I am not a sports fan. 

When my children were growing up, they loved baseball,  and were thrilled to attend a game at any opportunity. 

At some point, the kids noticed that I always had an excuse not to join them. 

I realized I needed to bite the bullet and go with my kids to one of those games and share an experience that was so important to them. 

Now this is when I am really venturing into true confessions. 

I brought along a book. 

Just in case. 

I cannot tell you one thing about the game, other than we seemed to be sitting very far from the ground. 

But the book…it was awesome, I completed it by the bottom of the ninth. 

I had squirreled away in my bag a book entitled “Tuesdays with Morrie”. If you haven’t had a chance to read it, this is a true story of the end of life conversations a student had with his favorite college professor. These final goodbye talks took place over a series of Tuesdays over span of many months. 

The book discusses a number of themes among them, the value of silence. 

The author shares  a vignette describing a class he once had with Morrie in college. 

Morrie came into class sat down and didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on and became deep and uncomfortable. Yet with the passage of time in silence, the students started noticing every little sound in the room. Some of the students became fidgety while others gazed out the the window in boredom until finally, Morrie, the professor, whispers “what’s happening here?”  

And with that begins a discussion begins about the effect of silence on relationships. 

Rabbi Boruch Leff also loved this section of “Tuesdays with Morrie” and he teaches that “noise let’s us ignore our most precious possession, our true and profound selves”. 

The noise allows us to distract ourselves from dealing with what is truly happening around us. 

Rabbi Leff shares that the Maharal, 16 th century commentator, teaches that speech is derived from the physical facet of a person, while silence allows one to tap into one’s spiritual dimension. 

We are a soul with a body. 

The body does best when it’s guided by the soul. 

So the Maharal teaches, there is nothing better for the body than silence.  

We can hear the quietest noises, we can hear our innermost selves, perhaps we can even hear our souls.

Sometimes being silent is difficult. 

There are also different types of silence. 

Ever been subjected to the “silent treatment”? 

Even though no words of anger are articulated, the anger that is expressed is sharp, biting and painful. 

We almost want to cry out “just say something already, the silence is deafening!”

This kind of silence creates distance, a wall which separates two individuals from one another. 

There is another silence. 

Silence is golden. 

Sometimes it’s better to say nothing at all. 

This kind of silence can be filled with serenity. 

It may be used as a means to provide space to reflect, think, reframe, even make connection. 

Perhaps silence can give us the power to let go and accept. 

It may be defined as a companionable silence. 

In our relationships we often have the option to choose one of these silences. 

Do we sometimes wish we could take back words we spoke rashly, without proper consideration?

Did those words end up doing more damage than good?

If only we had stayed silent!

In this week’s Torah Portion, which is entitled Shemini, we see an example of staying silent at a critical time. 

The Tabernacle has been completed. There is much joy as the celebration of the inauguration of the Tabernacle takes place. 

Then an unspeakable tragedy takes place. 

Two of Aaron’s sons die during the Inauguration. 

Yet, Aaron remains silent. 

He shows a tremendous strength by not expressing his pain at that moment. 

He accepts the painful decree. 

This silence was not one borne of anger, a silent treatment so to speak, but was instead a reaction which marked his faith. 

Sometimes it is appropriate to be silent as King David writes in the book of Psalms

“Be silent before Gd and trust in Him”. 

This golden silence can help build a relationship which can lead to serenity. 

Aaron was silent in the face of his pain and it afforded him a closer spiritual connection. 

He accepted the heavenly decree. 

As a result of this acceptance Gd spoke to Aaron directly in the next verses. This showed that Aaron was able grow closer in his connection to Gd. He used the challenge to grow to new heights. 

Rabbanit Yemima Mizrachi, contemporary Torah teacher in Jerusalem, takes this lesson one step further. She teaches us that Aaron also exercised another type of silence. 

He was quiet in his dialogue with himself. 

He did not turn against himself as a result of this tragedy and blame himself. How often does a parent experience a loss of any kind with a child without immediately berating themselves for all the mistakes they made. 

Aaron remained silent and did not look for anyone to blame.  

Including himself. 

That required a great inner strength. 

Every parent who experiences a rough period with a child knows terrible pain and often we focus that pain inward blaming ourselves. 

Aaron teaches us that the silence comes from true acceptance of the child and the challenge and knowing no one needs to be blamed, including ourselves. 

Aaron the High Priest remained silent in the face of adversity and spoke volumes in that silence, and ultimately taught us a powerful lesson using the voice of his soul. 

As I came to the end of the book, and as the game wound down (if I remember correctly, the Braves lost), I realized that  Morrie suffered from ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease which paralyzes a person and ultimately robs them of their speech. 

Morrie was silenced.  

But the silence he left behind was teeming with beautiful lessons, deep meaning and an eternal soul connection with his student and all of us who were inspired by his messages. 

Perhaps that is a definition of

The Sound of Silence. 

Shabbat Shalom and so much love!