By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — There are moments in the Jewish calendar that feel as though they arrive right on time—not just in sync with the Torah cycle, but with the emotional and spiritual needs of the world. Parsha Emor feels like one of those moments.
In an age where anger too often drowns out empathy, where shouting overpowers listening, and where hurtful words ripple across homes, screens, and hearts, Emor invites us to pause. It invites us to speak—but differently. In this week’s Torah portion, we are drawn into a world where words are not just expressions—they are instruments of holiness. As a mental health professional guided by Torah and dedicated to emotional healing and personal growth, I find this speaks powerfully to our need—individually and communally—for gentler speech, deeper listening, and sacred relationships.
We find ourselves reading this portion during the Omer, a time of counting, of refining, of moving toward spiritual maturity. Isn’t it striking that Emor—meaning “speak”—shares its letters with Omer? Could it be that this is no coincidence, but rather a gentle call to examine the way we speak during this sacred stretch of time?
We are taught that the word emor, repeated three times in the opening verse, is not simply about vocalization. According to the Mechilta and Rashi, emor denotes soft, loving speech—perhaps even a whisper. It’s not daber, the more forceful “speak” often associated with commands. Emor is warm, slow, emotionally attuned. It’s the tone we use with those we truly care about. It’s how we speak when we want our words to land in the heart, not just the ears. I’ve seen how the tone of our words shapes the soul of our homes. When we raise children—or simply live in community—with sharpness or judgment, fear takes root. But when we guide with love, connection grows. Speaking softly is not weakness; it is strength shaped by sanctity.
In fact, the Talmud (Yevamot 114a) teaches that this triple repetition of emor serves as a directive: adults are to speak to children—our own and others’—with tenderness. That is, our words must be infused with care, especially when guiding, correcting, or educating. And if that’s true for how we speak with children, surely, it’s also true for how we speak to each other.
When tension rises—whether in our homes, our communities, or within ourselves—our default can too easily shift to sharpness. The prolonged stressors of illness, uncertainty, isolation, and the noise of a divided world have strained many hearts. It’s understandable. But Torah gently asks us: And now what? How will you speak? How will you soothe? The Ba’al Shem Tov teaches that even rebuke must come from love. Without that inner tenderness, correction becomes control. But with love, it becomes healing. This is true not only with our children and students, but with ourselves. The way we speak to ourselves—our inner dialogue—can either shame us or shepherd us toward growth.
Shlomo HaMelech’s wisdom rings loud: “Mavet v’chayim b’yad lashon”— “Life and death are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21). Words can either construct bridges or burn them. Emotionally and spiritually, our language can invite others into connection—or push them into isolation.
Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Berditchev taught that when we act from fear, from woundedness, or from judgment, our words can do great harm. Yet even that harm can be a catalyst for change—if we catch ourselves, reflect, and choose teshuvah, the sacred path of returning to love.
In my work I often hear from people who carry the weight of words spoken long ago—some of them loving, others devastating. We know from both science and Torah that speech holds tremendous power. King Solomon’s words echo through time: “Death and life are in the hands of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21).
But let’s also remember—so is healing. So is connection. So is joy. With just a shift in tone, we can bring light into shadowed places. With just a pause before speaking, we can bless instead of bruise. And with just a small act of verbal kindness, we can ease someone’s pain—sometimes even our own.
Today, our spiritual imperative is to build inclusive spaces where every soul—regardless of visible or invisible “blemishes”—is honored. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein’s compassionate ruling permitting a blind person with a guide dog to enter a synagogue exemplifies this. So does the Ramah’s broader principle of kavod habriyot, human dignity. These halachic decisions reflect a psychological truth: belonging heals.
We do far better spiritually, emotionally, and even physically, when we see others through eyes of compassion, not critique. The Torah, especially in Parsha Emor, invites us to do just this. It teaches us that kindness is not ancillary to holiness—it is at its core.
So, as we enter Shabbat, may we adopt the Emor posture—not just to speak, but to speak softly; not just to hear, but to listen with the heart. Let’s commit to being “priests” in our own way: lifting others with words, blessing with presence, and honoring the divine image in every face we meet.
Every human being is created b’tzelem Elokim, in the image of Hashem. The blessing Meshaneh Habriot reminds us of the beauty in our differences. That truth alone can soften our voice, still our reactions, and lead us to honor each soul as sacred.
Emor asks us not just to say, but to say with soul. To speak in a way that uplifts. That restores. That also plants seeds of belonging, rather than weeds of discord.
Let’s become more “priest”-like in our words—not in the ritual sense, but in the emotional sense. Like the Kohanim, let us bless. Let us carry the responsibility of creating sanctuary—not only in sacred spaces, but in everyday conversations.
May this Shabbat be one of gentleness, inside and out. May our words nourish more than they instruct. And may we all find healing in the way we speak—and in how we are spoken to.
Shabbat Shalom. May your heart find rest, and your voice bring peace.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.