The Rack-of-Lamb Rabbi

One hectic Friday afternoon in Brooklyn, the members of the Sabbath-observant community were doing their usual last-minute pre-Shabbat preparations by scurrying like frantic mice from one store to another. Most of the scurriers were men, who were given strict orders over the phone by their wives. If the poor husbands weren’t moving fast enough from store to store, or called too many times to find out exactly which brand of chopped liver wifey wanted, they got nailed with the invisible whip through the phone. Darned smartphones.

A certain Rabbi R. was at the local butcher, picking up a gorgeous rack of lamb for Shabbat. “That’ll be $132 please,” the butcher said. Unfortunately for Rabbi R., there was a she-mouse standing behind him, and her oversized ears perked up at the unusually large sum for an unusually fancy piece of meat that the rabbi paid for. She quickly turned around, whipped out her Galaxy, and started frantically texting her friend.

“OMG! I just saw Rabbi R. pay $132 for a rack of lamb for Shabbat!” she texts. Simy, the friend, is shocked, and quickly posts the late-breaking news on Facebook. 286 friends instantly see the news, and start posting comments galore. It happens that Rabbi R. is a rebbe at the local yeshiva, and now speculation is starting to get out of hand.

“We can barely afford chicken for Shabbat, and this guy’s buying rack of lamb? Something’s not right here!” Piny tweets. “Should we speak with the school Principal about this?” Zalman replies.

“I went to school with Rabbi R., and I always felt there was something weird about him,” Moishy texts. In an instant, the attack on Rabbi R’s questionable purchase transformed into an attack on Rabbi R. himself. “I was set up with him for a shidduch, and Baruch Hashem, it didn’t work out,” Bassie replies.

Before you know it, the scandal is reaching cross-country. Phone calls are being made from New York to Los Angeles and Miami. “On Monday morning, we’ve got to meet together and get rid of this guy. He’s obviously doing something fishy to have so much money,” Heshy says. “My sister’s brother-in-law’s next-door neighbor’s mother lives two houses down from him, and she says that family loves food!” Chani texts.

In twenty minutes, the lashon hara – the slander – has reached massive proportions. It got so out of control that a woman from Los Angeles actually called Rabbi R.’s wife and complained to her, demanding to know whey they’re eating rack of lamb for Shabbat. The wife is boiling mad when her husband finally returns home 10 minutes later.

On the way home, however, Rabbi R. makes a stop at a friend’s house and drops off the meat that the wife asked him to pick up for her. She thanks him gratefully for saving her so much time. “I’m always happy to do a favor for friends,” he happily responds, as he heads home empty-handed.

By the time he gets home, the wife is completely flustered and upset by all of the phone calls and accusatory texts she’s had to deal with.

Rabbi R. was only out of the house for 30 minutes. In that time, his reputation has been completely ruined.

In only 30 minutes, 400 people found out that he picked up a rack of lamb at the butcher.

In only 30 minutes, his career has been destroyed potentially beyond repair.

In only 30 minutes, he no longer has any friends.

In only 30 minutes, his children have lost all of their friends.

The worst part is that Rabbi R. had no idea what was happening behind his back.

Lashon hara is bad enough when it’s done from person to person. It is as deadly as a gun.

But, lashon hara through Facebook, IM, Twitter, texting, and any other horribly impersonal attempts at having a real conversation, are like an atom bomb. The damage is irreparable.

There are two lessons to learn from this.

First, think twice before you judge a situation. You never know all the factors involved, even if you personally witness it happening.

Second, don’t share questionable information about anyone, not over the phone, and certainly not online. You could literally be destroying someone’s life.

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Taken from a story by the Chofetz Chaim Foundation