The Power of Words and the Power of Weapons

Honoring the lives and memories of Sarah Milgrim and Yaron Lischinsky, z"l

There are usually two ways to begin a sermon: with life, or with the text. Sometimes we start with a story, an experience, something real and close to home. Other times we begin with an idea—a concept from the parsha or our tradition—and work our way back to life from there.

Today, I need to begin with the text.

Sometimes grief is too raw to start with life. Beginning with an idea helps me ground myself before I can begin to speak about the pain and grief that I—and many of you—are carrying. The text gives me something to hold onto—and this week, what it gives us is a teaching about words. In this case, to make an oath or a vow—words that have the power to obligate us legally and morally. A reminder that the words we speak are important.

But how do we understand the power of words? When we discuss this topic, many wise sayings from across ages and cultures come to mind. There is the classic debate topic, “Is the pen mightier than the sword?” I remember reading a novel in high school that described the champion of the debate team who won one round defending the idea that the pen is mightier than the sword, and then turned around and won the next round arguing that the sword is mightier than the pen. The truth is, the question is too vague to have a universally applicable answer. It depends primarily on context. But it remains a good debate topic. For many, it functions like a Rorschach test—an inkblot that reveals our anxieties about the world we live in—because it pushes us to answer whose might we ultimately fear more. Are we more afraid of the power words hold over us, or the power violence holds over us?

Of course, this comparison is a universal one. Cultures throughout history have sayings that compare words to weapons. The Bible often compares words not only to swords, but also to arrows—projectiles that, once let loose, are too late to stop. We have traditions about slander, about lashon hara—evil speech. Words can definitely hurt.

Yet the opposite is also universally acknowledged. Our tradition recognizes that words are often no more than just words, and that the wise know how to ignore insults. “Sticks and stones may break my bones” is still a valuable lesson, and one that I think we often overlook today.

And, of course, context matters. Just like our Torah portion describes, the power of an oath can depend on who says it and who is listening. Is it a child before a parent? One spouse before another? And just as we know the power of a sword depends on who is holding it, the same is true of words. Words in the hands of a general can produce far more violence than a sword in those same hands. The question is a good one because it gets us thinking—but there is no clear answer.

Nevertheless, while we cannot say for certain whether words are mightier than weapons, I think comparisons make a fundamental category error. Many people answer the question—Is the pen mightier than the sword?—by drawing an analogy between them. Swords hurt; can words hurt as much, if not more? But the truth is, the might of words rests in much more than their ability to cause pain. When we say a good word, the effect is very different than brandishing a good sword.

Our prayerbook quotes a tradition that Torah scholars increase peace in the world. How do they do that? The Torah scholar was seen as a judge whose authority stems from knowing the words of tradition. When two parties come with a dispute, the rabbi uses their knowledge to find the best resolution for all parties involved, and even generally prefers arbitration over offering a ruling. The Torah scholar, ideally, is supposed to rely on their wisdom to find a better way. The quote from the prayerbook connects sages with builders—their words allow them to build a peaceful world.

This is a perfect example of the limits weapons have compared to words. Words can build peace. Weapons cannot. Yes, swords, arrows, and guns can bring peace of a kind—by removing violent people—while also running the risk of provoking further violence. Weapons can preserve peace, acting as a deterrent and making someone think twice before acting violently, although sometimes they introduce the idea of violence or make it feel more available. However, without words to communicate and negotiate, weapons are powerless to resolve the causes of most conflicts. At most, weapons can preserve peace—but they generally cannot build a peaceful world.

Maybe the question Is the pen mightier than the sword? isn’t just about which can produce more violence. It offers us hope that something other than violence can be effective—and, given the costs of violence, is often preferable. While people often complain about diplomats, as the old saying attributed to Winston Churchill (who can be criticized for many things, but is exceedingly quotable) goes: “It is better to jaw-jaw than to war-war.”

This brings us back from the abstract concept to real life. When that man pulled the trigger repeatedly, killing Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim, he was motivated by antisemitism—and we might be tempted to leave it at that. Why even dignify his point of view beyond its chilling and evil depths? Nevertheless, I cannot ignore that this man chose to attend an event for junior diplomats to reach his targets. He attended an event that was, in part, focused on finding diplomatic means of providing food to areas of conflict in the Middle East, including Gaza. He murdered two young people who, like the sages, had dedicated their lives to using their words to build peace, to finding non-violent solutions to problems. This man sought to demonstrate that weapons are more powerful than words. In fact, as we learn more about what motivated him, it has become clear that he espouses the belief that violence is the only way to build a better world.

And as we sit here today, having to process these terrible events—when we should be focusing on our celebrations, on our children, on ----------, whose commitments to our synagogue we are recognizing and whose achievements we are also celebrating today as the school year comes to a close—I keep reminding myself that unlike a high school debate meet, the consequences are all too real. Yaron and Sarah did not intend to debate this murderer, certainly not with their lives. But the memory of these two young people and what they stood for makes me want to remind all of the violent-minded people out there that the sword is not mightier than the pen, and weapons of war can never replace words of peace.