Why do we cringe when our flaws and shortcomings are pointed out to us?
Why do we find criticism such a bitter pill to swallow? Logic would seem
to dictate the exact opposite. We all want to be the very best we can
possibly be, to reach our full potential. Therefore, it is important that
we know our flaws in order to correct them, and we should be happy to have
them pointed out to us. Why then do we cringe? Why do we feel humiliated?
Furthermore, the Torah in this week’s portion commands us, “Do not hate
your brother in your heart. Rebuke your friend, and do not bear sin upon
him." There seems to be a contradiction here. On the one hand, the Torah
requires us to rebuke others. Yet the Sages tell us that “people who
accuse others of shortcomings are themselves guilty of the same flaws,”
clearly implying that we should refrain from offering rebuke.
The answer lies in a closer reading of the Torah’s commandment. “Rebuke
your friend.” Make sure your rebuke is delivered in a spirit of
friendship. “Do not bear sin upon him.” Separate the person from the sin.
Rebuke the deed, not the person. People who judge and condemn, the Sages
add, are generally guilty of the very crimes of which they accuse others.
People who are righteous and free of guilt, however, offer constructive
criticism in a spirit of friendship.
Criticism itself does not humiliate. After all, very few people consider
themselves absolutely perfect. Rather, it is the manner in which the
criticism is delivered that humiliates. Very often, unfortunately, it is
delivered in a mean-spirited, malicious manner, whereby the critic demeans
us in order to make himself appear "holier than thou." It is a put-down,
and we instinctively recoil.
Constructive criticism, however, delivered in a pure spirit of love and
compassion, is always welcome. Indeed, it is one of the primary catalysts
of personal growth.
In a certain district of Jerusalem, all the storekeepers agreed to close
down their stores for Shabbos - except for one grocer. No matter how much
pressure was brought on him, he refused to budge.
One Friday, one of the prominent Jerusalem sages dressed in his best
Shabbos finery and entered the grocery store. He stationed himself on a
chair in the back of the store and proceeded to stay there for the entire
day, watching the busy hustle and bustle of the grocery shoppers. As
evening drew near, the grocer approached the sage and asked, “Is
everything all right, rabbi? Do you need anything? Is there anything I can
do to help you?”
“No,” said the sage. “I have come here because I wanted to understand why
you refuse to close your store on Shabbos. Now, it is clear to me. You
have such a busy store that it would be a tremendous ordeal for you to
close it, even for one day.”
The grocer burst into tears. “You are the first one to try to see it from
my side,” he managed to say between sobs. “Everyone scolded and berated
me, but before you, no one tried to understand me.” After that day, it did
not take long before the grocer agreed to close his store on Shabbos. A
few kind words had been effective where threats and invective had failed.
In our own lives, we often fell a need to criticize others. Before we do
so, however, we should ask ourselves: Are we doing it for their good
rather than our own? Are our motives pure and compassionate? If the answer
is yes, and if we deliver the criticism in a kind and gentle manner, it
will undoubtedly be effective. The difference is critical.