When Words Become a Blessing
We live in a world where words are everywhere. From the moment we wake up, we’re surrounded by notifications and headlines, passing conversations and background chatter. Most days, we barely notice the sheer volume of words flying around us. But sometimes, a single phrase can stop us in our tracks.
Not long ago, I stood in line at the grocery store and overheard someone say, “I swear to G‑d,” her voice casual, almost absent-minded. She wasn’t angry or trying to be disrespectful—it was just something to say while waiting for the cashier. I remember thinking: When did we get so comfortable with words that ought to be sacred? Have we grown too relaxed with the power they carry?
Moments like that remind us that words aren’t just noise. They’re tools—sometimes gentle, sometimes sharp. They can lift us up—or leave behind a bruise we didn’t mean to cause. Who hasn’t felt the sting of a careless comment, or the warmth of a kind word at just the right moment? A simple “I see you,” or “thank you,” or “I forgive you” can open doors in the heart that nothing else can.
We notice this especially in the small places—a teacher addressing a struggling student, friends talking about someone who isn’t in the room. Even how we say someone’s name matters. Spoken with kindness, a name becomes a gift. Spoken with contempt, it can become a wound.
Yet, in the rush of everyday life, it’s easy to forget how much our words matter. Silences fill with filler. Promises tumble out on autopilot. Names—our own, others’, even G‑d’s—sometimes pass our lips with barely a thought.
In my own faith tradition, there’s an ancient teaching that speaks directly to this. In the Hebrew Bible, we read the Third Commandment: “You shall not take the name of the Lord your G‑d in vain” (Exodus 20:7). At first glance, it sounds like a rule about profanity, but the original Hebrew goes deeper. The phrase translated as “in vain” also means “carelessly” or “emptily.” The commandment isn’t just about avoiding curses; it’s about treating G‑d’s name—and, by extension, all sacred words—with intention and reverence.
That’s why, in Jewish practice, many of us write “G‑d” with a dash. It’s not superstition. It’s a pause—a visual reminder that some things are too precious to treat casually. The dash is there to make us slow down, to notice, to honor.
But this insight isn’t limited to religious language. In Jewish thought, speech is called a “garment of the soul”—the bridge between our inner world and the world around us. Proverbs puts it plainly: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21). A rumor travels far. A word of encouragement lingers for years. A reputation can be torn down with a whisper, a spirit healed by a single sentence.
There’s a classic story about a sage who gave a young man a feather pillow and told him to scatter the feathers off a rooftop. When the young man finished, the sage asked him to gather them up again. The lesson? Once words are out in the world, they can’t always be retrieved. They carry farther than we imagine.
So where does that leave us? We don’t need to be silent, nor do we need to tiptoe through every conversation. But perhaps we’re called to pause more often—to speak with intention, to choose words that build up rather than tear down, to treat names (especially G‑d’s name) as something holy, not just another phrase to fill the air.
What if today, we chose just one moment to speak more kindly—or to pause before speaking at all? What kind of space might that open—for ourselves, and for G‑d?
In a world that rewards the loudest voice, there’s quiet courage in speaking with reverence. Every time we do, we create a little more room for trust, for healing, and for something sacred to dwell among us. And when we make that space, our words really can become a blessing.
Yonatan Hambourger is a rabbi and writer dedicated to serving spiritual seekers of all backgrounds on behalf of Chabad of Rural Georgia. You can contact him at y@tasteoftorah.org.