JULY 29 • 2021 | 29

word shema.
This may seem like a small difference,
but it is, in fact, a huge one. For the
Greeks, the ideal form of knowledge
involved detachment. There is the one
who sees, the subject, and there is that
which is seen, the object, and they
belong to two different realms. A person
who looks at a painting or a sculpture or
a play in a theater or the Olympic Games
is not himself part of the art or the
drama or the athletic competition. He or
she is a spectator, not a participant.
Speaking and listening are not forms
of detachment. They are forms of
engagement. They create a relationship.
The Hebrew word for knowledge, da’at,
implies involvement, closeness, intimacy.
“And Adam knew Eve his wife and she
conceived and gave birth” (Gen. 4:1).
That is knowing in the Hebrew sense,
not the Greek.
We can enter into a relationship with
God, even though He is infinite and
we are finite, because we are linked by
words. In revelation, God speaks to us.
In prayer, we speak to God. If you want
to understand any relationship, between
husband and wife, or parent and child,
or employer and employee, pay close
attention to how they speak and listen to
one another. Ignore everything else.
The Greeks taught us the forms of
knowledge that come from observing
and inferring, namely science and
philosophy. The first scientists and the
first philosophers came from Greece
from the sixth to the fourth centuries
B.C.E.
But not everything can be understood
by seeing and appearances alone. There
is a powerful story about this told in the
first book of Samuel. Saul, Israel’s first
king, looked the part. He was tall. “From
his shoulders and upward he was higher
than any of the people,” (1 Sam. 9:2,
10:23). He was the image of a king. But
morally, temperamentally, he was not a
leader at all; he was a follower.

IGNORE APPEARANCES
God then told Samuel to anoint another
king in his place and told him it would

be one of the children of Yishai. Samuel
went to Yishai and was struck by the
appearance of one of his sons, Eliav.
He thought he must be the one God
meant. But God said to him, “Do not
be impressed by his appearance or his
height, for I have rejected him. God does
not see as people do. People look at the
outward appearance, but the Lord looks
at the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7).
Jews and Judaism taught that we
cannot see God, but we can hear Him
and He hears us. It is through the word
— speaking and listening — that we
can have an intimate relationship with
God as our parent, our partner, our
sovereign, the One who loves us and
whom we love. We cannot demonstrate
God scientifically. We cannot prove
God logically. These are Greek, not
Jewish, modes of thought. I believe that
from a Jewish perspective, trying to
prove the existence of God logically or
scientifically is a mistaken enterprise.
God is not an object but a subject.
The Jewish mode is to relate to God in
intimacy and love, as well as awe and
reverence.
One fascinating modern example
came from a Jew who, for much of
his life, was estranged from Judaism,
namely Sigmund Freud. He called
psychoanalysis the “speaking cure,” but
it is better described as the “listening
cure.” It is based on the fact that active
listening is in itself therapeutic. It was
only after the spread of psychoanalysis,
especially in America, that the phrase
“I hear you” came into the English
language as a way of communicating
empathy.
There is something profoundly
spiritual about listening. It is the most
effective form of conflict resolution I
know. Many things can create conflict,
but what sustains it is the feeling on the
part of at least one of the parties that
they have not been heard. They have
not been listened to. We have not “heard
their pain.” There has been a failure of
empathy. That is why the use of force —
or for that matter, boycotts — to resolve
conflict is so profoundly self-defeating.

It may suppress it for a while, but it will
return, often more intense than before.
Job, who has suffered unjustly, is
unmoved by the arguments of his
comforters. It is not that he insists on
being right: What he wants is to be
heard. Not by accident does justice
presuppose the rule of audi alteram
partem, “Hear the other side.”
Listening lies at the very heart of
relationship. It means that we are open
to the other, that we respect him or
her, that their perceptions and feelings
matter to us. We give them permission
to be honest, even if this means making
ourselves vulnerable in so doing.
A good parent listens to their child.
A good employer listens to his or her
workers. A good company listens to
its customers or clients. A good leader
listens to those he or she leads. Listening
does not mean agreeing, but it does
mean caring. Listening is the climate in
which love and respect grow.

LEARN TO LISTEN
In Judaism we believe that our
relationship with God is an ongoing
tutorial in our relationships with other
people. How can we expect God to
listen to us if we fail to listen to our
spouse, our children or those affected
by our work? And how can we expect to
encounter God if we have not learned to
listen?
On Mount Horeb, God taught Elijah
that He was not in the whirlwind, the
earthquake or the fire but in the kol
demamah dakah, the “still, small voice”
that I define as a voice you can only hear
if you are listening.
Crowds are moved by great speakers,
but lives are changed by great listeners.
Whether between us and God or us and
other people, listening is the prelude to
love.

The late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks served as the

chief rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of

the Commonwealth, 1991-2013. He has made his

teachings available to all. This essay was originally

published in August 2016.