“Rabbi, I’m afraid I owe you an apology,” said the shamefaced young man at his teacher’s door.  “You see, for a long time now I’ve been saying horrible things about you to anyone who would listen.  Some of them were true; others were not; and I hope you will forgive me.”

The young man braced himself for a heavy-duty sermonic whipping.  But instead, the rabbi simply asked the man to go home and get a feather pillow.

Puzzled, the young man did as he was told.  When he returned, the rabbi said, “OK.  Now, please take the pillow out into the yard, tear it open, and throw all of the feathers up into the air.”

Again, the young man did as he was told. “Excellent,” the rabbi said.  “Now please go back outside and gather all of the feathers back into the pillowcase.”-

“But, rabbi,” sputtered the young man “I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Well, once I tossed the feathers into the air, the wind took them and blew them all around.  I can’t get them back now – they’re everywhere!”

The rabbi smiled and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.  “And that, my friend, is precisely why I’m afraid I can’t forgive you for speaking unkindly about me.  As you know, Judaism teaches that we need to earn forgiveness for our sins, and that to earn it we need to undo whatever wrongs we’ve committed.  But spoken words are just like feathers in the wind – once we release them, they can never be retrieved. 

“But past is past,” the rabbi continued.  “So come inside for a cup of tea.  Maybe we can crack open one of those old books in my study for some tips on how to do better next time.”

This is one of those old Jewish stories that actually isn’t very old, and isn’t specifically Jewish, either.  Gossip, as we all know, is a universal human problem – one that plagues us today just as it did when that story was written centuries ago.  Just look at today’s typical American newspaper.  Its pages are likely to be filled with information about others, little of which is important for us to know.  Listen to the talk around the coffee machine at work – how much of what you hear is gossip?  And how much of the gossip would be better left unsaid?  Just turn on the TV – you’ll hear all kinds of information about others.  The public, we are told, has the right to know.

But we don’t have a right to know all of it, nor should we, for people have a right to privacy, too.  So, on second thought, don’t read those articles in the paper; don’t pay attention to that chatter in the break-room; and when the TV gets gossipy, start surfing the channels in search of something better.

Judaism forbids talking about other people.  Unless there is a truly compelling reason to do so, we are not to say cruel things about others – even if what we say is true.  In fact, Judaism also forbids saying kind things about others without a compelling reason. 

Last week, a woman I know summed it up perfectly: Judaism has us talk to people, rather than about people.

The problem, of course – and let’s be honest here – is that gossip can be so much fun!  Discussing philosophy and gardening may be mildly interesting, but those conversations can’t hold a candle to gossip.  Having the lowdown, the scuttlebutt, or the inside scoop can be so wonderfully titillating, and sometimes even a downright thrill.  We enjoy it because it makes us feel superior to others – to both the gossiped-about and the gossiped-at; we enjoy it because it can be a no-hassle break in our otherwise monotonous daily lives; we enjoy it because it often numbs our loneliness, boredom and pain.

Certainly, most of us try to be good, but being good is hard.  And gossip can be so alluring that it is often one of the most difficult habits to break.  Let’s face it – we’re hooked.

That’s why we at Temple Beth El are studying gossip this year.  We’re taking a good hard look at the way we use our words, and we’re working to cut down on our cut-downs.  Not gossiping will be difficult, of course, but our Jewish tradition teaches that it is of truly paramount importance.

Words, you see, are very powerful little things.  They can carry love, or they can carry hate; they can send a person’s soul soaring in elation, and they can destroy people, too, so we must use great care when speaking them.  Each of our words can be a work of art that we alone create – a sculpted breath that we share with the world – so we must make sure that they come out right.  Once spoken, you see, whether uttered with affection or spite, our words fly away and never return.

Just like feathers floating in the wind.