Every Jewish child, even the greatest menace, is inherently holy and good

“For this mitzvah that I command you today… is very near to you in your mouth and in your heart….” (Devarim 30:11–14)

Mefarshim tell us that this pasuk refers to the mitzvah of teshuvah. Teshuvah is accomplished through “your mouth and your heart.” Yet it seems that the order is listed backward here. Shouldn’t teshuvah begin in the heart with feelings of remorse and only afterward should one confess his sins with his mouth? Why does the Torah place the mouth before the heart? (Rabbi Shlomo Caplan, Mishulchan Shlomo)

“C

’mon, I’m also tired, but I’m still moving. There’s no excuse for you to be sitting here immobile.”

Lest you think that sounds like I’m chastising my teenager, I was actually rebuking my cranky washing machine. I talk to inanimate objects.

“You can do it!” I encourage my old car as it gathers the power to make it up a hill. I’ve also been known to have long one-sided conversations with other cars on the street even though my windows are closed and they can’t hear me.

But mostly I talk to myself. “It’s okay, Faigele,” I tell myself when I’m so tired I feel like I’m going to implode. “Soon you’ll go to sleep. Right now, just push a little bit further.”

“Take a deep breath, Faigy,” and don’t respond to the government clerk who seems to be displaying purposeful ignorance to prove his importance.

“You can do it, Faigs,” I tell myself when faced with a mountain of unfolded laundry that never ends.

I talk to myself when I’m alone, but also when people are around me. If they can’t handle listening to me carrying on full conversations with myself, they should stay clear of me.

By placing the mouth first, the Torah teaches us a valuable approach to teshuvah. Most of us find it extremely difficult to make realistic commitments to change, since our hearts are filled with emotional misconceptions about what we need or what satisfies us. How can we change what’s in our hearts? We must talk to ourselves.

Thinking and wanting to change isn’t enough. We must speak with our mouths — to ourselves — why and how we can change. By speaking aloud, we give concrete expression to meaningful ideas. These words are more potent than floating thoughts.

As it says in Mesillas Yesharim: “The external [actions] arouse the internal [feelings].”

Contrary to statistics, my monologues did not begin in middle age. I remember telling my teenage self that it was mind over matter, and I could totally stay awake for 48 hours during color war. And I definitely encouraged myself out loud when we were first married and packing up our small household to move again to another rental.

I knew about self-talk before it became a thing. So I’m quite comfortable with the voice of my brain echoing in my own ears, giving encouragement, rebuke, or just plain old company.

Rav Yisrael Salanter took this idea even further. He advocated repeating various sayings of Chazal repeatedly. When you want to remember something, like a phone number, you keep repeating it. But a simple piece of data has no pushback from our emotions or thoughts. In the emotional state of our modern-day society, this concept is significant.

People in general are uncomfortable being alone with themselves. Why? Because there’s too much static going on in our minds and most of it is negative and painful. As long as we entertain these negative thoughts, we cannot change.

To alter these thought patterns, we need to do something that’s more real and powerful — we need to talk to ourselves. It’s essential that we verbally contradict and refute all the negative thoughts that block the courage we need to change. We can repeat adages from Tanach, Chazal, or even popular expressions. Or we can make up our own sayings. When words of determination emerge from our mouths, we’ll discover that sincere thoughts of teshuvah fill our hearts.

Now, during these days of teshuvah, I carry on long soliloquies with myself.

“What do you really want, Faigy?” I ask. “How are you going to get there?”

“Another year has gone by,” I scold myself. “How are you going to make next year different?”

I’m rarely quiet; I talk to myself constantly.

But the real question remains: Am I listening?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 961)