The Torah’s vocabulary choice is striking. What are the “words”? These words were a veiled rebuke of the nation. They were an admonishment. Why did the Torah not begin its report of Moshe’s farewell address with: “These are the rebukes,” or “Moshe admonished Klal Yisrael”? Why did it use a neutral term, such as “words” to soften what was actually a rebuke? True, Moshe Rabbeinu wanted to preserve the dignity of the nation, so he alluded to past failings with sensitivity and restraint, but he delivered much more than mere “words.” Thus, the question remains: If this is tochachah, call it tochachah. Why disguise its true identity?
I think the Torah is teaching us a profound lesson concerning the nature of rebuke. Words in and of themselves are neutral. They are a form of communication requiring definition, which occurs when the other party receives, interprets, and internalizes the message. Only when the words find a receptive heart do they crystallize into something more – guidance, correction, which might even effect transformation. If the receiving party deflects, ignores, or resists the communication, the words remain what they were at the onset – just words.
Moshe understood that rebuke receives its designation only after the listener accepts it as such. Thus, by expressing his tochachah as devarim, he was leaving room for Klal Yisrael to receive his message on their own terms. They could hear beneath the surface and choose to grow, or they could ignore it and leave it as mere words hanging in the air. The speaker submitted the content of the message, but it still required the listener to complete the circuit.
This describes the situation from the listener’s perspective. Words of rebuke involve a partnership between the speaker and the listener. The listener may be prepared to accept the rebuke, but not every rebuke deserves that honored designation. When criticism emanates from self-interest, arrogance, or from a disconnect between what one demands of others and what he expects from himself – it is not rebuke, but condescension. It does not elevate, but diminishes. Such words, regardless of their depth or eloquence, never rise above the level of empty sound.
True rebuke requires sincerity, humility and love. It must emerge from a place of shared responsibility in which the speaker feels the pain of the other’s shortcoming as his own. Only then do the words carry weight; only then can they penetrate.
Thus, the Torah calls them devarim, because even the most powerful message remains merely words unless two conditions are met: the speaker is genuine; and the listener is willing to hear the message. We need both: integrity of the speaker; and receptivity on the part of the subject of the rebuke. Only then is it tochachah. Otherwise, the parties drift away from one another, leaving nothing but words echoing in the wind.
The sincerity of the rebuker is difficult to ascertain unless the rebuker is a man of the highest integrity, not only when interacting with others, but especially when he confronts himself. In other words, we convince ourselves that our intentions are noble, when, in fact, the rebuke is acting to satisfy an inner sense of envy or a low opinion that he has of the person he is rebuking.
Horav Yitzchak Aizik Sher, zl, was walking with his father-in-law, the Alter, zl, of Slabodka, when they chanced upon a group of people acting indecently, in a manner disgraceful to Judaism. [It was beyond Torah. It was an outrage even for someone who was Jewish, but not a Torah scholar.] Rav Sher was beside himself. Seething with anger, he was about to go over to the group and excoriate them for their indecent behavior. The Alter stopped him, saying, “Before you protest, be completely certain that you are acting on behalf of Heaven and not simply to satisfy your zealous nature. Are you acting on behalf of Hashem, or are you assuaging your anger?”
Years later, Rav Sher said that he realized how insightful and correct the Alter had been. By now, he had thoroughly studied his character and emotions, and he realized that, at the time, had he acted, he would have been doing so to mollify his personal indignity – not acting on behalf of Heaven.
The Alter, zl, m’Novoradok spent much of his life introspecting to make certain that everything that he did, every position which he took, was not tainted by personal interest. As such, the following story is a window into the type of person that he was. At one point, the yeshivah was experiencing a severe financial crisis. In Siberia, when this happened, it meant they simply had no food. The talmidim, as well as the Rebbeim of Novoradok, were suffering stoically from severe hunger pains. The hanhalah decided to travel quite some distance to solicit a well-known, wealthy person who was incapable of separating himself from his wealth.
When the Rebbeim realized the extreme cold to which they would be subject, they came up with excuses, maintaining that visiting this man was a waste of time. He was well-known as a tightwad who would give nothing to yeshivos and Torah study. They thought the case was closed, until the Alter said, “We will journey to his mansion.” Finally, they argued that it was a waste of time. He would not give them a chance to argue, and beg off from traveling to the man’s home. He insisted that they make the trip, and only once they were standing outside the man’s home could they discuss whether it was worth knocking on the door and soliciting his participation in helping the financially strapped yeshivah. He explained that presently they were being “bribed” by the freezing cold, thus making it easy to rationalize not going. Once they were at his house, however, already having suffered the frigid weather, they could render a rational, unbiased opinion.
The Alter traveled extensively for the yeshivah – both to raise funds and to establish more Torah centers in the spiritually desolate wastelands of Russia. One of his travels took him to the home of a Jew who was quite opinionated. When the Alter queried him concerning the kashrus situation in the city, the man replied, “I will tell the Rav a secret. I do not eat from the local shechitah, due to rumors about the shochet’s hashkafah. Word has it that he is under the influence of the Haskalah, Enlightenment.”
The Alter countered, “I do not have to accept the rumors because as far as I am concerned, the shochet has a chezkas kashrus, status of being an accepted kosher slaughterer. You, however, by accepting the slander, fall under the halachic rubric of shavyei anafshai k’chaticha d’isura; “He has made himself like a piece of forbidden substance.” (Once a person declares something to be prohibited upon himself, even if, in fact, it is not – he is forbidden to eat it.)
“No! No!” the man quickly interjected. “I personally rely on him. I just thought that perhaps the Rav might not. I do not pass judgment upon a person based on slanderous rumors.”
The Alter rejoindered, “See, when it comes to you personally, you are lenient, but when it does not include you, suddenly you are a zealot.” When a person suspects another fellow of wrongdoing, he should first introspect his personal behavior to make certain that vested interest is not shaping his opinion. One must be “squeaky clean” before he passes judgment on others.
