Remember what Hashem, your God, did to Miriam on the way, when you left Egypt.[1]

As the Torah relates in Chumash Bamidbar,[2] Miriam was punished with tzaraas for speaking about Moshe, even though he was her younger brother whom she had saved, her intentions were not malicious, and she did not say anything overtly terrible. Nevertheless, she faced consequences for her words.[3] The Rambam concludes the laws of tzaraas with a discussion of this episode with Miriam.[4] The Rambam then proceeds to employ a kal vachomer (fortiori) argument:

How much more so for those evil and foolish people who constantly speak great and wondrous things [about others].

It is noteworthy that the Rambam refers to speakers of lashon hara as “evil and foolish people.” This terminology is somewhat perplexing; while one can understand how lashon hara brands its speaker an evil person, in what way is he also a fool?

Additionally, the Rambam describes lashon hara as “gedolos v’nifla’os — great and wondrous things,” which is perhaps the most benign characterization one could imagine for words of slander. If a person were to be informed that others were speaking “great and wondrous things” about him, he would probably not take offense, naturally imagining that only good things were said. And yet, for the Rambam, this phrase serves as a characterization of lashon hara. Why?

The definition of a fool is someone who is convinced he knows more than he actually does. When we speak about others, we might say, “So-and-so does such-and-such,” based on something we observed. Have we seen this more than once? If not, then what leads us to believe that this one observation is representative of an entire pattern? In many cases, what did we actually even see? Perhaps we only witnessed one small frame of a larger picture, but without context, we misinterpret it. And yet we proceed to speak with confidence. Where does that conviction come from? It stems from foolishness — a self-assurance that convinces us that just one piece of information is sufficient to understand the whole situation and the entire person. This tendency to draw maximum conclusions from minimal evidence is what we might call “gedolos,” or “greatness.” We spin and create great narratives from what we have actually seen, which is often just a small fragment.

Additionally, even when we observe people’s actions, we can never truly know what is happening within them. We are not aware of their struggles, their issues, or their circumstances; we only see the outward behavior. Everything else remains concealed.

In Hebrew, the word nifla means “beyond.” When we focus solely on the outermost layer — the aspects that are visible — we assume we know everything else that is hidden and beyond our ability to know, which is referred to as “nifla’os.” Once again, this is an act of folly. Who can truly know another person? How can we claim to understand his entirety? Yet the misguided and presumptuous answer is often, “I know because I am me, and therefore I know.” Airtight reasoning, perhaps, in the mind of the person who pronounces these words, but everyone who hears them realizes they express the thoughts of a fool.

This is especially ironic as people who speak lashon hara often do so to present themselves as wise, through both their penetrating analysis of their victim’s persona, and their withering appraisal of his flaws and shortcomings. It is helpful to remember that the Rambam has cast all these dissertations as nothing more than exercises in hubris, self-righteousness, and, above all, foolishness – and it is a foolishness we will be wise to avoid.

[1] Devarim 24:9.

[2] Ch. 12.

[3] See Bamidbar 12:1–12.

[4] Hilchos Tzoraas 16:10.