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“Eit LaChashot, Ve’Eit LeDabeir,” “There is a time to be silent and a time to speak” teaches Kohelet (Kohelet 3:7). As to the former, silence can indeed be golden. As we learn from Avot (1:17), “Shimon Beno Omeir Kol Yamai Gadalti Bein HaChachamim VeLo Matzati LaGuf Tov Ela Shetikah,” “Shimon [Raban Gamliel’s] son says, ‘All my days I grew up among the Sages, and I did not find anything better for the body except silence.” Similarly, Rabi Akiva teaches (Avot 3:13) us that “Siyag LeChachmah Shetikah,” “A safeguarding fence around wisdom is silence.” Our daily liturgy as well enjoins us to guard our tongue, not only in speaking words of guile but even in responding to those who may curse us. The medieval sage, Rabbi Yehuda HaChassid, said, "When I speak, I have reason to regret. But when I am silent, I have nothing to regret. Before I speak, I am master over my words; once the words leave my mouth, they rule over me." Tanach is replete with examples of those who chose the path of silence in circumstances that could easily warrant a counter argument, a rebuke, a protestation or a verbal cry. Aharon is silent - “VaYidom Aharon” (VaYikra 10:3) - in the face of the sudden and overwhelmingly tragic deaths of his two sons, Nadav and Avihu, just as Halachah requires a visitor to a mourner’s house to not initiate conversation until the mourner speaks. While Avraham has the passion for justice to challenge Hashem upon hearing of the imminent destruction of Sedom, God’s instructions to him to sacrifice his beloved son is met with a thundering silence as is Yitzhak’s realization that he,in fact, is the Korban to be offered - “VeAyeih HaSeh Le’Olah?” (BeReishit 22:7). Faced with her inability to conceive, Parashat Vayeitzei is unequivocal about the jealousy that Rachel felt toward her sister Lei’ah - “VaTikanei Rachel Ba’Achotah” (BeReishit 30:1). And yet, perhaps out of Shalom Bayit, not a word of hurt is uttered by Rachel. Even more notable is Rachel’s silence when confronted by the seemingly insensitive response of Ya’akov to Rachel’s desire for children - “VaYichar Af Ya’akov BeRachel VaYomeir HaTachat Elokim Anochi Asher Mana MiMeich Pri Vaten,” “And Ya’akov was angry with Rachel and said: ‘Can I take the place of God, who has denied you fruit of the womb’?” (BeReishit 30:2). Generations later, Chanah faced the same pain of infertility and when, in the midst of her tears, was asked by her husband Elkanah why she was crying and why she was not content with the love of her husband - “HaLo Anochi Tov Lach Mei’Asarah Banim,” “Aren’t I better for you than ten sons?” (Shmuel I 1:8) - she too will restrain herself from speaking. As praiseworthy as these examples are of the wisdom of silence, many are the moments recorded in Torah of the price paid for the failure to speak. We can only wonder what might have been if Kayin had been given the chance to give voice to whatever it was he was about to say to his brother Hevel: “VaYomeir Kayin El Hevel Achiv…,” “And Kayin said to his brother...” (BeReishit 4:8). The conversation abruptly stops there and never are we told what it was he meant to say. Perhaps he intended to share with his brother all of the hurt and jealousy that he harbored over God’s favoring of Hevel’s offering. Or, perhaps, as Elie Wiesel so insightfully suggests, Hevel had no desire to listen to what his brother had to say and simply walked away, denying Kayin the opportunity of unburdening his emotions. The silence of that thwarted interchange proved to be deadly and has echoed throughout history. Yes another example of a silence that reverberates for generations to come is the dysfunction of Rivkah’s and Yitzchak’s family; not only do they fail to communicate about their respective feelings toward their children Eisav and Ya’akov and how they should be raised, but the children themselves will, as a price of that silence, be locked in conflict for generations to come. For all of the words spoken during their fateful reunion, for all the superficial overtures of reconciliation between them, nowhere do we hear of a genuine, heart-to-heart bearing of deep seated feelings. And what of Yoseif’s failure to try and communicate with his father through his many years in Egypt? Perhaps, as Rav Yoel Bin-Nun suggests, Yoseif simply assumed from all that had transpired that Ya’akov had rejected him. Regardless of the manifold perushim which seek to explain his silence, the fact remains that Yosef made no attempt to find out what had happened, made no attempt to let his father know that he was alive and well, thus deepening and dragging out Ya’akov’s great pain and sorrow. Even when Yoseif and Ya’akov are finally reunited in Egypt after twenty-two years, amidst his tears, Yoseif says nothing to his father, nor will there be any attempt on Yoseif’s part to broach with his father the subject of all that had happened in Cena’an, the jealousy and perfidy of his brothers, his father’s favoritism, nor the pain of his own separation from the family. Instead, Yoseif speaks only of going to Paroh and letting him know of his family’s arrival and of their occupation. The most pressing and emotion-laden of issues to the entire family is buried beneath a set of instructions and administrative detail, as if to say, ‘Forget the past.... let’s just move on.’ And, bringing this whole saga back to its source, this week’s Parashah, Vayeishev, tells us of the hatred which Yoseif’s brothers harbored toward him to the degree that “Lo Yachelu Dabero LeShalom,” “They were unable to speak to him peacefully” (BeReishit 37:4) However, some Mefarshim point out, instead of ‘BeShalom,’ the wording we would expect for the meaning of “peacefully,” we find “LeShalom.” The Orach Chayim suggests, “Once this hatred of Joseph had become a factor in their mutual relations nothing could correct the situation. There was no longer any point in the brothers speaking peacefully, i.e. trying to make peace with the tale-bearer, seeing he was so clearly their father's favorite” (ibid.). More succinctly, Rav Yonatan Eybeschutz comments: “This is the great sorrow that emerges in conflicts between human beings, namely that each side is not prepared to listen and understand what the other has to say” (ibid.). Yoseif’s brothers were not interested in speaking about their deep-seated jealousies and anger; they were not interested in working toward reconciliation - “LeShalom.” How different the outcome might have been had the brothers been able and willing to bear their souls to Yoseif (and to their father!). One does not need to be a clinical psychologist to recognize in all of these episodes the stories of so many of our own families today. Whether in the name of Shalom Bayit or out of fear or avoidance of difficult conversations, so much family conflict can and does destroy the fabric of our relationships because of our failure or unwillingness to speak about our suppressed emotions By avoiding the conversations that should be had - that need to be had - husbands and wives, children and their parents, brothers and sisters often pay a high price for the words never spoken. May Ha Kadosh Baruch Hu grant us the wisdom to know when to choose “Eit LaChashot,” “A time to be silent,” and “Eit LeDabeir,” “A time to speak.”