We’ve all experienced how a few words can change the temperature of a room — a cutting remark that lingers for days, or a thoughtful compliment that lifts us when we need it most. Words are powerful. They can build or break, soothe or torment.
I think about the power of words all the time — as a rabbi, a teacher, a husband, a father, as someone trying to navigate my way through these profoundly divisive times. I work hard to use my words to bring people together rather than divide — even when, as a leader, I need to speak with firmness or strength. Sometimes I succeed; sometimes I miss the mark. But I keep trying. And I believe all of us — whether we’re speaking to large audiences, to our families, or to individuals one-on-one — carry the responsibility to choose our words wisely.
If I expect this of myself in my personal and professional life, I must expect it — we must expect it — from those who hold power on the national stage.
I am troubled by the allegations of fraud in Minnesota. Congresswoman Ilhan Omar has said and done things that have threatened our community.
But as someone who understands the power of words, as a Jew who has no hesitation to call out the bullying, harassment, and stereotyping of our people in all its forms, including scapegoating and conspiracy theories — I cannot stay silent about the words that President Trump used this week to describe Congresswoman Omar and Somali immigrants.
Silence in response to these words is not neutrality. It is permission — permission that emboldens hatred, endangers communities, and twists political disagreements into ethnic, religious, and racial targeting.
These are the very forces that threaten us as Jews. These are the very forces that destroy civil society.
All of us have a responsibility to use our words wisely — especially people in positions of power. We can disagree, even fiercely. We can dislike each other’s positions on any number of issues. But we must never forget the wisdom of Proverbs 18:21:
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue.”
We Jews know this truth all too well. We have watched as members of our own community have been harassed, intimidated, and even murdered because hateful words lit the spark.
If we demand that the world take seriously the dangers of rhetoric directed at us, then we must also refuse to condone similar rhetoric when it is directed at others — even those we disagree with, even those who have caused us pain.
We don’t have the luxury of inconsistency. Our moral clarity must be bigger than our politics. Our words of conscience must be louder, clearer, and more courageous than the words of hate.
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