The following words have been penned in tribute to my late wife, Sarah bas Tzvi Yosef a”h, an eishes chayil who all her life embraced the virtue of silence with wisdom

“Shimon, his son, says: ‘All my life I was raised among the Sages, and I found nothing better for the body than silence’ ” (Pirkei Avos 1:17).

The Shimon quoted here is the son of the nasi, Rabban Gamliel, whom he succeeded during the tumultuous era preceding the destruction of the Second Beis Hamikdash. Shimon ben Gamliel’s advice is surprising in that it diverges from the words of the previous sages; he’s not discussing only the need or importance of silence, nor is he sufficing with his observation that a person would do well to learn the art of silence, in the style of the other sagely advice given in these chapters.

Rabban Shimon tells us how he reached this conclusion. It seems that more than he wanted to teach us to hold our tongues, he wanted to focus our attention on the Sages and their silence. Because really, we don’t learn the value of silence from wise men but from fools! It’s through their mindless chatter that we are able to discern the tremendous harm caused by one extraneous word, or by the thoughtless perception of events that distort concepts and realities.

And what did Rabban Shimon mean anyway? Was he challenging the very concept of speech? Was he suggesting that we take a vow of silence like monks in a monastery? Speech is the means of communication that distinguishes man from beast. It’s by virtue of this Divine faculty, as evinced by “He breathed into his nostrils the soul of life” (Bereishis 2:7), explained according to the Zohar as “a speaking spirit,” that we are able to express lofty, pure thoughts, through which the great thinkers in all generations convey the richness of their ideas. And from where could Rabban Shimon himself have drawn his Torah wisdom and greatness if not from the spoken words of the Sages?

You might say Rabban Shimon be Gamliel’s goal was to warn against forbidden speech – lashon hara, rechilus, falsehood, flattery, mockery, and the like, and that he learned from the very refined, exalted speech of the Sages, among whom he grew up. But the commentators are quick to point out that warnings about explicit Torah transgressions are not in the spirit of Mishnah Avos. Those are fundamental tenets, while Pirkei Avos is about piety, humility, kindness, and ethics – in other words, going beyond the letter of the law.

And so, when we delve into the deeper meaning, we discover that Rabban Gamliel wasn’t speaking of silence as the absence of speech, but rather for the sake of speech, something that could only be learned from the Sages.

Commenting on this mishnah in Derech Chaim, the Maharal explains that the power of speech is attached to man’s physical dimension, despite its source being in man’s spiritual/intellectual dimension. Therefore, the lesson of silence is taught in relation to the physical body, as opposed to simply teaching that silence is good for man. The force of man’s physical dimension stands in opposition to the force of his “sechel,” his spiritual/intellectual dimension. Speech is the physical activity that is the maximum utilization of man’s sechel, but is still in essence an activity built on the physical dimension of the human being. While he is talking, his physical dimension is activated, and this prevents the complete functioning of his “sechel.” For man to operate with the full force of his sechel, he must be in a state of silence. It is only when man is led by his sechel that he can avoid mistakes.

Human speech, which strings syllables into understandable words, and words into complete, logical sentences is an amazing human faculty. It’s still not fully understood how humans translate thought symbols into concepts that can be communicated to others, according to one’s temperament and tendencies. However, a deeper look reveals an essential difference between types of speech, a difference that the Maharal alludes to.

In Alei Shur, Rav Shlomo Wolbe ztz”l explains that there are two opposing levels of sechel: the “speaking” sechel and the “intellectual” sechel.

It really doesn’t take great thought to discern that the cheers of excited fans at a football game, witticisms quipped at a party, banal conversation over coffee, and basically, all the mundane exchanges and chitchat that fill our days and nights are primarily the product of our physicality: the movement of our lips, palate, and throat, powered by our mind, which responds to the stimuli of that moment. Such speech certainly involves basic intelligence, common sense, and logic. Nevertheless, it is “speaking” sechel, lacking inspiration and idealism, unlike the intellectual sechel which affects the quality of speech, making it more spiritual and lofty, and which we rarely encounter other than among elevated individuals.

In seeking the secret to connecting with the intellectual sechel, and hence, to achieving the more lofty speech, Rabban Gamliel arrived at silence — the bridge between the intellectual sechel and a person’s speech.

“Silence is a great avodah,” continues Rabbi Wolbe. “It is not the absence of speech. There are times when silence ‘says’ a lot more than words, as we read in Tehillim (65:2): ‘To You, silence is praise.’ One who hasn’t mastered the art of silence … may see awesome sights and hear beautiful, deep ideas that have the power to arouse but he is not aroused. Because he is compelled to speak, to give his opinion.”

Thus, Rav Wolbe explains how silence is actually a creative, dynamic force that flows from the depths of the soul like the bubbling waters of a spring. Chazal called such silence an art, as it creates and defines a person, raising him above the physical dimension where he spends most of his life, and leading him on a quest through which he can arrive at his true self.

There is also a profound interconnection between silence and solitude, as one who knows how to be silent also knows how to relish solitude. This doesn’t mean that one should refrain from speech altogether, or that one should constantly seclude oneself. Most people are social beings, and it is to them – the median normal – that the Mishnah is speaking. And such a person should not only relish an occasional hour of seclusion and silence, he should actively seek it.

In the natural scheme of things, all people encounter times when they are compelled to be alone – why not use those times as a measure of your level of spirituality? When a quiet hour descends upon you and you are able to fill it with contemplation and introspection, that is a sign of the intellectual sechel.

“Many flee from seclusion as if from fire. It suddenly brings them face to face with a stranger, themselves, someone they’re really not interested in getting to know, and so they hurry away to the next distraction,” writes Rav Wolbe. But out of this seclusion and silence grows the power of introspection, true conviction, and a deep connection to one’s inner truth. Isn’t that better than all that noise?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 758)