The Sound of Silence

15 Jun The Sound of Silence

I have found that some of my greatest lessons have come from learning from mistakes. Not long after I moved to Raleigh, a congregant’s mother passed away. Upon seeing this person a short while later, I expressed condolences at his mother’s passing. He appreciated the sentiment and remarked that she had been sick for quite some time.

Upon hearing that, I responded, “at least she’s in a better place now.”

He looked at me and retorted “what the (blank) do you know about where my mother is right now?!”

I was taken aback and muttered something about the afterlife being a tenant of Judaism, but after processing the interaction, I realized that my well-intentioned remark was unhelpful and borderline insensitive.

There is a time to discuss the many sources in Torah that discuss the journey of the soul and there’s time to simply be present for someone in pain.

In speaking to people, I’ve observed that the living often instinctively sense that their loved one has gone to heaven, but this does not change their grief. They aren’t feeling bad for the deceased; they’re feeling sad picturing a future without them. That pain can’t be fully soothed by assurances that the departed is in a better place.  Likewise, attempting to comfort someone by saying “G-d only takes the special ones early” can be hurtful and misguided to the one grieving.

In this week’s Torah portion of Shemini, after the consecration of the  Mishkan   (the portable  tabernacle in the desert), Aaron’s two sons,  Nadav and  Avihu , were consumed by a “heavenly fire” when they entered the  Holy of Holies without permission or authority to do so. When Aaron learned the heartbreaking news, he was silent. 

He was not without emotion; the commentaries tell us that he was weeping! But when Aaron heard  Moses ’ explanation for their deaths, that  G‑d  considered his children more cherished and righteous then Moses and Aaron themselves and that they had died while sanctifying G-d’s name, Aaron was silent, while absorbing his brother’s profound messages.

We don’t have the luxury of being on Moses’ caliber and having the ability to soften the blow with consoling messages from G-d.

So for the rest of us, what can one say to comfort the mourner or someone grieving?

Our sages provided some soundless advice. They advised that we say absolutely nothing. Sit quietly. Let the mourner initiate and follow their lead. Let them dictate the subject, tone and flow of the conversation. If you listen carefully, you will know exactly what to say.

Sometimes, there are simply no answers—at least none that we can comprehend with our limited intelligence. Sometimes, life makes absolutely no sense from our perspective and (dis)advantage point, not having access to where the soul is in her spiritual journey.

Someone is in distress, and you struggle for answers as to why they are suffering or why an inexplicably horrible event has happened, G-d forbid. When we accept that we don’t have the answers, we can open ourselves up to the wisdom of silence. Then, if and when we choose to speak or act (because there are times when we must speak and times we must act), we will serve the moment or the person or the situation in the right way. 

While every person reacts to grief differently, offering empathy, compassion and a silent but warm embrace (or simply offering the heartfelt words “I’m so sorry”) is appreciated. 

I once read this valuable piece of advice.  When in doubt, pause and say this acronym to yourself: WAIT, which stands for: “Why Am I Talking?” Just as we are to use the gift of speech for the good, let us also learn to use the gift of silence. Sometimes, it’s just what is needed.