Talking About the Weather: Parashat Re’eh and the Wisdom of Knowing When to Stop

Talking About the Weather: Parashat Re’eh and the Wisdom of Knowing When to Stop
When Moshe Rabbeinu speaks to the Jewish people in Parashat Re’eh, as they stand on the threshold of entering Eretz Yisrael and building a society there, he warns them about one of the greatest dangers that can threaten any society:
“You shall not do as we are doing here today, each person whatever is right in his own eyes.”
(Devarim 12:8)
To modern ears, the phrase “whatever is right in his own eyes” can almost sound like a virtue. After all, every individual and every group is convinced that they are acting for the sake of truth and justice. But Moshe Rabbeinu is warning us about the danger. When everyone does only what seems right to him, without shared boundaries, without considering others, and without a sense of responsibility for the community as a whole, society can begin to fall apart.
Chazal sharpened this idea in the Midrash (Sifra, Bechukotai 1:8): “If there is no peace, there is nothing.” A society cannot survive for long without peace among its different parts. No economic, technological, or military strength can hold together a society whose internal fabric is being steadily torn apart.
Many of us remember the small communities in which we grew up, where people lived alongside one another and knew each other. There were simple, healthy rules: If you cannot say something good, it is better not to say anything at all.
People did not always avoid disagreements, but they understood that not every argument had to become a war. Sometimes they talked about simple things—even the weather.
That was not weakness, and it was not an escape from reality. It reflected a simple understanding: the relationship between people is more important than winning an argument.
There were serious disagreements among us. People did not give up their principles or pretend to agree with one another. But they knew how to live together.
When people meet one another day after day and actually see one another, they learn to see the person first. They understand that even when there is a disagreement, the other person is still a neighbor, a friend, a fellow Jew, a human being who shares the same place and the same reality. That creates a basic sense of respect.
Israeli society today has lost some of that simple wisdom.
To a large extent, the population has divided into separate circles—separate educational systems, separate neighborhoods, and sometimes even separate media outlets. When people no longer meet one another in everyday life, familiarity weakens and mutual understanding suffers.
People begin to know their neighbors not through personal encounters, but through political speeches, newspaper headlines, and television programs. In this way, legitimate disagreements between people with different views can turn into an ongoing war of words.
This becomes especially painful after difficult events in which soldiers or civilians are killed. Instead of a sense of shared grief and shared responsibility, we sometimes hear immediate accusations directed at other Jews—particularly at residents of Judea and Samaria.
Whenever an incident takes place in Judea and Samaria, there are those who are quick to decide who is to blame before the facts are even known. In some cases, Arab rioters receive relatively little attention, while fellow Jews immediately become the focus of criticism.
This attitude should concern all of us.
We speak frequently about tolerance, compassion, and human dignity. But these values must also extend to our fellow Jews.
When a Jew studies Torah, observes mitzvot, or helps settle Eretz Yisrael, our respect and tolerance must not disappear.
For generations, Eretz Yisrael was the great aspiration of the Jewish people. Our ancestors prayed to return to it, and some travelled for months simply for the privilege of reaching it and seeing its soil.
Yet in our generation, there are those who speak about Eretz Yisrael only in terms of “the territories,” who speak contemptuously of the settlers, and at times even portray negatively the dedication of young soldiers who defend the State.
The tendency to blame ourselves is not new.
Almost a century ago, during the events of 5696 (1936), Berl Katznelson, one of the leaders of the Labor movement, wrote a famous article in Davar, entitled “HaYesh Am BaAmim” (“Is There Such a Nation Among the Nations?”). He warned against a similar phenomenon:
“Is there any nation among the nations whose sons have reached such a distortion, intellectual and spiritual, that everything their own people do, all their creativity and all their suffering, is despised and hated, while everything an enemy does to them—every robbery, every murder and every violation—fills their hearts with admiration and submission?”
Berl Katznelson understood that when an ideological position becomes stronger than basic brotherhood, a moral distortion can develop. A person may show understanding toward someone who harms his own people, while at the same time treating members of his own people with contempt.
This harsh attitude is directed today also toward the Chareidi community.
Instead of genuine dialogue, we often see inflammatory rhetoric in political speeches, newspaper headlines, satire programs, and social media. During election periods, the danger is even greater, when politicians may be tempted to deepen existing divisions in order to gain votes.
In the pursuit of a headline or a short-term political advantage, harsh words are sometimes directed at entire sectors of society, without enough thought being given to the price those words may ultimately exact.
The problem is that we do not always appreciate how far these words can travel beyond Israel’s borders.
In a world where everything is published instantly, it is becoming difficult to speak of “domestic politics.” When a public figure in Israel attacks an entire sector of the population, the remarks can reach the rest of the world within minutes.
Foreign media outlets may take a statement made as part of an internal argument and present it as though it represents the position of the State of Israel as a whole.
This happened when the Daily Telegraph published quotations from Israeli politicians in a way that created the impression that Israel was justifying harm to children. After complaints were made, a clarification was published, but by then the damage had already been done.
Chazal warned us about this thousands of years ago:
“Chachamim, hizaharu bedivreichem—Sages, be careful with your words.”
(Avot 1:11)
Chazal understood the power of words. A word that is spoken does not necessarily remain where it was said. It can pass from one person to another, be published, be interpreted differently, and reach places we never intended it to reach.
A leader may tell himself that his intentions are good. But once the words have left his mouth, he no longer controls how they will be used.
IDF soldiers, diplomats, and Jews throughout the world may have to deal with the consequences. Israel’s enemies can use statements made within Israel to attack the country, while Jewish communities abroad may find themselves facing the repercussions.
That is why responsibility for what we say is not merely a matter of good manners. It is a national responsibility.
Parashat Re’eh presents us with another important principle in building a nation:
“For you have not yet come to the resting place and to the inheritance.”
(Devarim 12:9)
There is a meaningful order here: “resting place” comes before “inheritance.”
Before we can fully establish our inheritance, we need menuchah—rest. Not only physical rest, but also the ability to live together, respect one another, and preserve peace within the home.
A strong country is not enough if the society within it is filled with hatred and disagreement without limits.
The parashah opens with the words:
“See, I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse.”
(Devarim 11:26)
The word “Re’eh”—“See” is in the singular, while “lifneichem”—“before you” is in the plural.
Each person sees reality from his own perspective. Each group sees events through its own position. But the outcome—the blessing or the curse—we all experience together.
This may be one of the most important things we need to remember.
We can disagree. We can argue. We can hold very different worldviews. But we must never forget that we are one people.
Chazal say in Kiddushin (70a):
“Kol haposel—b’mumo posel.”
“One who disqualifies another often reveals his own defect.”
Before a person rushes to judge someone else, it is worth looking inward as well and asking whether there is something within himself that needs correcting.
When each side sees only the shortcomings of the other, there is no way to build a healthy society.
To repair what needs repairing, we need to return to the Torah’s wisdom of knowing when to stop.
Not everything needs to be said. Not every disagreement has to become a war. And if we cannot speak to one another with respect and derech eretz, sometimes silence is the right choice.
We must stop seeing every Jew only through the political label attached to him. We must demand from our leaders responsibility and care in the way they speak. And above all, we need to create more opportunities for direct encounters between people who do not agree with one another.
Sometimes the way to repair a society does not begin with a great speech.
Sometimes it begins with a simple conversation between two people.
And sometimes—even with talking about the weather.
That is how we return to derech eretz, mutual respect, and mutual responsibility—the things that enable the Jewish people to continue living together.