One of the current terms of religious discussion that I’ve grown to suspect is “spirituality.” I’m tired of hearing people say, “I’m not religious; I’m spiritual,” which often means I don’t have any outward signs of religious or transcendent life, but, trust me, I possess many lofty sentiments.

I find myself increasingly able to tune out the world around me. I find I don’t always need a quiet space to think clearly, pray, or meditate. In fact, I meditate quite often on long bus trips.

I tend to be a quiet guy, always desiring to choose my words carefully. I suppose part of this is influenced by people I've met journeying through life who have a lot to say but tend not to deliver.

Standing up for what you believe in is a good thing. In fact, this is a value one can find in a number of religions and philosophies of life. Often, our society views the use of words as the most powerful means to stand up for something.

The middah of silence brings us back to the opening word of the Shema—Listen! To listen well, to deeply hear another’s word, we must still the inner flow of our own words.

Humility can display itself in many forms. One way it can show itself is in behavior that is coupled with the middah of silence.

Finding the balance between speech and silence can be challenging. Sometimes, we are in situations when it seems like we have to fill in the gaps with conversation.

Silence is a powerful thing that can be good or bad. If you see a crime being committed and someone being hurt or killed and you keep silent, it is sinful. How many people stood by and watched the Nazi brutes beat up, and haul away Jewish men, women, and children? How many kept silent as Jews went to their deaths? Standing by and saying nothing was wrong.

The shofar-blast of judgment, its call to return to God, can be truly heard only when other sounds are silenced. We hear God’s voice most fully when other voices are still.

It can be an easy thing to treat our failed promises as mistakes that we try to make up, as opposed to outright “sins.” A close friend of mine once told me that saying you will do something and failing is not much different than saying you did something when you didn’t

Several years ago I had the opportunity to attend one of the last public appearances of one of the most renowned philosophers of the last half of the 20th century. At the outset there must have been 3000 academics, philosophers and theologians who assembled in the auditorium in Toronto to hear the famous man.

Silence is one of the great casualties of the digital age. A generation ago, it was already hard to escape the drone of the broadcast media, especially as we started to put a radio or TV in every room and develop portable units that we could take anywhere. Now, in the digital age, it’s much worse, with TV, radio, internet, MP3 player, and much more all lodged within the phone in our pocket or purse.

The difference between self-expression and communication is fairly simple. Self-expression does not require listening or silence, while communication involves both.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Pr. 18:21); we can abuse it both by speaking and by withholding. Indeed, I have had more regret in my life over things I should have said and didn’t—positive, affirming, healing things—than over things I did say and shouldn’t have. The tongue has great power, life-giving power, when our speech is gracious and seasoned with salt.

Silence is something we try to avoid. If there is silence in a conversation, we feel awkward, and say something just to fill the void in the conversation. The problem is, when people say something just to fill the silence, often the quality of what is said lacks substance.

Silence is not one of the first things that comes to mind when thinking about the davening experience. Any given service is saturated with words, words that one must say to fulfill one’s obligation to pray before God.

Recently I heard of the business failure of a friend. This was not just anybody, but one of the most generous men I know. Though he is not a wealthy man, he has always been generous giving large sums to charity and always donating his time and talents to the body of Messiah. At times like this it is easy to ask, “where is God?” and “why is He so silent?”

Yaakov’s short letter is loaded with instructions regarding proper speech. Yaakov reminds us that we oughtn’t swear by anything, but let “yes” and “no” suffice (5:12). He instructs us to not judge others with our words (4:11-12).

“Come, my children, listen to me, and I will teach you to fear Hashem. Who is the man who desires life, to love each day and see only goodness in them? Let him then guard his tongue from speaking evil and his lips from speaking deceit. Turn away from evil and do what is good, desire peace and pursue it.” — Psalm 34

Back in the early 1990's, an unknown figure named Erin Brokovich emerged. She was a single mother of three, working in a law firm in California, who wanted to know what medical records had to do with a real estate file. What she found out led to the biggest settlement on record for a civil class action lawsuit.

The concept of silence has great meaning when we think of words as feathers - light and easy to take flight. When we consider every word with more intent and purpose, then we realize that there are times when we want words to spread, and times when they should stay at bay.

If Torah is about loving your neighbor, not doing what is hateful, and honoring Hashem, how many times can we count when our tongue accomplishes none of these goals? How many? Too many.