The two verses that conclude Chapter 17 address the secret of speech and silence: when to speak, how much to speak, and when it is better to remain silent. These are not merely general ethical maxims, but practical guidance for life - in education, rebuke, public appearances, and interpersonal relationships. Let us examine them in sequence.
חוֹשֵׂךְ אֲמָרָיו יוֹדֵעַ דָּעַת יְקַר רוּחַ אִישׁ תְּבוּנָה׃ (כז) - One who spares his words possesses knowledge, and a man of understanding is of a precious spirit.
Rashi explains: a person who possesses knowledge spares his words. He does not speak loosely, nor does he cast out everything on his mind. "Precious of spirit" (yekar ruach) means that he does not rush to vent his breath, and breath represents speech - "a speaking spirit" (ruach memalela). Speech is precious and weighty to him, and he is not quick to spend it. Of the fool, the opposite is said: "A fool vents all his spirit" - whatever he has to say spills out immediately; he talks himself into oblivion. In contrast, the man of understanding is of a precious spirit, holding himself back from expressing all his thoughts.
Rabbeinu Yonah notes a nuance in the phrasing of the verse: it does not say "one who withholds his words," but "one who spares [or saves] his words." Saving does not mean never spending anything at all. When we say that a person saves his money, it does not mean he never spends, but rather that he spends prudently. The same holds true for speech: the wisdom lies in knowing when to speak. "A word spoken in its proper time, how good it is!"
There is someone who is unwise, someone who "does not possess knowledge" - he speaks constantly. Whether needed or not, whether helpful or harmful, he does not care; he wants to speak now, so he speaks. Afterward, it turns out that he caused great damage: had he waited a week or two, his words would have brought immense benefit, but by speaking prematurely he ruined everything. Or there are people with whom one should not speak directly at all; had you acted indirectly you could have influenced them deeply, but you approached them formally, thereby harming the cause. One who possesses knowledge knows that "a word in its proper time is good," and he also knows to speak to a listening ear, in a place where his words are cherished and thirstily received.
One who possesses knowledge recognizes the exalted nature of wisdom, the sweetness of its words, the grace of its value, and its delights. Just as the Gemara in Masechet Shabbat speaks of fine silk - it is precious to those accustomed to wearing garments of silk and purple; such merchandise is marketed where there are buyers. But going to a place where people are far removed from mitzvot and launching into meticulous stringencies of halachah - that is neither the right topic, nor the right audience, nor appropriate. Concerning this, Rabbeinu Yonah cites the masters of ethical works: Do not be like those who cast pearls before swine. A pearl is precious, but a swine prefers garbage - so why bring it a pearl?
When tragedy strikes, some people rush to the media and begin assigning causes: this happened because of this, or that happened because of desecration of Shabbat. Heaven have mercy, telling a father whose son was killed that it happened because of Shabbat desecration! There is no dispute over what is written in the Torah - "those who desecrate it shall surely be put to death" is written, and it is all true. The question is entirely different: Was it wise to do so? To approach grieving parents while their deceased lies before them and say that they caused their child's death - will they truly accept this from you and begin putting on tefillin tomorrow? Think logically: Is there any benefit in this? This is what the verse means: one who possesses knowledge spares his words, and does not cast pearls before swine. Heaven forbid that anyone be compared to swine; the point is simply that one should not offer merchandise where no one can receive it. In such cases, it is even worse: not only does the message fail to be received, but the speaker becomes an object of ridicule, perceived as someone whose words are absurd and unacceptable, and as heartless for uttering such things at such a time. Here, great wisdom is needed to know when to speak and when not to speak.
Rabbeinu Yonah adds: one who possesses knowledge and recognizes the value of wisdom does not pursue wisdom in order to boast or so that others know how wise he is, "for the crown with which wisdom has crowned him, and the virtue and elevation he has acquired for his soul through it, is sufficient for him." Wisdom itself is a crown for him, and that suffices; he does not seek imaginary crowns that others might fashion for him. This is why the truly great sages conducted themselves with modesty. Why do they feel no need to seek the public eye? Because they have no interest in doing so: going out to the public is done to receive - feedback, praise, esteem. But the true sage says: wisdom is my crown; I need no one else to adorn me with illusory laurels. Therefore, such a person speaks only where his words will be of benefit. In contrast, one who seeks publicity and honors searches for every opportunity to speak - whether constructive or not - so that he will be heard, so that he may be crowned and glorified.
The first stage is "withholding one's words" - deciding whether to speak at all. The second stage begins after you have decided that speaking is necessary: you evaluated the conditions, assessed the situation, and determined that rebuke is indeed required here. Now you must be a person of understanding, who carefully chooses his words and expressions. Re-examine the matter: what should be said - and often the main examination is what not to say. For when you say something that does not need to be said, you can cause immense damage that destroys everything you said beforehand. A person of understanding rules over his spirit; he does not answer in haste, but ponders, reflects, examines, and only then answers.
Rabbeinu Yonah summarizes: King Solomon speaks here about withholding words of wisdom - that the wise person should know not to utter them before their proper time; and about withholding words of understanding - that he should not express his thoughts unless he has reflected upon them and seen that they are fitting to be said.
The Vilna Gaon reads the verse with a different phrasing: "One who withholds his words is one who knows" - someone who refrains even from things he might need to say; "knowledge of a precious spirit" - he possesses the discernment of a precious spirit. That is, one who spares and withholds even words that would have been appropriate to say, yet are not strictly necessary, knows how to value and prize the breath of speech and does not speak idly. And one who is careful even with thought, not to express it in vain, is called "a person of understanding" - which is an even greater virtue: complete mastery even over thoughts, so as not to utter them unnecessarily.
גַּם אֱוִיל מַחֲרִישׁ חָכָם יֵחָשֵׁב אֹטֵם שְׂפָתָיו נָבוֹן׃ (כח) - Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise; he who seals his lips is discerning.
Here, Rabbeinu Yonah explains, King Solomon offers advice to the fool himself: keep silent. For if you remain quiet, people will not attribute it to a lack of understanding or stupidity, but quite the contrary - you will be considered wise, "for they will say that he possesses the trait of the wise." When a person is silent, people always think, who knows how much he has to say, that he knows a great deal and is not revealing it all. But when a person speaks - "A fool expresses all his spirit" - people quickly realize his true caliber. When you keep silent, there is a chance you will be regarded as wise, since the way of the wise is to remain quiet.
It is told of Rabbi Itzele (Rabbi Yitzchak) Blazer, the disciple of the master of Mussar, Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, that he was a tremendous genius who walked with great modesty. Once, at a rabbinical conference, the rabbis sat discussing Torah matters, and the Rav of Brisk was also present. Two questions were raised, and the participants debated and deliberated back and forth, each offering his view and resolution, until they reached a conclusion. Throughout it all, Rabbi Itzele sat in silence, giving the impression that he did not even know what they were talking about. The Rav of Brisk returned home puzzled: after all, Rabbi Itzele was reputed to be a great scholar. He took down Rabbi Itzele's sefer from his shelf to assess his stature, and - with divine assistance - the volume fell open to the very chapter where Rabbi Itzele had raised those exact difficulties and written the very resolutions that were proposed there. The Rav of Brisk was struck with awe at this extraordinary restraint: here were scholars sitting and struggling with a problem that you had already analyzed in writing, yet you did not utter a single word. What for? To show how much I know? To boast? Normally, when someone asks a question and we know the answer, there is an immediate impulse to speak, and even if no one asked us, we jump in: "Wait, let me tell you, I read this, I thought of this." Such is human nature. Yet here, he heard everything and remained silent. That is greatness in Mussar, that is self-mastery, that is a true disciple of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter.
When mentioning "the Rav of Brisk," one must know which generation is being referred to, as this title usually refers to three successive generations of the Soloveitchik family, all of whom served as Av Beis Din of Brisk. The first in the dynasty was the Beis HaLevi, Rabbi Yosef Dov (Rabbi Yoshe Ber). After him came the Rav, Reb Chaim of Brisk, who served in Europe, in Brisk. His son was the Griz, Rabbi Yitzchak Ze'ev, affectionately known as "Reb Velvel" ("Velvel" being Yiddish for Ze'ev, wolf). When speaking of the public battles and Torah leadership in the Land of Israel, it refers to the Griz; and when speaking of the era of the Chafetz Chaim, it refers to Rabbi Chaim of Brisk.
The way of the wise person is to bend an ear, remain silent, listen, and not reveal his opinion. People would often ask the Brisker Rav a question, and he would listen without answering. They would repeat the question: "So what does the Rav say, should we do it or not?" And he remained silent. In the end, he would say: "This, too, is an answer. Do not think that to every matter you must hear a 'yes' or a 'no'." He often had deep calculations regarding what not to discuss, what not to respond to, and what concerns might arise from his words. He foresaw things from afar, and therefore always knew when not to speak.
Once they approached him regarding the "Tehran Children" - children who had arrived from European countries via Tehran and were being estranged from their faith, an affair in which the Brisker Rav fought fiercely. They told him: "There is an askan close to the authorities who is willing to help; perhaps we should enlist him." The Rav said: "It is not advisable; only harm will come of it. Anyone brought on board must come strictly from the camp of the God-fearing." They argued that this activist had access and connections, and ultimately brought him in against the Rav's counsel. At first, the activist indeed rose up and protested, having access to the media. But after a week he fell silent - and not only did he fall silent, he gave everyone the impression that the issue was resolved, when in truth matters were far from fine. It turned out he caused immense damage: he stirred up an outcry and then closed the case. There are countless examples where the Brisker Rav spoke, people did not listen to him, and in the end they realized how right he was. He used to say: "People see a forest - some see the first row of trees, some see a little deeper, but what can I do when the Holy One, blessed be He, endowed me with the nature to see what lies at the very edge of the forest; and furthermore, there are people who do not even see the trees right in front of them."
Another incident: One night before going to sleep, he told his household, "If someone comes to call me, even at two in the morning or at four before dawn, wake me." Indeed, at two in the morning there was a knock at the door; they woke him, and he went out to speak with the messenger. Afterward, they asked him: "What was so urgent that it warranted waking the Rav in the middle of the night?" He replied: "They were holding a meeting, and I was deeply concerned that they would reach a decision contrary to halachah. I am the guiding authority in this matter, and while they would want to consult me, they also know my fierce opposition. Therefore, they would send someone late at night and later claim: 'We went to the Brisker Rav and he was asleep; we had no choice but to decide on our own.' I foresaw this in advance, which is why I asked to be awakened at any hour." And that was exactly what happened: they had planned to push through a measure against his consent, but the Rav arose, strongly objected, and said under no circumstances, leaving them no choice but to decide according to Daas Torah. See how much wisdom is needed to constantly anticipate things from afar.
One who seals and closes his lips is considered discerning. Rabbeinu Yonah explains that it is the trait of a discerning person that even when he wishes to state his opinion, he closes his lips and reins in his spirit until after careful deliberation and thought. This aligns completely with what we have said: the discerning person is one who, even when he must speak, weighs and considers carefully - whether it is appropriate to say these specific words or others, whether to be brief or elaborate. And once he has decided, he knows when to seal his lips, speak for the appropriate length, and then be silent.
Some people assume that once given the floor, they must speak until they have exhausted every last thought. Once, at a sheva berachos, a mashgiach from a yeshivah arrived and spoke for about fifty minutes. Apparently he had prepared a shmuess for his yeshivah, delivered it there, and then felt compelled to deliver it here as well. The crowd squirmed in discomfort. After all, people arrive at a sheva berachos at ten at night, not eight, and how much time is there altogether - an hour, an hour and a half, with some singing. Yet this speaker drained the audience for fifty minutes. Sometimes there is substance to hear, but sometimes it simply does not engage or captivate. The wise person knows when to remain silent, and also knows, when speech is necessary, exactly how much to speak.
Rabbi Neugroschel once remarked that he gives lectures of twenty minutes; when invited, he speaks for a third of an hour, or at most an hour. Why? It is far better for them to leave the lecture wanting more than to sit and wonder when it will finally end. If someone holds an audience captive for four hours, they will not return next time. Leave them with a taste for more; why assume one must pour out everything one has to say?
There is a story of a maggid who arrived at a village in torrential rain. He reached the community hall and found only a single person sitting there. He waited and waited, but no one else ventured out of their homes in such downpours. He asked the man: "What do you think?" The man replied: "Honored Rabbi, I do not understand sermons; I am a farmer and I understand cows. If I send the herd out to pasture and only one cow returns, I would not deprive it of food because of that." Taking the hint, the rabbi began his lecture and spoke with fervor and pathos for an hour and a half. At the end, he asked the dairy farmer: "Well, what did you think of the talk?" The farmer replied: "I already told the Rabbi that I do not understand lectures, only cows. And what I know is that for the single cow that returned at the end of the day, I do not dump the feed meant for the entire herd and suffocate it; I give it a single cow's portion. If you have only one listener, speak for twenty minutes, half an hour, and go home."
There is a profound lesson in this. Our Sages said that in the footsteps of the Messiah, "the wisdom of the scribes will rot (tisrach)." What is the meaning of tisrach? It is an expression of excess, like "the excess sheet... shall hang over (seruach) the back of the Mishkan" - a speaker goes on and on, not knowing when to stop. True wisdom includes knowing when to conclude, speaking concisely to leave the listeners wanting more. Once, a speaker dragged on and on, and afterward apologized, saying: "I came without a watch." They told him: "Yes, but there is a calendar hanging right behind you." On another occasion, someone renowned for his eloquent words was asked to speak, but he apologized that he had left his dentures at home and could not speak. They went and fetched them from his house. He put in the dentures and stood up to speak - and though he was accustomed to speaking for ten or fifteen minutes, he spoke for a full hour! They asked him: "Why did you speak for so long?" He replied: "It is your fault; you brought me my wife's dentures, and with such teeth, one never stops talking."
This is the very power of the discerning person: even when he desires to speak and express his opinion, he closes his lips and controls his spirit. For when someone has something to say, it rattles within him and he feels compelled to let it out. As Scripture states, "A man has joy in the response of his mouth" - when someone asks a question and one knows the answer, there is a distinct pleasure in saying: "I just saw this exact halachah yesterday; the ruling is such and such." Even with ordinary information, like directions to a certain place, there is pleasure in sitting and explaining. "A man has joy in the response of his mouth" - yet the true strength and wisdom lie in knowing when to keep silent, or knowing to speak only when necessary.
The Vilna Gaon interprets the verse differently, offering a wonderful piece of advice: "Even a fool, when he holds his peace, is counted wise" - a person who hears, yet acts as if he were deaf and does not hear, and as a fool who does not know, is considered wise. Consider a common example: your child did something serious; you heard from someone that something happened in class, that the teacher caught him, or the like, and the child did not say a word at home. Often - not always, and this requires great discernment - it is better to remain silent and show the child that you know nothing. What is the point of this? When the child thinks that you do not know, he knows that in your eyes he is not yet "burned," and that he still needs to please you. Consequently, once this rough patch passes, he will make an effort to return to the proper path.
On the other hand, when you declare: "I know exactly what you did! What, do you think you can hide things from me? Do you think I don't have my sources?" - this often stems merely from a desire to show that one knows everything. And what have you accomplished by this? The child, who until now felt that he was still in good standing with you, now feels that he is already burned anyway, and therefore has nothing left to hide, so he begins doing things openly. If, God forbid, a person discovers that his son, who was teetering on the edge, is smoking on Shabbos; if you reveal to him that you know, tomorrow he will go out and smoke on the house balcony, for what does he have left to hide? But if he thinks you do not know, he will not smoke near you and will not do it where you can see, preserving a state in which it is easier for him to return, for "in Tatty's eyes I'm still okay, in Mommy's eyes I'm still okay." Often, great wisdom is needed not to reveal to a child or student that one knows everything about him, allowing him to save face. And of course, this requires much thought: if you see that the issue is recurring and that he needs help, there are situations that demand great wisdom to know how to act.
The Gaon continues: "And he who shuts his lips is esteemed as a man of understanding" - a person who hears, yet seals his lips and stays silent without revealing it right away, is also considered discerning. The Vilna Gaon adds that across these two verses there are four levels, and with each one, speech is mentioned: "a man of knowledge" - spares his words; "a man of understanding" - is of a cool spirit, where spirit represents speech; "wise" - holds his peace; "discerning" - shuts his lips. In the case of the fool, there are only two levels, that he may be counted as wise and discerning. But one who spares his words will attain knowledge and understanding, which are far higher levels and loftier attainments than the mere silence of a fool.
In connection with the Vilna Gaon's explanation, there is a story worth recalling briefly. A father had a son who strayed from the path, and at a certain point, the son decided to attend university. The father was deeply worried: Where will you study? Where will you daven? The son replied: "Don't worry, Tatty, I'm taking tefillin with me, and I will daven every day." He tried to play the tzaddik before his father, but the father knew his jewel all too well. He realized he had few options; if he objected, the son would go against his will anyway, so it was better that he go at least with his consent. At a certain point, the son wrote to him: "Father, please send me money; my financial situation is very difficult and I have nothing to eat." The father replied: "Strengthen yourself in prayer, and with Hashem's help, the Creator will provide for you." Again the son wrote: "Father, the situation is even worse, please send money." The father replied: "My son, are you davening three times a day? Are you putting on tefillin? If you strengthen yourself, Hashem will help and provide for you." The son wrote back: "I don't understand what you want from me! I daven three times a day, I put on tefillin, and if I had Rabbeinu Tam tefillin I would put those on too! Father, please send me money." The father did not send anything. When the semester ended and the son returned home, he asked: "Father, didn't you get my letters? Why didn't you send anything?" The father asked: "Tell me, did you daven?" "Of course I davened!" The father said: "Bring me your tefillin." The father opened the tefillin bag and showed him a stack of bills he had hidden inside before he left. He said: "Ah, so you davened..." With this, he meant to hint to him: I know, I understand everything, and the fact that I didn't say anything until now was out of respect for your dignity; but you have turned this into a habit.
From an educational perspective, one must first consider how much responsibility one bears toward him and what realistic chance there is to influence him. The obligation concerning the son rests upon the father, to the extent that the father is capable of acting and exerting influence. If the son is receptive to influence, and one sees that he is not davening and not observing mitzvos, it is certainly part of the mitzvah of chinuch to bring him to observe them. However, this must be done with great wisdom: not through coercion and force, but in the manner of "Draw me after you, let us run." Coercion is destructive and will certainly yield no benefit. As we saw, that father did not act through coercion, but rather through an indirect approach.
The Metzudas David offers a novel interpretation here: the word translated as "holds his peace" is understood in the causative sense, meaning to cause someone else to be silent. "Even a fool who silences" - one who is capable of silencing even a fool, so that he will no longer spout his foolishness, is counted wise. And truly, how many people are capable of silencing a fool? One who fits the description of "a single coin in a jar rattles loudly" is almost impossible to silence. Yet if you succeeded, you are counted wise; you have accomplished something of great wisdom. "He who shuts his lips is discerning" - and one who seals the lips of the fool, so that he has nothing left to say, such a person is truly called discerning.
One of the masters in this realm was Rabbi Yonasan Eybeschutz. Those who were wise in their own eyes, church leaders and the like, would come to him to taunt and direct biting barbs against Judaism, and he would deliver a crushing rebuttal, silencing them until the next encounter. Once he sat across a table from a priest, and in the heat of the debate, the priest asked him: "What separates you Jews from a pig?" He replied: "This table." It is also related that he was once brought to the governor's palace, and an idolatrous statue stood at the entrance. The emperor's daughter said to him: "It is customary for those who pass before the statue to greet it with peace." He replied to her: "Among us, it is customary never to speak first before an elder; let him speak first, and then I will answer him." He always had devastating replies and an instant wit. One who has the power to silence the fool and seal his lips is counted wise and discerning.
The two verses concluding the chapter construct a complete ladder in the art of speech. "He who spares his words has knowledge" - not an absolute cessation of speech, but prudent restraint: speaking in its proper time, to a receptive ear, not casting pearls where they will not be accepted, and acting out of the humility of one for whom the crown bestowed by wisdom itself is enough. "A man of understanding is of a cool spirit" - and even after deciding to speak, weighing what to say and especially what not to say, and how much to say, always leaving a taste for more. "Even a fool, when he holds his peace, is counted wise" - silence itself elevates a person and confers upon him the quality of the wise; and according to the Vilna Gaon's interpretation, there is also great wisdom in feigning ignorance in order to grant others, and one's children, the dignity to return. Furthermore, according to the explanation of the Metzudas David, there is wisdom and discernment in possessing the ability to silence the fool. In all these ways, the principle remains one: true power lies not in the quantity of speech, but in mastery over it.