hearing what people have to say and contributing to the conversation. I like asking questions in order to uncover other’s stories. I enjoy sharing my experiences. Yet, and this is difficult for a Rabbi to admit, not all of my words are spoken in the context of an enriching personal interaction. I also talk when I am bored, contribute when there is really nothing to add, make sarcastic comments and tell stories about others that are not mine to tell. From my experience I learned that email and texting is not the same as talking to someone. No matter how many emoticons you use, tone of voice does not come through in text, yet in many contexts we have come to treat these exchanges the same way as a voice conversation. We have trained ourselves to think that it is the same thing. In emails we express and explain the emotions that are behind our words. We know that the reader is guessing our expression and our mood, so we are not shy about being explicit.
In text on the other hand, maybe because it is on our phones, we think that the other person will understand our tone of voice, our intention. I do not usually have entire conversations over text. Mostly I use texting for logistics or checking in - what time are we meeting at the restaurant, are you getting snacks for the students, did everything go smoothly at the event? If a conversation needs to take place, then I pick up the phone. During the time that I could not speak almost all of my conversations were over text. Let me tell you, I got into trouble. I had more misunderstandings with people I care about and who know me well, then I had ever had before. It was such a relief when I was finally able to make phone calls!
But it is not just that texting can lead to miscommunication, it is also that hearing another's voice is intimate. I never thought about it before, but our voices are a part of who we are. It is a part of what defines us in the hearts and minds of others. I had not thought about missing the sound of one’s voice. It is not just the words that we say that are important, the voice that says them is also important, the tones and the expressions, the deep masculinity or the high pitched soprano voice. All of these things are part of what bind us to others. When I could speak again, those close to me told me how much they had missed hearing my voice.
I learned that much of what I say is unnecessary. My words are not always productive, helpful, or kind. Curt comments, complaints, biting remarks and jokes were all the first things that I stopped saying. They are not only unimportant; they are futile and sometimes painful. My days of restricted speech made me think much about my grandfather. He is a man of few words, but when he speaks, everyone listens. We know his words are meaningful and worth listening to. When my family gathers together, thirty or more of us, you can barely get a word in edgewise. However, when my grandfather begins to motion that he wants to contribute to the conversation, people start yelling, “shhh Grandpa is going to talk”. It is probably the only thing that can get all of us to settle down.
What if all of our words were so important to hear? What if all of us were able to avoid saying what is hurtful or sarcastic, what we know will have the proverbial effect of punching another in the stomach. One author writes a painful, but true statement about our use of words. “There exists, for everyone, a sentence - a series of words - that has the power to destroy us. Another sentence exists, another series of words that could heal us. If we are lucky we will get the second, but we can be certain of getting the first”[1]. The hardest part about this is that too often, the people who destroy us with words are the ones who we are closest to, the ones who know us the best and are supposed to love us. Sometimes when we speak we are not trying to enhance or enrich someone’s life, nor are we trying to resolve an argument or dispute, all we are trying to do is hurt the other person. These are the words that would be best left unsaid. Words are powerful. They help us to connect with people. They convey our state of mind and help us to uncover what others are thinking and feeling. They show our humanity and help us to recognize that in others. When we have a pleasant interaction with the barista at the coffee shop, when we say thank you to the cashier at the store, when we ask how another’s day is going we show that we care about them and that we are aware of the thoughts and feelings of others. Even when we use our words to have difficult or uncomfortable conversations, or when we use them to fight for something in which we believe, we are using them for good, to bring change to our world and better our society. We are using them to improve and strengthen our relationship. We are using them with positive intentions and heartfelt conviction.
I am a rabbi, I speak and use words for a living, and this experience has made me reevaluate how I use them. I had to do this for almost two weeks. I had to consider the benefit of my words versus the cost to my health before I spoke. I needed to weigh the relevance of any comment I was going to make to determine if it would be productive, helpful, useful. Would my speaking add to the conversation? Would it give new meaning or insight? Would it help solve a problem? Would it brighten someone’s day? Would it bring healing? If the answer was no to these questions then I would remain silent. After all, I could only say what I considered to be truly meaningful.
I hope that I will be able to carry these lessons into the New Year. I pray that I will choose my words wisely and continue to say only what will positively impact another’s life. May we all come to understand that “Words... are innocent, neutral, precise, standing for this, describing that, meaning the other, so if we look after them we can build bridges across incomprehension and chaos. But when they are used improperly they are powerful enough to start wars. Words deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you can bring change to people and the world.”[2] May we remember this as we head into the New Year.
[1] Philip K. Dick, VALIS
[2] Tom Stoppard, The Real Thing: A Play