Love Ya!
Mattot/Masei 5780
Rabbi Shaanan Gelman and Rabbi Ariel Rackovsky
Hershele Ostropoler was a real person.
Renowned for his wit and cleverness, he was employed as something of a court
jester in the court of Reb Boruch of Mezhibozh, one of the early chassidic
masters. Reb Boruch was known for his tendency toward melancholy and his foul
temper, which only Hershele was able to assuage. It is believed that Hershele
died as the result of an accident brought on by Reb Boruch’s temper. Over the
years, Hershele became a folk character, who scraped by in life by his
ingenuity and wit alone, and a whole genre of Hershele stories developed around
his legend. In one such tale[1],
Hershele was traveling along the road when he came to a small inn. He was
starving, but as usual, had no money to pay for room and board. He went up to
the door and politely asked if he could have a bite to eat and a pile of hay in
the stables on which to rest for the night. The innkeeper and his wife refused.
"You're going to say no to me?" snapped Hershel.
"Y-yes," stammered the
innkeeper, beginning to get worried.
"You know what happens if you refuse
me? I hereby take a solemn oath that if you refuse me, I will do what my father did
when someone said no to him!”
"Give him what he wants," hissed
the innkeeper's wife into his ear. "Whatever his father did, it must be
something terrible!"
Agreeing with his wife, the innkeeper
allowed Hershele to stay for the night, even offering him a large meal and a
place at their table. After dinner, he offered Hershele one of his finest
rooms, to which Hershele happily agreed.
"So," he said as the dishes were
cleared away. "Now that everything is settled, I'm curious: what did your
father do?"
"Well, since you ask so nicely, I'll
tell you," Hershele replied. "When my father was alone starving on
the road, and he was refused anything to eat, he'd go to bed hungry!"
Hershele’s vow was a scare tactic, but
ultimately as empty as was his stomach.
This week’s Torah reading cautions us of the severity of empty promises:
אִישׁ֩ כִּֽי־יִדֹּ֨ר נֶ֜דֶר לַֽה אֽוֹ־הִשָּׁ֤בַע שְׁבֻעָה֙ לֶאְסֹ֤ר אִסָּר֙ עַל־נַפְשׁ֔וֹ
לֹ֥א יַחֵ֖ל דְּבָר֑וֹ כְּכָל־הַיֹּצֵ֥א מִפִּ֖יו יַעֲשֶֽׂה׃
If a man makes a vow to God or takes an
oath imposing an obligation on himself, he shall not profane his words; he
must carry out all that has crossed his lips.
What is the meaning of this injunction?
Perhaps the most often quoted approach is that of Rashi, who says that failure
to fulfill a vow represents a moral weakness. As Rashi says, לא יעשה דבריו חולין-
don’t make your words mundane or dishonorable. Don't make lofty promises you
cannot keep, and don’t back out of commitments once you’ve made them.
Rabbi Menachem Ben Tzion Sacks
(1896-1987), who dedicated his life to building Torah institutions in Chicago,
authored a collection of beautiful divrei Torah titled Menachem Tzion. In his commentary on this week’s Parshah, Rabbi
Sacks applies this to the all too common tendency of politicians to over-promise
and under-deliver. The moment the election cycle is over, their promises
evaporate. This is not that much different from a person who, stirred by a
moment of elevation or crisis, promises to undertake a course of Torah study,
to contribute to a worthy tzedakah or
to curtail idle gossip, and then flames out once the moment has passed. It is
for this reason that Rashi cautions us לא יעשה דבריו חולין-
don't lose your momentum, your enthusiasm and fervor.
There is another explanation, though,
offered by Rashi’s grandson, the Rashbam. He renders this injunction as יחלל דברולא -
do not take something lofty and turn it into something trite or cliched. Taking
a serious concept and turning it into a slogan or a meaningless, overused
catchphrase is a form of profanation. When we tell someone we love them, it is
supposed to mean something. It signifies trust, vulnerability, and emotional risk.
Today, though, it has been stripped of its emotional heft, shortened into a
perfunctory “Love ya![2]”
or, even worse, a heart or puckered-lips emoji.
In a subplot of an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David’s good
friend and fellow comedian Richard Lewis, is dating a woman and commits a
nearly fatal faux pas, referring to her on a second or third date as “honey.”
Scared off by his premature use of such an endearing term, she begins to
withdraw, and even tells him that “they need to talk.” Frantically, Richard
calls Larry and asks him for advice. Larry offers a graceful solution: invite
her to join them at a restaurant immediately, and make sure she sees that he
refers to everyone as “honey.” In so
doing, he resuscitated the relationship temporarily- but he completely removed
any potency from that word.
As an astute observer of the human
condition, the actual Larry David was highlighting this foible of ours. If you
tell your spouse that you love them, and you fail to live up to those words-
that is an embodiment of Rashi’s interpretation, לא יעשה דבריו חולין-where
our words are grand and our actions don’t match. Even more egregious, though,
is telling your spouse you love them, and then applying the same phrase to your
favorite flavor of ice cream or a podcast you enjoy. Doing that cheapens the
holy institution of love, and violates לא יחלל דברו In truth, this applies far beyond the confines of an intimate relationship such
as marriage. Our words and gestures are most powerful when they are deployed
judiciously. If you “like”
every Facebook or Instagram post , or use the word “this.” every time you agree with its message, then your approval
carries even less weight than normal. If, in pre-Corona days, you doled out
hugs and kisses indiscriminately, your hugs didn’t convey very much other than
that you were a “hugger.” People who become
outraged at every disappointment, and with little provocation, lose the effect
of their anger. If every wedding, every book, every commercial releases the
floodgates, what is really worth crying over? These final two points were
underscored by our sages in describing Tisha B’Av. The Jewish people fumed and cried for no
reason when they heard the negative report of the meraglim and in response God gave us a perennial reason to cry - אתם בכיתם בכייה של חנם, אני תן לכם בכייה לדורות. Why would God issue such a harsh decree
simply because of an overreaction?! The
answer is clear. We didn't just
overreact- we destroyed the potency of our tears and cheapened the value of our
emotions. We are expected instead to
make our words and emotions meaningful. This is our charge for the period of
the Three Weeks, the bein hametzarim.
Let’s commit to fulfilling our words, and elevating them through precision, judiciousness
and maximum impact.
[1]
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hershel_of_Ostropol
[2] A similar point is made by
Mel Schwartz here- https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/shift-mind/201904/our-words-matter%3famp
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