Misleading words: what we ask for

This short post follows several earlier discussions (see list below) that touched on our problem with truth. In short, the Torah (Shemot 23:7) and Avot (1:18, 5:9, 6:6) tell us that we are supposed to commit ourselves to tell the truth and to acknowledge it when we see or hear it. But there are times when we may not, or must not, do so—for example to make peace, preserve modesty or save life. Every word of untruth is deemed sheker, a falsehood, which damages our spiritual environment and corrodes our souls, even if we are obliged to speak it and are rewarded for doing so.

In this context it struck me that, every time we finish our Amidah prayer, we say the following line:

אֱלֹהַ֞י נְצֹ֣ר ׀ לְשׁוֹנִ֣י מֵרָ֗ע וּשְׂפָתַי֩ מִדַּבֵּ֨ר מִרְמָ֜ה

[Translation] “My God, guard my tongue from ra (‘evil’) and my lips from speaking mirmah (‘deception’)”.

We ask God to make sure that we say nothing bad and nothing deceptive—but we don’t ask him to protect us from saying anything untrue. This seems to me to be a strong support for the argument that, however important absolute truth may be, both in our daily lives and in terms of our spiritual welfare, real-world pragmatism demands that, while we must always respect it, we must regretfully sacrifice it for the sake of a greater good.

There is biblical support for this proposition at Bereshit 27:18-19. When Yitzchak wants to be sure that the son standing before him is Yaakov or Eisav, he asks מִי אַתָּה בְּנִי (mi atah beni?, “Who are you, my son?”). Yaakov has a problem. He could say “Eisav”, which is a downright lie, or he could say “Yaakov”, which is totally true but would result in him losing the blessing his mother so desperately wants him to receive. So he answers אָנֹכִי עֵשָׂו בְּכֹרֶךָ (anochi Eisav bechorecha). This answer is equivocal. The Torah text contains no punctuation and can be read and therefore translated in two ways. If the answer is taken as a single phrase it means “I am Eisav your firstborn”. This would be sheker. Alternatively, splitting the anochi from Eisav bechorecha, it means “It’s me! Eisav is your firstborn” which is true but misleading, mirmah, and not a total lie. The ambiguity of Yaakov’s words thus serves two functions: it enables Yaakov both to mislead his father in order to achieve a greater good and to remind himself that what he said is not the best way of expressing truth, so that he should not get into the habit of telling lies.

So we still have a problem. If we accept that sheker is so dangerous and that mirmah is less so, why do we ask in our Amidah to be protected from mirmah and not sheker?

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Recent Avot Today posts on truth and lies

‘When love is not enough, try fear instead’ (on saying that Sarah was Abraham’s sister, not his wife) here

‘Don’t say “Mummy’s in the toilet”’ (on sparing people embarrassment) here

‘When two giants meet: a modern midrash?’ (is it permissible to fabricate a tale involving real people in order to teach an important point?) here

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Older posts (on the Avot Today weblog)

‘The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth’ (about repenting for half-truths on Yom Kippur) here

‘Learning from the lives of Torah sages’ (on potentially apocryphal tales of the great and good) here

‘Truth, justice and peace: which is the “odd man out”?’ (on sacrificing truth for peace and justice) here

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It's only words

Pirkei Avot has much to say about words: essentially ,it's best to say nothing (1:17), one should minimise one's words (1:15) and keep them honest and truthful (). Idle chatter should be avoided (5:9, 6:6); questions should be to the point and answers to them should be relevant (ibid).

All of the guidance stated above was formulated within the context of personal relationships. These might be within the family, the community or in the course of commerce -- but the words of the Tannaim can and should be a yardstick against which promotional and material and advertisements are measured.

Last week I received an email from my bank which opened with the following news about my account:

Hello Jeremy,

Some exciting new changes are on the way. We’re switching all our customers over to Debit Mastercard and your shiny new card will be with you soon, so look out for it in the post.

The email did not list these exciting new changes but invited the reader to click through to a web page that provided further particulars. I clicked the link, sat back and prepared myself for the excitement that was sure to follow. What I read was this:

We’re switching to Debit Mastercard and all our customers will soon receive a shiny new replacement debit card. Nothing is changing with your account, and your card will work in just the same way.

So the "exciting new change" that the bank is offering me is that there will be no change.

The best one can say in favour of this sort of promotional pitch is that, in an era when so many changes are for the worse, a change that makes no change is quite exciting in its own right. While that might sound cynical, I recall a previous communication from the same bank informing me that, for my happiness and peace of mind, the spending limit of my credit card was to be reduced since it was not my practice to use it to the hilt when making my purchases. On this basis, the fact that I faced no obvious personal detriment from this change was definitely welcome, if not literally an excitement.

In reality this sort of promotional puff looks more like sichat hayeladim (Avot 3:14, per Rabbi Dosa ben Horkinas). That phrase, which literally means "the chatter of children", is understood by Midrash Shmuel to mean the childish, immature chatter of adults. Rabbis Avraham Azulai (Ahavah beTaanugim) and Yaakov Chagiz (Etz HaChaim) explain that this is vain or exaggerated speech, words that have no purpose or inherent worth.