It is not pleasant to admit one’s own faults in public, especially in a forum such as a newspaper, which is read by many thousands. Still, leto’eles, I think it is worthwhile.

I happen to daven in a shul that has a very strict “no-talking in shul” policy. The olam largely complies, and if, on a rare occasion, someone forgets, there are good neshamos who will not hesitate to shush them without mercy…

I recently had occasion to daven in a different shul than my usual one. It so happens that I have an old, dear friend who davens in that shul, and whenever I go there, we always get into some sort of discussion. This friend, who is a real tzaddik and who will go out of his way to help others, often with great mesirus nefesh, is a gregarious fellow and always has a comment or a well-placed joke (at my expense) on the tip of his tongue. That is the way he masks his good deeds.

There is one problem that arises every time I walk into that shul. For some reason, I seem to just forget about the important mandate of not talking in shul. Somehow, my friend, with his easy quip or comment, elicits a counter-comment from me, and although I try to whisper and be discreet, I know it is wrong. Just being in that sevivah with him is, for some reason, enough to take away the inhibition of not talking.

For whatever reason, this nisayon is one that I have not yet been able to overcome in that shul, until my most recent visit there. Believe it or not, that very friend (who knows I am writing these words and agrees to them) was the source for the turnaround.

As he was shmoozing with me at the beginning of Kabbolas Shabbos, he pointed to a Yid who was sitting at one of the tables. “You see that guy over there? He had cancer and, boruch Hashem, he is well now. As a result of his ordeal, he made a kabbolah not to talk in shul, and it bothers him when others talk.”

My friend continued: “I talk anyway. I can’t control myself, but I thought you should know…”

His words hit me like a slap in the face. Of course, I should learn to control myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to cause pain to a cancer survivor. As I made a hachlatah not to fall again and shmooze in shul, even with this friend, I felt a bit hypocritical. Why was hurting that cancer survivor so much more of a potent deterrent than hurting Hashem? What is with me?

The Power of Peer Pressure

Either way, there is another lesson that I learned from that encounter that I would like to focus on. That lesson is the power of peer pressure and the power that one’s sevivah, the surrounding environment, has on a person.

For whatever reason, meeting with this person, whom I consider a good friend, set me off. My usual inhibition, both spiritual and practical, just falls away when I am near him.

In this week’s parsha, there is a profound lesson regarding the power that sevivah has on a person.

In this week’s parsha, we learn an interesting halacha about a kli cheres, a vessel made out of earthenware. The Torah tells us that something tamei does not have to touch a kli cheres to make the vessel tamei. Even if one would put something tamei in the airspace of a kli cheres, the vessel would become tamei.

For example, if I would take a sheretz, a dead insect, which is tamei, and hold it inside an earthenware cup in a way that it is not touching the walls of the cup at all, the cup still becomes tamei.

The Gerer Rebbe, the Pnei Menachem, says that from here we see the power of the hashpa’ah of one’s surroundings. If a person is surrounded by negative hashpa’os, negative people, or people who don’t conduct themselves completely in accordance with the standards of the Torah, or even in accordance with the standards of “kadeish atzmecha b’muttar loch,” he will be negatively impacted by them, even if he doesn’t touch them or have anything to do with them.

Just like the sheretz that doesn’t even touch the earthenware vessel makes the vessel tamei, so too, the seviva, the atmosphere—any atmosphere—has an impact on those surrounded by it, even if there is no interaction. This is true when it comes to an atmosphere of tumah or negativity, and certainly in an atmosphere of kedusha, simcha, or positivity. The sevivah has a very strong impact on a person, even if he has no direct interaction or contact with it.

The Effects of Leitzonus…Even Years Later

The Pnei Menachem explained this with a well-known idea based on a Mishnah in Pirkei Avos. The Mishnah says, “If two people sit together and there is no divrei Torah discussed between them, it is considered a moshav leitzim, a place of scoffers.” The question is: Why is it called a moshav leitzim if, let’s say, they did not speak at all? Why is that so bad?

The answer, the Pnei Menachem says, is that the very fact that they are not saying divrei Torah to each other is itself proof that the place where they are sitting was once a moshav leitzim. It was once a place where people were speaking leitzonus, and the impact of that leitzonus on the atmosphere is so severe that now, even years later, it somehow prevents these two Yidden from sharing divrei Torah. That is the power of hashpa’ah that inappropriate behavior has on a place.

He concludes, “How much more so does a heilige place that is full of kedusha have a hashpa’ah of kedusha forever after!”

“I Wasn’t Able to Learn Many Bletter Gemara…”

The Rachmastrivka Rebbe of Boro Park, who passed away more than a year ago, once related a story about his father-in-law, the previous Skverer Rebbe, that resonated with me.

Before the war, when his shver lived in Yas, a modern town, he was very scared about the kind of hashpa’ah that the surrounding culture would have on his daughters (who would later be the Vizhnitzer Rebbetzin of Monsey and his wife, the Rachmastrivka Rebbetzin).

He did not allow his daughters to attend school, because he was afraid of the influences there. However, he had a problem. How would he entertain young girls and teens if they had no school and no friends?

He once told his son-in-law, the Rachmastrivka Rebbe, “During that time, I was not able to learn many bletter Gemara because of my daughters [i.e., because he had to keep his daughters occupied], but I have no regrets and I don’t feel bad at all.”

What did he do? He would find interesting stories in the Gemara. He would then teach his daughters from these aggadetas and tell them stories from tzaddikim so that they would not feel lonely, bored, or deprived. He spent hours each day translating stories from Gemara and Chazal into Yiddish, so they would be stimulated. In this way, he tried to make sure that they would not feel the need to go out of the house.

That is the power of sevivah. Because he was so careful about the sevivah they were in, his daughters merited to remain deeply pious women who served as rebbetzins and had a profound positive hashpa’ah on so many others.

Will I or Won’t I? Time Will Tell!

Getting back to talking in shul…

Now, I cannot definitively tell you what will happen the next time I visit that shul and meet my good friend. Will I slip into old habits and begin shmoozing again or will I remember the lessons I have just shared?

Certainly, I hope the result will be different. Armed with the above lessons about the power of sevivah, and due to the very fact that so many will read these words and then be able to laugh me out of town for my hypocrisy, I hope that my good friend will understand that he will have to wait until after davening for me to give him back what he dishes out to me….