In one of the pesukim toward the end of Parashat Behaalotekha, we find the clue to how to access a great source of power – one of the greatest sources of power that exist.
The context is the well-known story of Miriam and Aharon who speak inappropriately about their brother, Moshe Rabbenu. Specifically, they questioned his decision to leave his wife. They noted that they, too, were prophets, and yet they were able to be married. They contended that there was no reason for Moshe Rabbenu to do something so drastic.
The Torah tells that Hashem was angry at Miriam and Aharon for speaking this way about Moshe. Hashem appeared to them, and explained that Moshe’s level of prophecy was special and unique. He then punished Miriam by striking her with tzara’at (a skin disease similar to leprosy), requiring her to leave the camp of Beneh Yisrael and live in isolation.
There is one pasuk in this section which seems, at first glance, out of place. After telling us what Miriam and Aharon said about Moshe, but before telling of Hashem’s severe response, the Torah inserts the following pasuk:
והאיש משה ענו מאד מכל האדם אשר על פני האדמה.
The man Moshe was exceedingly humble, more so than any person on the face of the earth.
Why is this point relevant to the story of Miriam and Aharon’s inappropriate speech about Moshe? What does this add to our understanding of this incident?
A Special Kind of Humility
The explanation is provided by the Rambam, in his discussion about the severity of lashon ha’ra – the sin of speaking negatively about other people.
The Torah in Sefer Devarim commands us to always remember what Hashem did to Miriam, and the Rabbis interpret this command as the source of the prohibition of lashon ha’ra. We are commanded to remember what happened to Miriam because we must always ensure to avoid committing the grave transgression of lashon ha’ra – the transgression that Miriam violated, for which she was so severely punished. It turns out, then, that the story of Miriam is the prototype, if you will, of this prohibition. Her lashon ha’ra about Moshe Rabbenu is the model of lashon ha’ra that we are bidden not to follow.
The Rambam explains for us the significance of this point – that the Torah commands us to avoid lashon ha’ra by commanding us to remember what happened to Miriam. He writes that Miriam was punished despite numerous factors that seemingly mitigated the severity of what she did. For one thing, she was Moshe Rabbenu’s older sister, who watched him and protected him when he was infant, floating in a basket in the river. And, she did not make her remarks publicly; she spoke only to the other brother, Aharon. It is very normal for siblings to talk to each other about another sibling, and this is precisely what Miriam did. Additionally, all she did was question something very surprising, and even shocking, that Moshe Rabbenu did. She did not call him a name or anything like that; she just criticized him for a controversial decision he made. And, the Rambam says, her words had no effect whatsoever on Moshe. Citing this pasuk – which tells us that Moshe was the humblest of men – the Rambam writes that Moshe took no offense at all at Miriam’s remarks. The fact that Miriam was nevertheless punished, the Rambam writes, despite all these factors, demonstrates to us the great severity of lashon ha’ra, how careful we must all be to avoid any kind of lashon ha’ra, even when it seems innocent and harmless, and even if we feel it is justified.
What’s important for our purposes is the point the Rambam derived from this pasuk. The Rambam understood this pasuk as teaching us that Moshe remained silent, and was not angered or disturbed at all by what Miriam said. He certainly had what to respond. He could have told his sister, “Who are you to question my decisions? Don’t you realize who I am? Don’t you realize that I spent forty days in heaven with Hashem receiving the Torah, without eating or drinking anything? Do you really think I made this decision out of arrogance, thinking I’m holier than other people? Do you really think I would do this flippantly, without thinking the matter through very carefully?” But instead, Moshe kept quiet. He didn’t say a word, and was not hurt at all by what was said about him.
The Torah speaks here of a special kind of humility – the humility of silence, of keeping quiet in the face of hurtful and offensive comments. It tells us that after Moshe heard about his sister’s disparaging remarks, he was not fazed. He was not affected in any way. In his unparalleled humility, he just continued going about his business, without worrying about the insults and criticism.
Three Levels of Silence
The Gemara in Masechet Gittin extols the virtue of people with this quality – remaining silent in the face of insults:
הנעלבין ואינן עולבים, שומעין חרפתן ואין משיבין, עושין מאהבה ושמחין ביסורין – עליהן הכתוב אומר, "ואוהביו כצאת השמש בגבורתו."
Those who are insulted but do not insult, who hear their shame but do not react, who act with love and rejoice in suffering – about them the verse says, “Those who love Him are like the sun going out in all its force.”
The Gemara here delineates three different levels of silence in the face of insults:
1) הנעלבין ואינן עולבים – those who do not insult back. This is the most basic level of silence to which we should strive. Our natural instinct when we hear somebody insult us is to fire back. “You’re complaining about my kids? Do you remember the mess your kids made at the Shabbat table when we invited you last year!?” “You’re criticizing me? Do you want me to start telling you all the things you do wrong?!” This is our natural reaction. We want to return fire, to defend our honor by going on the offensive. The most basic level of silence required of us is to overcome this instinct, to hold our fire, and restrain the urge to throw an insult back at the person.
2) שומעין חרפתן ואין משיבין – those who do not react at all. This already is a far more difficult standard to achieve. This means being unaffected and undisturbed by what was said, treating it like a mild headache that will pass in an hour.
I recall once when I was delivering a speech, somebody walked into the room in the middle and announced that I had already exceeded my allotted time, and I needed to stop. I was a little taken aback, and I politely asked if I could have just another two minutes as I was right in the middle of a thought. He adamantly refused, insisting that I stop my speech dead in its tracks.
As I walked out of the room, I passed by that person – and I succeeded in achieving the first level of silence, but not the second. I controlled the urge I felt to say something to him, but I cannot say I was unaffected. I was upset, angry and agitated. I had worked hard preparing for this speech, and I had important material to present. Was it so important to deny me two minutes to quickly finish the thought? It bothered me terribly. Ideally, I should have achieved the level of שומעין חרפתן ואין משיבין, where this disrespect would have no effect on me at all.
3) The highest level of all is שמחין ביסורין – where somebody actually rejoices when he is insulted or put to shame. Not only does he remain silent, and not only does he not feel disturbed, but he is happy that this happened.
How is this possible? How can a person possibly celebrate receiving an insult? And why should he? Why is being inappropriately criticized and insulted something to celebrate?
Appreciating the Power
The answer is found in the pasuk which the Gemara applies to somebody who remains silent in the face of an insult: ואוהביו כצאת השמש בגבורתו. The Gemara here speaks of גבורה, power. One who remains calm, silent and content even when he is insulted has a special power. If we restrain ourselves at those difficult moments, when our feelings are hurt, we become powerful like the sun.
An example of this power can be found in a startling story told by the Gemara in Masechet Berachot. The story involved a certain hasid, an especially pious man, who, despite his financial struggles, gave charity to a pauper the day before Rosh Hashanah. His wife angrily berated him for giving away their meager funds. The hasid reacted by going to the cemetery, where he spent the night. While he was there, he heard two spirits – the souls of two girls who died young – talking, one of which invited the other to go hear what would happen to the world during the coming year. The other spirit said it was unable to go, because it was buried improperly, in a mat of reeds. It suggested that the first spirit should go and find out, and then share the information. The spirit left and then returned and reported that anything planted early in the autumn will be destroyed by hail.
Armed with this “inside information,” the hasid planted later in the season, and as a result, he profited.
The next year, he decided to once again sleep in the cemetery in the hopes of again receiving privileged information. This time, the first spirit came back and reported to the other that anything planted in the latter part of the season would be ruined. The hasid planted that year early in the season, and once again, while others lost their crops, this hasid prospered.
His wife asked him why he was so successful for those two years, and he told her the entire story.
Shortly thereafter, the hasid’s wife got into a fight with the mother of the girl who had died and was buried in reeds. In the heat of the moment, the woman made a very hurtful remark to the bereaved mother, shouting, “I’m going to show you your daughter, who is buried in a mat of reeds!”
That Rosh Hashanah, the hasid returned to the cemetery, but this time the spirit of the girl buried in reeds told the other that they need to keep quiet, because their conversations are heard by the living.
This story certainly sounds strange, and it is subject to a great deal of discussion and different interpretations among the commentators. But Rav Yisrael Salanter explained that the Gemara told us this story to teach us the power of silence. When the hasid’s wife insulted him for giving charity, Rav Yisrael Salanter explained, the man felt agitated. He did not respond, but he was disturbed. He achieved the first level mentioned above, but not the second, and certainly not the third, and he saw his agitation as the sign of a defect in his character. In an effort to improve his character, he went to the cemetery, to remind himself of human mortality, that we all eventually return to the earth. When we reflect on our frailty, on the eventuality of death, we realize how lowly we are, and how we have no reason to ever feel offended. This was the man’s intent in sleeping in the cemetery – to break his natural tendency to feel angry and upset when hearing insults.
To this we might add that this hasid was duly rewarded for his extraordinary efforts. For striving to reach the highest levels of silence and restraint, he heard secrets that were revealed to nobody else and which enabled him to succeed and prosper. Silence wields great power. When we exercise control over our emotions and restrain ourselves from reacting to insults, we become worthy of great blessings.
This also explains the conclusion of the story. The moment the hasid’s wife did just the opposite, and used this privileged information to embarrass and offend another woman, this power was taken from them.
This story sounds mysterious and “spooky,” but it was told to impress upon us the great importance of silence, the power we receive when we do not react to insults and offense. When we act like Moshe, when we have what to respond to our detractors, when we are fully capable of hurling an insult back at them, but we don’t – we are as powerful as the sun.
The Silence of the Sages
Numerous stories are told in the Gemara of great tzadikim who embodied this quality, and exercised extreme patience even when treated disrespectfully.
Among the most famous such stories is told of the righteous sage Hillel. Two men made a bet with each other, agreeing that whichever one of them could make Hillel angry would be paid a large sum of money – 400 zuz – by the other. One of them went to Hillel’s home on Friday afternoon as Hillel was bathing, and he called Hillel’s name. Hillel quickly threw on his clothing and greeted the fellow. The man asked Hillel a silly question – why there are some people with unusually shaped heads. Hillel patiently and respectfully answered the question. The man came back a bit later with another question, about the unusual appearance of some people’s eyes. He later returned and asked about certain people’s legs. Each time, Hillel sat with him, showed him respect, and patiently answered his questions. Finally, the man turned to Hillel and asked, “Are you Hillel, who is called the nasi [leader] of Israel?”
Hillel answered in the affirmative. The man then said, “If so, then may there not be many like you in Israel!”
“Why?” Hillel asked.
“Because of you, I lost 400 zuz!”
Hillel knew that he was the nasi, the greatest sage of his time. But this did not lead him to feel entitled to special respect, or to be angered when he was bothered by simple people. He exercised patience and tolerance towards all people, without ever becoming angry.
Elsewhere, the Talmud tells that Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korhah once fell gravely ill, to the point that his coffin was already being prepared. But he recovered, and he reported that his soul had actually left this world for a brief moment. He heard it declared in the heavens that he was being granted a full recovery and sent back to life because of his quality of restraint, because he did not respond to those who insulted him. This is the great power of silence.
In a different context, the Gemara tells of a devastating drought that struck Eretz Yisrael, posing a grave threat to the population. A day of fasting and prayer was declared, and Rabbi Eliezer led the prayer service, reciting a special elongated Amidah prayer that used to be recited on fast days. Despite his entreaties, no rain fell. Afterward, Rabbi Akiva went forward and cried out a brief prayer to Hashem. Instantly, it started raining.
People naturally began talking, wondering aloud whether this meant that Rabbi Akiva was a greater scholar or more righteous tzadik than Rabbi Eliezer. A heavenly voice declared that Rabbi Akiva’s prayers were answered because of his quality of מעביר על מידותיו – forgiving those who treated him disrespectfully. This special quality gave Rabbi Akiva the special power to bring rain and end a life-threatening drought.
How do we explain this unique power? Why does somebody achieve such strength simply by restraining his anger and remaining clam, silent and peaceful when he is insulted or treated disrespectfully?
What makes such silence so difficult, besides the actual level of restraint required, is that one cannot prepare for it. Before a fast day, we already begin programming our minds, in a sense, anticipating that we will need to exercise restraint over the course of the entire fast day. Before Shabbat, we prepare our homes but also our minds, knowing that there will be many activities we would like to do but will not do over the twenty-five hours of Shabbat. Most religious challenges can be anticipated and planned for in advance. Restraining anger, however, cannot. When we are offended, it usually happens suddenly, without warning. We are talking with a family member, relative or friend who unexpectedly blurts out an insulting remark. Moshe Rabbenu had no advanced warning that Miriam and Aharon would be speaking disparagingly about him. There is no way to prepare ourselves ahead of time for an insult.
The quality of מעביר על מידותיו, then, requires not merely restraint, but mustering restraint on a moment’s notice. And to do this, we need to be a certain type of personality. We need to be people who do not walk around expecting or demanding that everybody respect and admire us. We need to be people who do not need our peers’ approval for everything we do. We need to be people strong and humble enough to accept harsh criticism and insults without being rattled or disturbed. This is, of course, very difficult and unnatural, and for this reason, achieving this level brings with us enormous power.
But if we recognize this power, we will be able to not only remain calm when hearing insults, but to rejoice, as well. We will rejoice knowing how much we are receiving by remaining silent and calm, knowing that our peaceful response is bringing us unparalleled blessing and reward.
Donating to An Angry Tzedakah Collector
It is told that once, some twenty or so years ago, a certain Hassidic Rebbe was sitting with his hasidim when suddenly one of his followers frantically ran inside, begging the Rebbe for help. The man explained that his wife was in labor in the hospital, and there were serious complications. The doctors said they were unsure whether she would survive.
“Don’t worry,” the Rebbe calmly said. “Everything will be fine.”
The man reiterated to the Rebbe that the doctors feared for his wife’s life, but the Rebbe again reassured him that there was nothing to worry about.
After the man left, the hasidim asked the Rebbe why he was so confident that the woman would survive. The Rebbe explained that not long before this incident, a certain pauper came to the synagogue to ask for charity. He went around the congregants, one by one, and each one pulled a small coin – like a quarter – out of his pocket and put it in the pauper’s hand. By the time the pauper came to this hasid, he was very distraught. This hasid, like everyone before him, thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small coin, and the pauper angrily threw all the coins in the man’s face.
“This is all you have to give me?!” he furiously bellowed. He proceeded to shout at this man in front of the entire congregation.
After he was finished, the man calmly asked the visitor how much money he needed. The pauper told him how much, and the man pulled out his checkbook and wrote him a check for that precise amount.
Such an act, the Rebbe said, does not go unrewarded. And thus this hasid had nothing at all to fear.
The Gemara teaches in Masechet Hulin, אין העולם מתקיים אלא בשביל מי שבולם את עצמו בשעת מריבה – “The world exists only in the merit of one who restrains himself in a time of argument.” When we hold back and keep quiet during a fight, we are as powerful as the sun, sustaining the entire world. Let us access this special power, and follow Moshe Rabbenu’s inspiring example of humility, of remaining silent even when we are provoked and angry.