Think It. Don’t Say It.

We are living through a moment that feels unusually heavy.

There is deep division here in America. There is war. And there is often painful tension within our own Jewish communities. Conversations that used to feel simple now feel charged. Relationships are strained. People are worried.

And it’s not just a feeling. Recent surveys reflect this unease. Studies from the Pew Research Center show that a strong majority of Americans believe the country is more divided today than in the past. Polling from Gallup shows declining optimism about the future and historically low trust in institutions. People are not only concerned about what’s happening. They are unsure where it’s all heading. It is, in many ways, a difficult time to feel hopeful.

And then, I came across something completely different. A humorous collection of church signs popped up in my news feed. And I have been laughing, and thinking about them for a few days.

You have seen those marquee and billboard signs outside churches, with short, clever, and occasionally hilarious messages. One read: “Too hot to change sign… sin bad, God good, details inside.” Another said: “Trespassers will be baptized.”  A particularly important one read “Honk if you love Jesus - text while driving and meet him!” And one of my favorites: “God answers knee-mail.” And perhaps aptly articulating a message for our unique moment in American history, “God expects spiritual fruit, not religious nuts!”

They make you smile. Maybe even laugh. Most importantly,  they are designed to make you stop and think. 

But what struck me is that beneath the humor, they are trying to do something serious. They are trying to communicate something meaningful in a way that people might actually hear. In a world flooded with information, noise, endless commentary, and pointless garbage, they cut through by being simple, surprising, and human.

And maybe that’s exactly what we need right now. Because when everything feels overwhelming, we don’t always need more analysis. We need clarity. We need reminders of what really matters.

This week’s Torah reading seems, at first glance, far removed from our reality. It speaks about Tzara’at, often translated as leprosy, and the intricate laws of ritual impurity and isolation. It is not an easy section to relate to.

But our tradition has long understood that these laws are not just about physical conditions. They are about something deeply human: the power of speech.

The rabbis connect tzara’at to lashon hara, or evil speech, and the misuse of words, especially speaking negatively or carelessly about others. And suddenly, what seemed distant becomes very close to home. They remind us that words matter. 

Rabbi Elazar said: One who speaks lashon hara is as if he denies a fundamental principle of faith (Arachin 15b)

Words can build relationships, or break them. They can unite a community, or split it. They can heal, or they can degrade.

And if we are honest, this is exactly where so much of our current struggle lives. Not only in what is happening, but in how we speak about it. How we speak about each other. How quickly we judge, how easily we assume, how often we reduce complex human beings to simple labels. In a world of constant reaction, we sometimes forget that speech is not neutral. It carries weight. It creates reality.

Maybe that is the Torah’s message for us right now: that in times of division, one of the most sacred things we control is how we speak.

So I found myself thinking—what would our own “marquee signs” say today?

Maybe something like:

“Before you share it… make sure it’s true.”

Or: “Not every thought needs to be said.”

Or even: “Lashon hara—still forbidden, even when it’s accurate.”

Maybe: “Winning an argument is not the same as being right.”

And perhaps most simply: “Speak about others the way you would want to be spoken about.”

They’re short. A little playful. But also serious.

We don’t control the wars, or the divisions, or the uncertainty of the world around us. But we do control our words. We ultimately decide whether we add to the noise or bring a little more clarity, a little more kindness, a little more dignity into the world. Healing begins one conversation at a time, one careful word at a time.

In my weekly Shabbat messages to the community, I try to teach that Shabbat is a time to slow down, to step back from the constant flow of information and reaction, and to reconnect with what truly matters. I hope that this Shabbat you will reflect on how this special day gives us the space to choose our words more thoughtfully, and to remember that holiness is not only found in what we do, but in how we speak.

So maybe the message we carry into this Shabbat is a simple one. In a world full of noise, we choose to speak with care.