Words Matter

By Susan Esther Barnes

I’m old enough to remember when people in wheelchairs were called crippled. Then the idea arose that there should be convenient parking spaces for people with mobility issues, but signs saying “Crippled Parking” didn’t sound palatable, so they went with “Disabled Parking.”

Then there was a big push to stop talking about “Disabled” and to say instead, “Differently Abled.” Somewhere in there the word “Handicapped” became popular, and now we mostly just have blue paint and signs with the internationally recognized depiction of a person in a wheelchair. I guess the lobby for people with canes, walkers, and prosthetic legs was asleep at the switch the day that decision was made.

This odyssey of a condition in search of an acceptable descriptive word is one category of what has come to be known as “political correctness” or “being PC.”

Another form of political correctness is the disapproval of the way a word is used. For example, the word “gay” has come to mean “homosexual.” In the online video games I play, the word “gay” used to be used frequently as an insult, in reference to something of which the speaker disapproved. The implication was that homosexuals are not okay, so therefore calling something “gay” meant that thing also was not okay.

Because I don’t agree that gay people are not okay, I used to speak up when the word “gay” was used in this way. Sometimes I received an apology, but more often I received a response along the lines of, “You get offended too easily, and I don’t have to change what I say. You are the one with a problem,” or “I’m not going to let you PC police take over the world.”

I’m happy to say that the people I play with online now no longer use the word “gay” in this way, but I know it is still used this way in other venues, and there is still a backlash when people encounter what they perceive as overzealousness in the pursuit of political correctness.

Sometimes people misuse a word in order to emphasize a point. See, for example, this article and related comments,in which Johnny Depp compares photo shoots to being raped, and later apologizes for his poor choice or words. Many commenters say they don’t think the actor should have had to apologize; they think he shouldn’t have caved in to political correctness.

This use of the word “rape” is one way some words are used because of their power to shock or to convey a strong message. The trouble is that, in this world in which the media, celebrities, advertisers and others are constantly fighting for our attention, formerly powerful words are overused. As a result, they can lose their impact or even their original meaning.

Words whose impact is being diminished by inappropriate uses include words important to Jews and Zionists, such as, “Hitler,” “Nazi,” and “apartheid,” along with a whole host of other words which are important to the public at large. The more these words are overused and misused, the more they lose their meaning.

I had a friend once who used to swear like a sailor. Every sentence was punctuated by words that fifty years ago would never be used in polite company. The trouble was, when the time came that she truly wanted to emphasize something, she couldn’t do it. She had no powerful words left. They had all been devalued to the point that what would be shocking in other circumstances was, coming from her mouth, routine.

Although I do have some concern that we do, at times, go too far in trying to moderate the speech of others, that concern is outweighed by my fear that our language is being diminished by the incorrect use of words and the overuse of words meant to grab attention.

Like the story of the boy who cried, “Wolf,” I fear the day will come when the word we mean really is “rape,” or “Nazi,” or “apartheid,” but we will not be heard because these words have been so overused that they have become meaningless. I am concerned that if, one day, an issue needs our dire attention, it will be lost in the cacophony of bold headlines and exclamation points, and we will not notice it until it is too late.

So, at the risk of being overly “PC,” please, people, watch your language. Don’t use words that convey something other than what you truly mean. Don’t try to shock when shock is not necessary. Think about your words before you say them.

In the beginning, God created the world with words, and it is said that the world can be destroyed with words as well. Words matter.

The Benefits of Overreaction

Words by Susan Esther Barnes
Photo by Alan Schweigert

We all have mental images of ourselves, ways that we define ourselves and our actions. “I’m artistic,” “I’m logical,” “I have a good sense of humor,” etc.

One of the things I tell people about myself is that I tend to overreact to things. Until recently, I thought that was a bad thing, but recently I have reconsidered.

It’s true that sometimes my tendency to overreact can get in my way. Sometimes, I am so surprised and dismayed by something that it seems my mind has ceased to function. My head is filled with white noise, and I, who revels in the use of words, feel incapable of forming any coherent thoughts, let alone translating those thoughts into phrases or sentences that anyone can understand.

This issue used to be a common problem for me in my first marriage. My (then) husband would say something (usually it would be something critical of me, or something threatening our relationship), and then would follow it up 5 or 10 seconds later with something along the lines of, “Why are you just sitting there? Say something!”

The truth is, when I am upset or very surprised, there is a nonverbal internal process that needs to take place before I can do anything else. The amount of time this process takes varies depending on the situation. If the surprise is bad enough, during the initial few seconds I am literally incapable of forming words in my head, let alone choosing which ones to express. My ex-husband never understood this.

Another one of my charming tendencies is that if I am hurt and/or uncomfortable, I want everyone else around me to feel hurt and uncomfortable, too. When I was younger, this led to me saying things that I very quickly came to regret.

So the next thing that happens, once I am capable of speech again, is I have to examine my feelings. Am I angry? Do I want to hurt the other person right now? If so, then I need to consider very carefully what I am about to say, because I don’t want to say something I’m likely to regret. This evaluation can lead to an even longer period of silence.

Over time, I have learned that this is a good time to say something like, “I’m sorry, I’m having trouble thinking right now,” in order to clue in the other person about why I’m just frozen there with a blank look on my face.

All of this requires a good amount of patience and understanding from the other person. If they’re going to be around me a lot, they’re going to run into this behavior from time to time. And, because it drove my ex-husband so buggy, for a long time I thought of this as a bad thing.

It has recently occurred to me, however, that these overreactions of mine have a couple of distinct advantages.

First, when I’m surprised, my inability to process words pretty much guarantees that I won’t unthinkingly snap back with a hurtful comment. Initially, I can’t speak at all, and in the process of trying to find and form words, my filters become engaged, and I have time to consider the possible downside to what I might be about to say.

Second, I have found that if I allow myself to become immersed in whatever my reaction might be at the time, eventually the perceived crisis loses its power over me. I find that after I have expended my initial overreacting burst of energy, I am once again able to think more clearly about the situation. I can re-evaluate whether or not things are as bad as I initially perceived them to be. I can start to plan how best to cope with it.

And, I have found, that rather than stuffing my feelings inside where they can rise up and surprise me in unpleasant ways at seemingly random moments, in my overreaction and recovery process I have expressed and then dealt with those feelings in such a way that once I’m done with an issue, I’m done. I don’t need to re-examine it later. I can move on.

So, although I don’t like the feeling when I overreact, and I have empathy for other people close to me who occasionally have to be discomforted by being exposed to my silent, blank-faced nonverbal process, in the end I think the benefits may make it worth it.

Kabbalat Shabbat in Heaven

By Susan Esther Barnes

It’s Friday evening, almost a week since Rose died. The Mourner’s Kaddish is supposed to be said for her by her next of kin every day for eleven months, and every year on the anniversary of her death. It requires a minyan, ten people, to say, because mourners are not meant to be alone; they ought to be surrounded by their community.

Before she died, Rose gave me permission to say the Mourner’s Kaddish for her. I asked because her surviving son is not observant, so we both knew he would be unlikely to say it, other than perhaps at her funeral. Someone ought to say it for her, so I offered to take on the responsibility. Tonight, Shabbat evening, is the first time I have been in a minyan since her death.

When the rabbi asks those who are in the first seven or thirty days of mourning to rise and say the name of the person they’re saying Kaddish for, I feel hesitant. I am not related to Rose; I don’t want to appear to be fishing for sympathy I have not earned. I’m not convinced it is my place to do this thing I promised to do.

I rise, I say Rose’s name, and I stew in my doubts while the names of those recently dead and those who have died at this time in years past are recited. I wonder whether I will be able to say the words, or if the jumble of my thoughts will cause me to falter.

When the time comes, I start to speak, and something completely unexpected happens. As each word forms in my mouth, it transforms into something solid. Not something sharp, with hard edges to chafe and cut; but something soft and rounded, like a rosebud.

As each word solidifies, as its leading edge reaches my lips, it feels as if it is being snatched away and borne swiftly upward, away from me. I don’t know what is happening, but as each word is formed and flies upward, I realize it is being pulled out of my mouth by a force over which I have no control. I have no choice but to continue until the end of the prayer. It appears I was mistaken; saying Kaddish for Rose is not voluntary.

Later, I imagine the words were being pulled out of my mouth and carried upward by angels.

In my mind’s eye, God is surrounded by the dead as the angels fly in from all directions, depositing the words of the Mourner’s Kaddish in neat little piles at their feet.

Some of the words bear the mark of close family, some of friends. Some come from the lips of cantors or rabbis or other prayer leaders who speak for those who have nobody else to pray for them.

As the last word arrives, to be laid reverently on the last stack, Shabbat arrives in heaven, and it is time for God and the angels and the dead to rest.

Unseen Impacts

By Susan Esther Barnes

I’m beginning to suspect few of us, myself included, has any idea the impact our words and actions have on others. The Torah tries to give us a hint about the power of words. In the very first chapter, God creates the world by using words, as in the famous, “God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.”

It’s not uncommon for me to think about words and their impact. I try to write things in way that will, as accurately as I can, communicate how I see things as well as how I feel about them. I feel best about my writing when I feel it packs a punch, leaving the reader with something to think about after they have finished reading.

A couple of weeks ago a friend was struggling because she felt she was failing to get others to see the importance of something very dear to her. She said she felt she wasn’t communicating to others about it in a powerful enough way, and she was contemplating using more powerful language, but she didn’t want to be hurtful. I told her it’s possible to use words powerfully without being hurtful.

Often it seems being powerful and hurtful is much easier than being powerful and constructive. And yet, there are times when we say or do powerfully constructive things without even realizing it. For example, two and a half years ago, a woman introduced me as, “My friend Susan.” She said it as if it were no big deal, and to her it probably wasn’t one. She had no way to know it was the first time I’d heard those words in 20 years, so she had no idea how powerful those words were to me.

Earlier this year a woman said to me, “I value your friendship.” I thought, “You value my friendship? Don’t you mean it the other way around?” I had been so wrapped up in how cool it was to have a bunch of friends around me, it hadn’t occurred to me it might work both ways. She didn’t know what a revelation it was for me to consider someone might view my friendship as a valuable thing to have.

Yesterday, I received an email from someone who said, “Thanks for being a good friend.” It made me feel great, but I was surprised. Sure, I think of him as a friend, but I have no idea why he thinks of me as a good friend. We don’t have dinner together; we don’t go to the movies or other outings together. I don’t even know when his birthday is. Aren’t those things all part of being a good friend? Obviously, I must have said or done something in the past that makes him feel this way about me. And clearly, at the time I had no idea the impact I had on him, just as he has no idea the impact his words, “Thank you for being a good friend” had on me.

Just before we say the Amidah, the central prayer of each prayer service, we say, “Adonai, open my lips so my mouth may declare your glory.” Rabbi Noa says we start with this prayer because we want the prayers that follow to come out right. Often, when I say those words I’m not thinking about the prayers coming up. Instead, I’m asking God to help me, throughout the week, to say and write things which will have a positive impact on others. Sometimes I know I’ve succeeded. Sometimes I think I’ve succeeded when I haven’t. And sometimes, I’m discovering, I succeed without even knowing it.