With Heart in Mind

In a multitude of words there is no lack of sin, but he that refrains his lips is wise.

SPEECH is a great (and, some would say, defining) human gift. But it has to be used with care. God created the world with the spoken word, yet that same power has done as much harm as (if not more than) swords and bombs.

Miyut sichah literally means “limiting conversation.” That does not mean maintaining a vow of silence, because we are supposed to engage in valid spiritual talking, as the Torah itself instructs: “You must speak words of Torah.”¹ And it can’t be asking us to reduce our gossip and slander, because those negative uses of speech are roundly condemned in Jewish law; so it’s not likely that we would be told to “limit” that sort of talking, as if a little is okay, as long as it is not too much.

What the text is asking us to do is cut down on the sort of elective conversation that is actually permitted to us. We are being asked to reduce the small talk as much as possible. It is in our spiritual best interest not to give our attention, our energy, and our tongues to empty nattering.

Most of us actually enjoy making frivolous conversation. We prattle about the weather or the news of the day, the sports scores, or the latest fad. In fact, some people find value in that sort of chitchat, because it allows strangers to make contact and be friendly. It makes people feel they belong to the society in which they are situated. It sometimes even disseminates important information or gives rise to good ideas.

Rabbi Yisrael Salanter was once standing in the marketplace engaging a man in small talk. Rabbi Yisrael made jokes and exchanged witty comments with the other man, who was laughing at his jokes and enjoying himself. Bystanders were astonished. How could Rabbi Yisrael, who was constantly studying Torah and whose heart was always turned to important issues, be spending time kibbitzing in the marketplace?

One of them asked Rabbi Yisrael about this behavior. Rabbi Yisrael explained that he knew that the life of the man he was talking with was filled with sadness, and his soul was overtaken by a dark depression. The only way to lift his burden was with light, pleasant conversation about worldly matters. To provide that was a great act of kindness to the man.²

So we see that in this and a myriad of other ways, conversation has an important role to play as a thread that weaves together our human lives. While that remains true, it is also true that excessive trivial babbling can be a complete waste of time and brain power. It may even be an abuse of the precious gift of speech, something akin to using a Rolls-Royce to deliver pizzas.

For one thing, many gifts await us that we can access only in a space of silence, only if we sometimes stop the chatter and interrupt the noise. Rabbi Akiva says, “Silence is a protection for wisdom.”³ Constant banter is not the greatest sign of wisdom. You know that with certainty about other people. Can you see any way in which that notion can be applied to you, as well?

The Maharal explains that speech is a physical action that requires movement of muscles and bones, and so, when we speak, the physical takes the lead. But when we are silent, the spiritual takes over.⁴ Silence thus both builds and reveals our inner world and the infinite spiritual treasures that lie within us.

“Some silence means cessation of speech,” writes Rabbi Avraham Yitzchok Kook. “Another silence means cessation of thought. That silence arrives together with the most hidden, beautiful and exalted thought.”⁵ Those are the thoughts that my Mussar teacher, Rabbi Perr, says come from Heaven, and they come only to a silent mind. Shimon ben Gamliel summed up the importance of what we can gain from conversing less: “All my days have I grown up among the wise and I have not found anything better for a person than silence.”⁶

Conversation connects us to other people, and, in the modern world, that connection is unceasing. By never interrupting the flow of banter, we not only never open ourselves to receive the gifts of silence, we lose the ability to be alone with ourselves. Many people maintain the endless stream of chatter for the simple reason that they have real discomfort at being alone and quiet. This comes with a cost.

The Mussar great of the last generation Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe writes,⁷

You can only get a feeling for your internal life when you are alone. With a half hour of being alone you can come to feel things you never knew about yourself and see what you are lacking in spirituality. You will set new goals to reach. This can only be done if you spend time alone in seclusion [hitbodedut] for half an hour. In this way you can start to build your internal, spiritual world.

Silence and solitude are precious, but so is speech; our challenge is to find the point of balance between the two. The answer is to speak succinctly, with clear and measured words, and no more. Rabbinic insight and even legal ruling often emerge from a single word or phrase and a nuance of how it is used. It is obvious that one must train oneself to be sensitive to how one’s words can hurt and destroy, or build and heal. But even aside from the impact, being attuned to every word and shade of meaning you birth into the world honors the Creator and the created, as well as the gift of speech you have been given.

We are not guided to cut out the small talk entirely, because then we would lose the value of casual conversation. The call is to limit the chatter we emit, because a little is all that is needed. Even valuable talk needs to be limited. Rambam says that one should minimize speech even in matters of Torah and wisdom and expand one’s thoughts.⁸

It is worth reflecting on your own willingness to shoot the breeze. Why do you do it? Is there some reward you are after? Does nattering deliver a real benefit? Can you identify where small talk is useful in your life, and where you might well cut back on the chatter?

The point of this whole lesson is to underline that speech is a precious faculty, and it is up to us to use it in a disciplined and restrained way. That’s how we can ensure that its scope and power are applied only for the good, within you and in the world.

PRACTICE

The Mussar teachers have long advocated the practice of hitbodedut (solitude). The Novarodokers took this to an extreme, starting with the Alter himself and his practice of spending extended periods secluded in a hut in the woods. Rav Wolbe and others take a softer approach by simply advocating time spent by oneself, taking walks and such.

Your practice for this period is to make for yourself a time of silence of at least ten minutes during the day. Carve out that time just to pursue reflective thought or quiet contemplation, in utter silence.