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Shabbat Shemini - Imus and the Evil Tongue, April 13, 2007

Rabbi Batsheva Meiri

On the heels of Passover, the taste of redemption is still in the air. And certainly we can consider the fact that Don Imus will no longer be on the airwaves of radio or television a redemption of sorts for popular culture. You may say, what's the harm rabbi in indulging ourselves in a heaping helping of a morning shock jock programs on the way to work? I used to be one of those shock jocks' rabbis, and still was never drawn in by the show that captivated so many others. I never found the ranting and raving humorous. Believe me, my family knows from my growing up years, I can engage in a tirade as well as anyone can. There's no skill in that. What's more challenging, and what we are supposed to learn to do when we grow too old for tantrums, is to present our opinions and convictions in a thoughtful and meaningful manner, so that they can be heard by others. So I guess that is why my radio is usually tuned into the Marc Steiner or Diane Rheem shows. However, I have also always drawn the line for myself not to consume entertainment with the sexual humor and harassment that is a staple of the shock jock shows. It just plain turns me off. But my opinion is really of little value in this discussion. In a Jewish view, in all seriousness, there is real redemption now the public has drawn its own line at not tolerating the kind of talk that Imus engaged in last week when referring to the Rutgers University women's basketball team.

It doesn't bear repeating the offensive language Imus used against them, except to say that it was both racially and sexually disparaging of a young, and unfortunately impressionable, group of talented athletes. And that is a shame. And there is no doubt in my mind that the insult extended its reach beyond the team in some small way to all African Americans and to all women. Considering the amount of advertising revenues that Imus brought to both CBS radio and MSNBC television, it was touch and go for a few days whether the public outrage would sway the telecom giants, the bankcard companies and the automotive tycoons to withdraw their support from him. Nevertheless, in this case, the good gals, and all of us, won this great battle and in just one short week. But in many ways, this part of the culture wars is a never ending one.

Centuries ago, the Rabbis of the Talmud recognized abusive speech is an unavoidable fact of human life, and most of us engage in it daily. (Bava Batra 164b) We're not all going around making blatant remarks as vile as Don Imus's, but we are part of a culture, not only of free speech, but also loose speech. Some have argued that it's hypocritical that Imus go down, when most hip hop artists have made the same misogynist epithets Imus used household words our children consume on their ipods daily without more than a flinch from society.

But our Rabbis, who shaped Jewish values and standards, knew that while no one could avoid the occasional slip of the tongue, or resist every bit of the juiciest gossip, we should not lie down and tolerate nasty talk either. On the contrary, of all the silent meditations that different rabbis composed and recorded in the Talmud, the one they canonized in the siddur to conclude our tefilla is Elohai N'tzor, asking God to "guard our tongue from evil and our lips from deceitful speech," which is followed by the prayer that the "words of our mouths" will be acceptable to God. For the rabbis, prayer wasn't going to be the way out of the habit of bad speech. They expended a lot of ink identifying different categories of prohibited speech as a way of teaching this value to the generations of our people. For them and for us, the worst kind of offensive speech is what Imus did. It should go without saying that Jews are forbidden from slandering others, from telling malicious, derogatory lies about them. In Hebrew this transgression is called motzi shem ra, which literally means "bringing out a bad name." When the spies whom Moses sent to explore the Promised Land before the Israelites were to enter it returned with doubts that the Israelites could defeat the giant inhabitants of the Land, their fear led them to report that Canaan was a land that devoured its settlers. Their land slander worked; the rest of the people were scared too, and they refused to go on.

The Rabbis observed that while the entire people was punished with wandering in the desert for forty years for losing faith, the spies were immediately executed for what seems like the mild transgression of slandering the trees and stones of the Promised Land. And so we learn from the punishment of the spies, if we cannot even slander inanimate objects without consequence, how much worse it is to slander another person! (Arachin 15a) Next week, the Torah portion concentrates on the m'tzora, the leper, and how people with this skin affliction were quarantined away from the community. The rabbis believed one became a m'tzora as a punishment for motzi shem ra, the worst offense of the tongue.

I suspect that among us, this kind of deliberate slander is relatively rare. Far more common, for myself included, is lashon hara, or evil tongue. This is when what we are saying is true, but is nonetheless derogatory. As Rabbi Ken Carr has said, if motzi shem ra is the harmful lies we tell, l'shon ha-ra is the harmful truths we repeat. The fact that a story or news we may pass along may be true, does not excuse our relating it to others. The Talmud teaches that l'shon ha-ra kills three people: the one about whom it is said, the one who hears it, and the one who says it. When we spread stories or rumors, it is obvious how we harm the person about whom we speak.

But we also harm the people who hear it, because we influence the way they will react with or respond to the person we're discussing. And we harm ourselves by becoming talebearers. About the Israelites, the prophet Jeremiah once preached, "Their tongue is a sharpened arrow." (9:7) The Rabbis used this verse to teach that unlike a sword or a dagger that can only wound someone who is standing close by, arrows kill from a distance, like our malicious words can injure people who are nowhere near us at that moment (Arachin 15b). Moreover, a sword out of its scabbard can put it back away with no harm done. But once an arrow is let fly, it cannot be called back. (Midrash Tehillim 120:4) And perhaps this is why it seemed so disingenuous when Imus publicly apologized for his words. Clearly, the rabbis never believed the maxim a parent or teacher probably said at one time or another to all of us, "Sticks and stones can break your bones, but names can never hurt you." Isn't it interesting how once mean words leave our mouths, the damage is done and we cannot simply undo it. Perhaps over time, we repair a relationship, but not before many loving words and deeds have been shared. As the parent of young children just learning the power of words, I am often at home telling the famous story about the boy who came to the Rabbi very sad, and confessed that he had been passing on l'shon ha-ra, and had lost all his friends. He asked the Rabbi how he could get his friends back and the Rabbi replied, "Go home, get a feather pillow, take it outside, cut it open, and scatter the feathers in the wind." The boy did exactly what the rabbi had instructed him to do, but the next day at school, the boy still didn't have friends. So the boy went back to see the Rabbi to see why his trick hadn't worked, to which the rabbi said, "Go back to where you tore your pillow, collect all the feathers, and put them back inside the case." "But that's impossible," exclaimed the boy. "The wind scattered the feathers all around town; there is no way I can retrieve all of them." "Exactly," replied the Rabbi.

"And so too have your harmful words been scattered all around town, and there is no way to retrieve them." L'shon ha-ra, even though it is true, is harmful indeed.

For the rabbis, the lies of motzi shem ra and the truths of l'shon ha-ra, forbidden speech that is actually spoken, weren't the only concerns. Jewish tradition chose also to recognize that one can offend without even saying something directly, or even out loud. Sometimes we just imply something derogatory even if we do not actually say it in so many words. We might groan when someone's name is mentioned; roll our eyes; make a face; twirl our finger; give someone the big "L for Loser" on the forehead. This is what the rabbis called avak l'shon ha-ra, the dust of the evil tongue. Whether we say it directly in words or just imply it with our gestures or our tone, it is still l'shon ha-ra, and it is still Jewishly wrong.

And to make an even stronger fence around the spirit of care with our speech, beyond all of these negative ways we shouldn't talk about others, the Rabbis even teach that we should not even say positive things about another person. Why? Because the discussion could turn to negative comments. For example, imagine two teachers on a coffee break. One says to the other: "That Mickey is so smart; he's gotten a perfect score on my last two tests." The other teacher responds, "Really? He's failing my class." It's clear how the second teacher has committed l'shon ha-ra, but Jewish tradition also holds the first person accountable for leading the conversation there. And at this point, I understand the rabbis can just about drive us crazy. After all, is there anything we are allowed to discuss? Is there any kosher speech? And I think the answer is "yes." When you boil it all down, Jewish tradition seeks only to eliminate the "saturated fats" from our speech - the harmful, but also the trivial, useless, irrelevant chatter that makes up so much of our conversational diet. If our conversation is important, helpful, and necessary for someone else to know, then it is not only permitted but required for us to share information. If you are just talking with a friend about the fact that someone you both know lost his job, it is la-shon ha-ra and is treif, even if you know all the facts are true about what has been said. But if you and your friend are talking about it because your friend is looking to hire that person, then it is healthy and productive to give your friend the information she seeks.

In general, we should be following a strict heart healthy diet when it comes to talking about other people, lean on the unnecessary and unwanted fats of la-shon ha-ra. This might mean forgoing the gossip columns in local newspapers and magazines, or the outrageous talk radio that still fills airwaves. In the small town of Jewish Baltimore, we certainly can cut back on forwarding rumors and stories when we're on the phone and in the parking lot, at the gym or at the game, in meetings and in the market. And if we don't, we will pay the price because our l'shon ha-ra will fan the fires of jealousy, backbiting, cruelty, and scorn that destroy the bonds of a community that relies on kindness, compassion, and menschlichkeit to exist. Human beings were given the great gift of speech; we need to use that gift for good and not for evil. Think about how powerful the words, "I'm sorry" can be, when we say them to a mourner. Think about how important the words, "I am proud of you" can be when we say them to our children when they make a great decision. Think about what an impact we can make when we admit aloud, "I don't know" when we really don't know. The choice of our words is up to us and in many ways defines who we are in the world. Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, challenges his students to go twenty-four hours without speaking unkindly about or to anyone. Invariably some people laugh nervously, sure they cannot go a whole day without at the very least making an unkind reference about someone.

This is what he says to them: "You have a serious problem, because if I were to ask you to go for twenty-four hours without drinking any alcohol, and you said that you couldn't, that would mean you were an alcoholic. And if you couldn't go for twenty-four hours without smoking a cigarette, that would mean that you were addicted to nicotine. And if you can't go for twenty-four hours without speaking unkindly about or to another, that means you've lost control over your mouth." (p.294)

Every twenty four hour day is an opportunity not to be addicts to our baser self. Every day we have the chance to make ourselves into human beings with great power to hurt and also to heal. Yehu l'razon imrei fi, May the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable before you, God, our Rock and Redeemer. Amen.

**With great thanks to my sermon partner, Rabbi Ken Carr.