Breaking the Silence Without Breaking Each Other©️
- Rabbi David Baum
- Aug 2
- 8 min read
Parashat Devarim and Tisha B’Av
Three weeks can feel short, but a lot can happen in that time. Think about the three weeks between the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av, when ancient Jerusalem went from under siege to completely destroyed.
In the three weeks, I was gone, The Epstein Files were on top of the nation’s minds, Sydney Sweeney wore jeans, and some people really did not like it. Also, everyone thought twice about getting on the kiss cam at concerts. A nation argued about why we were so obsessed with the story. They discussed how it shows we need a cultural shift, the breakdown of morality in our country, and the collapse of the family. They also noted that we need to grow up and that sometimes a meme is just a meme.
And, the next big story, the war in Gaza, and more particularly, the humanitarian crisis that has led many to say that Gazans are on the cusp of starvation. And both stories have something in common: everyone has a strong opinion about it, and there has been plenty of reproof given openly on social media, both in individual statements by Jews, whether they represent just themselves or thousands of other Jews.
I opened my email to letters asking me to sign on to tell the Israeli government to end the genocide in Gaza; then another letter asking American Jewish leaders and institutions, who have been silent through the war, to speak out against the dark path the Netanyahu government is taking us down. To stand for our values with courage and say that the horrors unfolding in Gaza cannot be justified, and to demand the Israeli government end this war and bring the hostages home now. Let history show, the letter said, that we didn’t stay silent; when our values were tested, we stood firm for them. Of course, the tagline to really make me immediately sign on to the letter:
Silence is Complicity: It’s Time For a Reckoning.
Frankly, in the age of social media, when everyone has a platform, I don’t think that silence is the issue. And then, I got sent articles from rabbis who said the opposite, like Rabbi Stuart Weintraub, who wrote, “At a time when Jews and the Jewish state are under attack from so many directions, one would hope that we could at least expect support from our rabbis. But instead, many engage in virtue signaling, or what in football terms is referred to as “piling on.”’
Taken a step further though, one can argue that even if the worst was true, a Jew never publicly says anything bad about another Jew and especially Israel.
The two values at play here are the universal values of “I am only for myself, what am I?” vs the particularistic values of “if I am not for myself, who will be for me?”, and the urgency is now. But there are other values to think of, and one of those values actually has to do both with this situation, the war in Gaza and the humanitarian crisis, and the Kiss Cam story featuring Cold Play and a now unemployed CEO and VP of a tech firm no one knew about until three weeks ago: Tochecha, or reprimand.
Tochecha has many different translations; it can be a harsh critique, or it could be constructive criticism. Even when coupled with nice things, criticism is never an easy pill to swallow.
This week’s parashah, the first parashah of the final book of the Torah, Deuteronomy, begins with the words:
אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶל־כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל בְּעֵ֖בֶר הַיַּרְדֵּ֑ן בַּמִּדְבָּ֡ר בָּֽעֲרָבָה֩ מ֨וֹל ס֜וּף בֵּֽין־פָּארָ֧ן וּבֵֽין־תֹּ֛פֶל וְלָבָ֥ן וַחֲצֵרֹ֖ת וְדִ֥י זָהָֽב׃
These are the words that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan.—Through the wilderness, in the Arabah near Suph, between Paran and Tophel, Laban, Hazeroth, and Di-zahab…
The commentators ask, why does the last book of Torah begin in this way, bringing up these seemingly random places they traveled to during the journey? Rashi quotes the midrash and says, “אלה הדברים THESE ARE THE WORDS — Because these are words of reproof and he is enumerating here all the places where they provoked God to anger. But, he doesn’t mention the name of the sins themselves to protect them. It’s like your father not mentioning the $3,000 hotel bill for damages, but reminding you that it happened in Las Vegas ten years ago so don’t let it happen again. Furthermore, he spoke these words to all of Israel, and he invited them to speak up if they disagreed with him, and no one denied what he said they did.
In Leviticus 19:17, we read the commandment,
לֹֽא־תִשְׂנָ֥א אֶת־אָחִ֖יךָ בִּלְבָבֶ֑ךָ הוֹכֵ֤חַ תּוֹכִ֙יחַ֙ אֶת־עֲמִיתֶ֔ךָ וְלֹא־תִשָּׂ֥א עָלָ֖יו חֵֽטְא׃
You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kin but incur no guilt on their account.
This is the commandment, so the question is, why do are we given this commandment. And here are all the other questions:
What does it mean to be commanded not to hate your brother in your heart, how would that work? We have an obligation to reprimand our relatives so that we do not incur guilt because of their sins. What does this mean on a surface and deeper level? How do we reprimand them, in public, in private? In the age of social media and instant communication, with various settings from public to private, what can I say and what can I not say? How do we offer criticism to the ones we love? How can we be critical of Israel while also loving her?
Rashi offers some advice. Regarding rebuking others, he says we should not do it in public. He quotes the Talmudic passage which says that when one embarrasses someone in public, their face becomes white, therefore, it is like killing them. If you rebuke someone in public, you now bear serious sin.
So, it’s clear it must be done respectfully and privately. Can I just do it once though? How often do I need to say I want the war to end?
In the Talmud, Bava Metzia, discusses this line, reflecting on the doubled language “hokhei’ach tokhiach,” teaching that this isn’t a one-time obligation—it’s a persistent one. If we truly care for someone, we don’t give up after one or two conversations. The Talmud imagines a student asking: “Maybe we only have to speak up once or twice?” But Rava answers, “No—if it takes a hundred times, we still have a responsibility to try.”
And it’s not just about hierarchy. The verse doesn’t say a teacher must rebuke a student, or the wise must correct the simple. No—it teaches that everyone must speak up when something is wrong, even if it means a student calling in a teacher.
Tochecha, rebuke, when done with love and integrity, is an act of spiritual responsibility; not just toward the other person, but toward the community, and toward our own souls.
And, we also have a teaching in the Talmud that warns us against reprimanding our fellow when we know that our advice will not be listened to. As we learn in Yebamot 65b, from Rabbi Ile’a, who taught us, Just as it is a mitzva for a person to say that which will be heeded, so is it a mitzva for a person not to say that which will not be heeded. In other words, one should not rebuke those who will be unreceptive to the message.
What is clear to me though is that reprimand cannot be separated from not hating your fellow Jew. We are reminded of this especially on the Shabbat before Tisha B’av, when we are reminded that the second Temple was destroyed because of Sinat Chinam, hatred unbound between Jews.
We are living in very confusing times. Truth is harder to come by than ever before. We do not know which news organizations to believe any more because so many have shown their bias towards Israel. Is it negligence or is it a conscious plan?
At the end of this week’s parashah, we are reminded of the tribes of Reuben and Gad. These two tribes had their land on the other side of the Jordan. I cannot help but look at ourselves as like those tribes: part of the nation, but separated by a barrier. They did not have to fight along with the rest of the tribes to conquer the land, but they did.
So what do I think? Is Israel committing genocide this time, that finally now the Gazans are going to die en masse from starvation? I don’t believe that evidence shows starvation, but Gazans are hungry and it is still a humanitarian crisis without the starvation. Hamas started the crisis and should take responsibility for it completely, but at the same time, Israel has responsibility to the civilians of Gaza. Israel has already taken unprecedented measures never seen in the history of warfare to feed their own enemies and their civilian population. Israel is also fighting an enemy who, for the first time in history, is using their own population’s suffering as part of their strategy.
A brilliant suggestion I heard from a leader in the Hostage movement whose family was taken hostage by Hamas told us that Israel should be throwing bread, not flour, from the skies to Gazans, to flood the streets with perishable foods so Hamas cannot store the food and use them as weapons. I am convinced by security experts and journalists who say that Israel’s strategy of pressuring Hamas through withholding food over the last six months has not worked.
But you didn’t come here for my expertise in geopolitics.*
I believe, that my unique voice is best served here, and to give you a different message, the message of this sermon: before we give our thoughts, before we reprimand, we should take some time loving also, especially before we stand up for what we believe in.
This is perhaps the greatest lesson my mother taught me, her yahrzeit we are observing tomorrow on Tisha B’av. In her ethical will to us, she wrote these words: “As you know, your grandparents came from Poland, they worked very hard to give us a better life and so has your father and me. What I want to depart to you is for you to be true to yourself. To remember, your upbringing, to be happy with your lot.”
Her parents survived four years at Auschwitz, they lost everything, and almost their entire families save two cousins total between the two of them. She never wanted us to forget that; but also, to be happy with our lot; the legacy of being a Jew, no matter how difficult it may be. It’s part of my legacy; as a Jew, I have no other choice but to love the Jewish people, no matter who, because in the end, when we were marked for slaughter, no one cared what type of Jew you were.
And I carry the burden that destruction can come for our people; that it could have happened on October 7th, and despite Israel’s military victories, it can still happen.
But I also hold the obligation to offer tochecha, rebuke, in the right way. Sometimes, we cannot remain silent, as we learn in our tradition.
So what now? In a world filled with noise, memes, outrage, and endless commentary, how do we fulfill the mitzvah of tochecha without becoming part of the problem? How do we criticize with love, caution, and courage?
The answer may be found in what Moshe does at the start of Devarim—not shouting over others, but speaking with care, in code, to a people he loves more than life itself. His words were not only rebuke; they were part of a final blessing. And like Moshe, if we want our words to matter, we must begin from a place of relationship, of memory, and of deep responsibility.
Tomorrow, as we mark Tisha B’Av and remember the danger of sinat chinam, but we also remember that our survival has always depended not on our perfection, but on our capacity to hold each other close even when we disagree. And if we must offer critique, let it be from within, not as enemies of each other, but as family with a shared fate.
May we be the kind of people who speak truth, yes—but only after listening deeply. Who love fiercely, even when it hurts. Who carry the memory of our people’s pain with enough humility to approach rebuke not with rage, but with reverence.
And may we merit, this Shabbat and this Tisha B’Av, to rebuild what was broken—not just with critique, but with care. Not just with words, but with presence. And not just with passion, but with love.
*I highly recommend these podcasts who I believe cut through the spin and offer a genuine take on the situation based on facts.
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