The betrayal that is silence

Deuteronomy 32: 1-52

“Really? No one ever said a word? Nothing? Not a single person?”

“No. No one said a thing. Not to acknowledge what happened. Not to apologize. Nor explain why they did what they did. Not a word.”

“After everything? Total silence?! What a disappointment!”

“Tell me about it. It’s as if they all vowed never to speak to me again — and kept their word.”

This heartbreaking lament? It belongs to Moshe Rabbeinu — Moses, our teacher: “Give ear, O heavens,” he declares, “Let the earth hear the words of my mouth … ” (Deut. 32:1)

Everyone knows something of Moses’ pain. Live long enough, and you’ve been hurt by another’s silence — or perhaps, you’ve hurt someone with your own.

In this week’s Torah portion, Ha’azinu, after decades spent leading the Israelites through the wilderness, Moses delivers a final address. His words read as both an indictment of communal failure and an invitation to moral renewal. But louder than anything Moses said was what he hears in return.

Crickets. Empty air. Nothing but a deafening silence.

After all they’d shared over so many years, when Moses opens his heart to the people and speaks, they respond with a collective, soul-shattering silence.

Over the centuries, the Jewish people’s decision to say nothing has stirred both curiosity and concern. In the fifth century, the authors of Midrash Tanchuma saw the Israelites’ lack of response as a collapse of moral imagination. Unable to accept Moses’ words, we read, the Israelites withdrew into a shared, shame-filled silence.

Contemporary scholar Avivah Zornberg describes Moses’ speech as “an act of exposure,” suggesting he held up a mirror to the Israelites and, recognizing

themselves, none could bear what they saw.

Their silence, therefore, was more than retreat; it was an evasion of responsibility.

Surely, you and I know something of such estrangements. A disagreement between siblings leads to distance. A partner, parent or child pulls away. A friendship fades into avoidance. A longtime relationship is severed, and never again is a kind word exchanged.

Such righteous silences are sadly too familiar today. And if we’re honest, we’ve likely been on both sides of such a shunning. Sometimes, you and I are the ones left wanting; other times, it is we who chose to turn away.

The Israelites’ greatest failing was not their past mistakes. Though these were significant, such acts could have been addressed and atoned for. Their greatest failure was — at the end of their time together — to encourage the decision (1) to avoid accountability and (2) never to speak to their leader again.

Hear Moses in response to their silence: “They forsook the Rock who bore them; they scorned the God who gave them birth!” (Deut. 32:15) The word Moses uses for “scorned” is yinbalu, which means “they desecrated and dismissed” something precious.

Torah suggests the “something precious” was our covenant with God; but in truth, the Israelites’ silence scorned the very bonds by which all Jews are tethered, still to this day.

Thus, Moses directs his words beyond those before him — speaking instead to heaven and earth — which is to say, Moses addresses his words to you and me.

So it is, during the Days of Awe, we ask ourselves: Where have we fallen into a betraying silence? Where might our own silence — however justified or encouraged in the moment — be rooted in an older pride or shame? What might any of us say or do now to begin making things right?

As we enter 5786, may we use our words, rather than continue to wound others by withholding them — lest our silence be our longest, loudest legacy. PJC

Rabbi Aaron Bisno is the Frances F. & David R. Levin Rabbinic Scholar at Rodef Shalom Congregation and serves as the rabbi at Temple Ohav Shalom in the North Hills. This column is a service of the Greater Pittsburgh Jewish Clergy Association.