Loving Rebuke

Of all the unexpected bedfellows of biblical verse, perhaps the most surprising is the close proximity between the commandment to “love your neighbor,” and the obligation to “rebuke your kinsman.” In a small cluster of verses at the heart of what is called “the Holiness Code,” at the center of the central book of the Bible, the core of our sacred scripture, the text reads: “You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Rebuke your kinsman, incur no guilt because of him. You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.” (Leviticus 19:17-18).

Unanticipated as the juxtaposition may be for us and our Rabbinic predecessors, the connection between these two commandments – “to rebuke” and “to love”– is not without some inner logic. Let’s begin with the latter – love. The litmus test for how we interact with others is the “Golden Rule,” to treat others as we would ask to be treated. That part is easy: Do unto others as we would want done to ourselves. Far more interesting, and a bit more complicated is the first part, the negative commandment. Interestingly, the commandment is not “not to hate,” but “not to hate in one’s heart,” in other words, to carry a grudge; that is something we are not allowed to do. We are therefore obligated to confront and verbalize the perceived failures or shortcomings of our neighbor or kinsman. To do otherwise – to harbor a hurt, to allow a resentment to fester – is to fall short in our obligation of “doing unto others.” To reprove someone, according to this logic, is an expression of love. To offer rebuke is to say that you care about someone enough that you insist on being a stakeholder in your relationship. After all, we say to ourselves, at least in the abstract, that those who are most invested in us, those who are concerned for our well-being, those who love us – they, of all people, should be the ones who would tell us if we have stepped out of line. “Haters,” as the song goes “gonna hate.” Lovers, however, Leviticus teaches, will rebuke. More dramatically, the text claims that if we fail to do so, if we keep our complaints to ourselves, then not only have we failed the test of love, but we ourselves become liable; the sin and the guilt shift to us. As Rabbi Yossi ben Hanina taught: “Love without reproof is no love.” (Genesis Rabbah 54:3) The juxtaposition of love and rebuke, fidelity and feedback, commitment and criticism, is not by happenstance and not in opposition. The two are interdependent – two sides of the same coin – constitutive elements to forming and sustaining meaningful relationships.

And yet, as all of us know, rebuke stings. All of us intuitively understand that as friends and as colleagues, as congregants and as clergy, we all need to be able to hear uncomfortable truths about ourselves. And none of us, I hope, would ever presume to be perfect. Each one of us is a work in progress, we all have blind spots, we are all capable of self-improvement. And God knows, we would all rather have people say what they have to say directly to us than behind our backs. As Oscar Wilde once wrote: “A true friend stabs you in the front.” We want to hear it straight, we want the truth, and we know that the test of a strong relationship between individuals or in a community is whether or not we can give and receive feedback constructively towards the common good. In theory, yes, we all know the importance of feedback; in practice, however, our skin is not as thick as we may think it is. We all know how hard it is to receive criticism.

All of which is why we need to be very, very careful and very, very intentional in how we rebuke those we love. This week’s Torah reading, B’hukkotai, contains what is known as the Tokheha, the verses of rebuke, containing some of the most damning, disapproving, and painful passages of our entire biblical tradition. Verse after verse of curses, desolation, and destruction that will befall Israel as a result of their misdeeds. It is rough stuff, a brutal reminder by God of the standard expected of Israel and the consequences of falling short of that standard. But if you listened to the Torah reading, then you also heard that the Tokheha was delivered in a soft undertone. The rabbis understood that this rebuke would be difficult to hear. They knew it would be a bitter pill to swallow and that if its message was going to be absorbed and internalized, and, more importantly, acted upon on by the listener, it would have to be delivered in a manner that could be heard. Rebuke is given, but it is given softly. After all, greater than God’s anger, greater than Israel’s missteps, is God’s love. The goal is not to tear down but to build up. Yes, deliver the news, have the difficult conversations, but whatever must be said must be said carefully, constructively, and, most of all, with love.

It is not easy to give rebuke lovingly. The great sage Rabbi Akiva once wondered aloud if there was a single person in his generation who understood the proper way to deliver rebuke. (Sifra 89a-b) In his code of Jewish law, the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides went to great lengths to codify the appropriate methods of offering feedback. One should, first and foremost, only offer rebuke in private. According to Jewish law, the sin of publicly shaming another person is akin to bloodshed. Maimonides goes on to explain that the person offering the criticism must do so speaking gently and tenderly, pointing out that they are doing so in order to better the other person and to right a relationship that has fallen off course. The goal, Maimonides explains, is never to shame or humiliate another; the goal of criticism is always meant to be restorative.

There are many reasons why when one rebukes, one must do so with great caution and care. To name the most obvious – because you could be wrong! Each one of us, owing to the limitations of our humanity, is only ever aware of our own side of the story. As a dear friend and mentor once taught me, there is a sequence that must take place in offering rebuke: One must first seek to understand and only then seek to be understood. Just imagine how much heartache could be avoided in this world if every difficult conversation would begin not with an accusation, but with a stated desire to listen. To return to where we started, were we to heed the Golden Rule of doing unto others, it would follow that we should offer rebuke in the manner in which we ourselves would want to receive it – from a starting point of presuming good intent, a starting point anchored in humility, a starting point that entertains the possibility that no one person has a lock on the whole truth. Strange to say, but the first step in offering reproof is to listen.

When we offer rebuke, we need to do so softly, because the wise soul understands that our rebuke can say as much about us as it does about the person we are out to critique. The founder of Hasidism, the Baal Shem Tov, once taught that if we see an ugliness in another person, before saying anything, we must first meditate on the presence of that same ugliness in ourselves. More often than not, when I am asked to intervene as a rabbi in a family dispute, between parent and child, between siblings, or between spouses, whatever the substance of the dispute may be, the demeanor of the complainants is eerily similar. Both are too obstinate, both too proud, both too whatever it is to allow for the possibility of seeing the situation from a vantage point other than their own. As Thomas Kempis wrote: “Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be, since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be.” What is your motivation in offering rebuke? Is it pure? Is it sincere? What does it say about you that the other person’s behavior has irked you so? What nerve of yours is that person tapping into? Before we do a deep dive into the wrongdoings of others, before any of us ever offer rebuke, our first step must always be to demonstrate willingness to do a deep dive into our own actions.

When we offer rebuke, we need to do so softly, because our rebuke is meant to restore a relationship, not tear it apart. Never, ever must things get so personal that a relationship cannot rebound. As my father once explained to me: There are certain things you just cannot say. You can never tell a cantor he doesn’t have a good voice; you can never tell a rabbi she is not a scholar; and you can never tell a man his daughter is ugly. There are certain things from which a relationship simply cannot recover, and those things must never be said. Behaviors, flaws, shortcomings and missteps – yes, those must be discussed openly even if awkwardly. But attacks on character, blanket generalizations, and unsubstantiated accusations of ill will we cannot unleash on those we are invested in, on those with whom we are seeking to see another day. Threats, ultimatums, and red lines are all weapons we brandish for lack of confidence in the substance of our actual complaint. If we must cut, then let us always measure twice, pause two beats, and say only the things that speak to our best selves and highest hopes.

Most of all, when we offer rebuke, we need to do so softly, because our rebuke must be – and must be perceived to be – coming from a place of love. Ours is an age of hit and run public discourse, of verbal pugilism, where political points are scored by uttering publicly the most derisive and scarring comments. Not only does such a climate speak to our baser selves, but we know that on a personal level it fails to accomplish the very thing we are seeking when we muster the courage to have difficult conversations with those we love most. We all know that an ill-delivered rebuke results in either shutting the other person down or causing him or her to come back swinging. I, for one, know that the most impactful and result-producing criticisms I have received have been those words spoken softly and privately, bookended with affirmations that though I have disappointed, my dialogue partner held the hope and confidence that I would arrive at new heights. When rebuke came with love, that was when my heart opened up, that was when my soul softened, and I was able to change my deeds so that – I would like to think – I found myself becoming the person I continue to seek to be. To give rebuke is to suggest that someone else could and should be better. At the very least, we should ask ourselves to be our best selves when delivering it.

It is said that when the great rabbi of the nineteenth century Rabbi Israel Salanter would critique his community, he would begin by stating: “Don’t think that I am innocent of all the offenses I am enumerating. I too have committed some of them. All that I am doing, therefore, is speaking aloud to myself, and if anything you might overhear applies to you also, well and good.” (cited in Joseph Telushkin, Words That Hurt, p. 98) When it comes to giving and receiving rebuke, I am well aware that I, too, am a work in progress, right there with you in seeking to be the person I aspire to be. Our challenge is a shared one. As I have taught on more than one occasion, our Torah is a narrative documenting God’s frustration with a humanity that never fails to disappoint. In the Garden of Eden, at the Golden Calf, throughout the desert wanderings, and right up to the Promised Land – again and again, the children of Israel found themselves on the receiving end of God’s rebuke. If God had to work on it, if God had to learn how to give feedback kindly and effectively, how much more so each one of us. So let us redouble our efforts, have the courage to admit our missteps, and show a willingness to regroup for the greater good of each other and the relationships we hold dear. There is no limit to what we can accomplish if we set our minds and hearts to work together on the bright road we share ahead.