THE POWER OF WORDS – PART 7 · Sukkat Shalom B'nei Noach

בס"ד

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Anger, Speech, and the Work Beneath the Surface

Looking Beyond the Surface

Last time, we explored an idea that sits at the heart of personal growth: it’s not enough to deal with symptoms. If all we ever do is react to what shows up on the surface—our words, our tone, our outbursts—we never really change. Real change only begins when we start asking deeper questions. What’s actually driving this behavior? Where is it coming from?

We spoke about several underlying causes that lead a person to speak badly, and today we turn to one of the most powerful of them: anger.

When Anger Takes Over

Anger is something almost all of us know intimately. Someone does something to us—something unfair, disrespectful, or just plain irritating—and before we’ve even had time to think, something inside us rises. How dare they? And from that feeling, words often follow. Not measured, not thoughtful, but reactive.

If we’re honest, most of us live surrounded by people who get under our skin. Unless you’ve removed yourself entirely from human interaction—or reached some kind of angelic level of patience—this is simply part of life. And when those moments happen, the urge to talk about it, to vent, to criticize, can feel almost unavoidable.

But this is exactly where the deeper work begins.

When the Inside Becomes Visible

There’s a powerful idea found in the Torah portion connected to this topic. It describes something often translated as “leprosy,” but it’s not the medical condition we know today. It was something else entirely—a physical mark that appeared on a person’s skin as a reflection of a spiritual imbalance within.

It’s a striking image. Imagine if every time we spoke badly about someone, it showed up visibly on our skin. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it would certainly make us pause. It suggests something profound: what happens inside us doesn’t stay hidden forever. Sooner or later, it shows itself.

One Verse, A Complete Path

A few chapters later, we’re given a verse that feels simple at first glance, but carries an immense depth:

Do not take revenge.
Do not bear a grudge.
Love your fellow as yourself.
I am G-d.

At first, these seem like separate ideas. But when you read them together, they form a single flow. Almost like an answer to an unspoken question:

How can a person really let go of anger? How can they avoid revenge, avoid holding onto resentment?

The answer unfolds through the rest of the verse.

What Revenge and Grudges Really Look Like

Revenge isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s as simple as refusing to help someone—not because there’s a good reason, but because they didn’t help you before. It’s that quiet, internal calculation: you didn’t do for me, so I won’t do for you.

A grudge is subtler. You might still help the person, but inside, something hasn’t let go. There’s a memory being held onto, a quiet resentment that lingers beneath the surface. Even if nothing is said out loud, it’s still there.

And yet, we’re told not to live that way.

Not because we’re expected to be perfect or emotionless—far from it. In the moment, reactions are natural. Feeling hurt, frustrated, even angry, is part of being human. But we’re not meant to stay there.

Learning to See Others Differently

This is where the idea of “loving your fellow as yourself” becomes more than just a nice phrase.

Think about how we treat ourselves when we fall short. When we’re impatient, or rude, or make a mistake, we rarely see ourselves as simply “bad.” We explain it. We justify it. We tell ourselves we were tired, stressed, overwhelmed. We find a way to make sense of it so we can keep living with ourselves.

What if we extended that same generosity outward?

What if, instead of immediately judging someone else’s behavior, we paused and considered that they, too, have their own story? Their own pressures, their own past, their own struggles we can’t see?

Most of the time, what someone does has very little to do with us personally. It comes from whatever they’re carrying. Even when it feels directed at us, it often isn’t really about us at all.

A Bigger Perspective

And then comes the second layer: “I am G-d.”

This part shifts the perspective even further. It suggests that there is meaning woven into every experience, even the uncomfortable ones. That nothing we encounter is entirely random or without purpose.

That doesn’t mean other people’s actions are justified. People are still responsible for how they behave. But it changes how we experience what happens to us.

Instead of getting stuck in the question, why did they do this to me? we begin to ask something different: what can I take from this?

Turning Reaction into Growth

Sometimes the answer isn’t obvious. Sometimes it takes time, or even guidance from someone else, to see it clearly. But the act of asking already creates a shift. It moves us out of reaction and into reflection.

And in that space, something remarkable happens. The intensity of anger begins to soften. Not because the situation changes, but because our relationship to it does.

A Direction, Not Perfection

None of this is easy. It’s not something a person masters overnight. It’s something we return to, again and again, often failing, sometimes succeeding, gradually growing.

But there are moments—small, quiet moments—where it clicks. Where instead of reacting, we understand. Where instead of holding on, we let go. And in those moments, there’s a kind of calm that’s hard to describe, but unmistakable when you feel it.

That’s the direction we’re moving toward.

Not perfection. Not suppression. But a deeper way of living—one where even anger becomes an opportunity to grow.

Talk van Rabbi Menachem Salasnik

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