Over the last couple of months, my son and I have been watching reruns of the sitcom “Modern Family.”
If, like me, you saw it when it was on TV years ago (yes, it really was years ago), you might, like me, think it was brilliant. If, like my son, it’s new to you, you will hopefully, like my son, also think it’s brilliant.
Like any good family-oriented sitcom, one of the things that makes “Modern Family” work is the way it reflects the real-life dynamics of so many families. And that’s kind of the main point of the show.
Parent-child relationships — of both little kids and grown children — seem to have some predictable characteristics across families no matter how they look.
So many people from so many different backgrounds did and continue to watch “Modern Family” and find themselves laughing because they can see themselves reflected in what they see on the screen.
There’s a particular episode from one of the early seasons in which one of the sets of parents, Phil and Claire, find a burn mark on the couch just before Christmas.
Because it’s about the width of a cigarette, they immediately conclude that one of their children must have been smoking.
They sit the kids down and tell them how grave the situation is, and they demand that whoever was smoking fess up.
None of them do, so the parents start ratcheting up the pressure. And then Phil, the dad, crosses a line: “No one wants to confess? Okay. That’s fine. Cuz you know what happens next? We cancel Christmas!”
Again, none of the kids cops to the smoking, and Phil follows through: he takes down the Christmas tree.
The episode continues from there, with the parents continuing to jack up the pressure and the kids trying to figure out whether to confess to a crime that it increasingly becomes clear they didn’t commit.
For me as a parent, what was so painfully recognizable was the conversation between Phil and Claire in which they acknowledge they (well, really Phil) moved too quickly to DEFCON 1 — but then wonder about whether to back down.
Their basic calculus is this: “If we back down now, the kids will never believe any threat of consequences again in the future.”
So they stick to their guns despite their better judgment. (Spoiler alert: It turns out, of course, that it wasn’t a cigarette burn at all but rather a burn caused by the sun refracted through the star on top of the Christmas tree. Predictable resolution follows. Merry Christmas.)
I don’t know about you, but this dilemma — getting stuck having made a promise or that I can’t keep, or just too hastily having spoken words I now feel like I need to take back — it is not, shall we say, an unfamiliar problem.
Sometimes I’m just too quick to respond: I say yes or I say no to a request without really thinking; I say that I know something when, in fact, I don’t; I make a quick comment that, as soon as it leaves my mouth, I realize I wish I hadn’t said.
To be sure, I’ve gotten better at this with age and practice, but it still happens. And when it does, it sucks. Trying to take back words is just a lousy feeling, and I often wish I had just been more mindful in the first place.
The Torah portion of Matot talks about this problem. If you make an oath, says the Torah, then there’s no wiggle room.
The verse says, “A person shall not break their pledge; they must carry out everything that crosses their lips.”
Rashi, the great medieval commentator, picks up on the word the Torah uses to describe breaking the pledge, which is yachel.
Yachel comes from the world chol, often translated as profane — as in, the opposite of kadosh, or sacred.
There is something profoundly holy in keeping our word — and so, Rashi suggests, there’s something really unholy about breaking our promises.
Now don’t worry, the Torah isn’t actually talking about all promises. According to the Rabbis of the Talmud, the text is referring to specific, formal kinds of oaths in very specific contexts.
But the general idea is still there: Our words are our bonds. Promises and commitments — these are sacred things. And so we shouldn’t go making them mindlessly or carelessly. Anytime we have to go back on a promise or commitment, it’s a big deal.
And here, I think I feel my age. One thing I’ve noticed is that in recent years, with the advent of texting and instant messaging apps, is that it seems like people cancel their plans a lot more than they used to.
In the old days (and nothing makes me feel more elderly than saying that), if you said you were going to meet someone at 7 pm, you couldn’t just text them to say, “Oops, turns out I can’t make it. Sorry.”
But now, if something comes up, we can do that — so we do. And whether you’ve had that happen to you or you’ve done it to someone else, I hope you can agree that it feels kind of icky.
If there’s an emergency, sure. But just because you’re not feeling the vibe tonight? I’m not so sure about that.
I think the reason we feel icky with this kind of thing is because deep down we know that our promises really matter. Promises and commitments — they’re kind of the way we make the world happen.
Commitments are social contracts. You promise to show up to school or work; you promise to show up to sports practice or play rehearsal; you promise to be someone’s friend or their partner.
What would life be without these kinds of promises? Without the ability to make promises or to rely on the word of others, it’s pretty hard for the world to function.
That’s why our word is sacred. That’s why the Torah tells us that we have to be mindful with our speech.
So this week, I want to invite you make a kavvana, an intention, to practice mindful speech. In Hebrew we call this practice shemirat hadibbur.
There are lots of ways to practice it. Begin by taking a sticky note and just writing “Mindful speech” on it.
Put it up on your bathroom mirror so you see it when you get up in the morning and when you go to bed at night.
Then, during the day, try to pause before you speak, just a little more than you might normally. If you’re on social media, see if you can take an extra beat before you post.
If you’re making a promise or commitment, maybe ask yourself, “Is this a promise I am really going to keep?”
If you’re in a conversation, check yourself if you’re about to say something and maybe ask, “Are these words I’m about to say adding goodness and light to the world, or not? Will they do harm to me or other people?”
Most of the time, we have more time to respond than we might think. Phil and Claire kind of forgot that with their kids on Christmas. But you don’t have to. Take that time.
Jewish tradition teaches that the world was created through words. And just like creating the world, creating our words is something best done with mindfulness, presence, and intention.
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.