The Torah tells us that two birds must be taken for the purification ceremony of the leper. Why two birds? R. Yehuda ben Levi answers in the Talmud: "The leper did an act of pitter-pattering, therefore the Torah says that he should bring a sacrifice of something that pitter-patters."

The Sages have cited many allusions to the fact that leprosy is a Torah punishment for sins of speech, such gossip, speaking ill of others, and the like. This is seen here as well: When a person gossips about others, he is actually behaving like a sparrow – called a "bird of freedom" in Hebrew – chirping with no limits. When a person speaks lashon hara or maligns another, he is acting like a sparrow, which does not accept authority from anyone, has no discipline, and spouts off whatever comes to it. It chirps all over the place with no restraints, always squeaking and making noise – just like a person who does not watch his mouth, speaks whatever and wherever he wants, without regard to whether it might harm someone or cause damage. 

The Medrash tells us a story about a king who once took ill, and was told that only milk from a lioness could cure him. This presented a major challenge, as who would ever dare to come close to a lioness, let alone obtain her milk? The king announced that whoever would succeed in bring him a cup of lioness milk would receive a large fortune and be appointed his highest advisor to boot. One man came forth and said he could do it – but that he required a flock of sheep. He went to the lions' den and, from a distance, threw a lamb to the lioness. The carnivore was puzzled but happily ate the lamb. The next day the man came a bit closer and threw the lioness another lamb, and the same thing happened. Each day he came closer and closer, until after a month the lioness allowed him to come very close and even to pet her. At that point, the man took out a bottle from his pocket, and while the animal was busy eating, he gently milked her until the bottle was full.

On his way back to the king, he dreamt a strange dream, in which all his organs were arguing amongst themselves about who deserves the credit for this great accomplishment. The legs said, "If not for us, how would you have ever gotten there?!" The hands said, "We milked her!" The eyes said, "We showed you the way!" Etc. etc., until the tongue tried to speak up, but got shouted down by the others: "You're the smallest among us, you have no bones, and you live in a dark, wet place!" The tongue said, "Tomorrow you'll see how I actually totally control all of you."

The next day, the man arrived in the king's palace, and announced dramatically: "I have returned, and I have the dog's milk that you requested!" Predictably, the king was infuriated, and ordered the man thrown into the dungeon. His organs took up from where they had reached in the previous night's dream, but with the new-found understanding that it was the tongue that had the final word over them. 

The tongue said, "OK, now you'll see how I can save you." The man asked the dungeon-master to return him to the king so that he could appeal. He explained: "O master and king! Whatever I said before – what does it matter? Drink the milk, and if it heals you, that's what's important! And anyway, there are some languages in which a lioness is called a dog, which is why I said dog instead of lioness…" The king agreed to drink the milk, and lo and behold, he was cured of his disease, and rewarded the man as he had promised. 

We thus see that "death and life are in the hands of the tongue" (Proverbs 18,21). Regardless of its small size, it has a tremendous effect on our lives. The same is true with a sparrow that weighs but a few grams, but its sound, its influence, can be heard and felt from afar. Let us not make light of what our mouths can do. 

And now a word about Fear of Heaven: "The beginning of wisdom is Fear of Heaven," we read in Psalms 111. It is the first gate one passes through on his way to effective Torah study. What exactly is this trait?

We answer this question from the story of the Ten Plagues, and specifically the plague of Hail: "He who feared G-d's word among Pharoah's slaves gathered his servants and livestock into the houses; and he who did not pay attention to G-d's word, left his servants and livestock in the field [where they were smitten]."  

We see clearly that the opposite of "fear of Heaven" is simply apathy, not paying attention – and he who notes and lives by G-d's word is a G-d-fearing person. And what does G-d expect from us, primarily? We read in D'varim 5: "Would it be that their heart would be this way, to fear Me, and to keep My precepts…"

One who has fear and awe of Heaven is one who knows that he is not alone, and that G-d is with him everywhere – and this keeps him from behaving in an unseemly manner, and specifically from speaking wantonly and badly about others. As R. Moshe Isserles writes in the first paragraph of the classic Shulchan Arukh that he co-authored with R. Yosef Karo: 

"The verse I have placed G-d before me always is a great principle in the Torah and among the righteous, for a person who sits alone at home does not behave or speak the same way he does when he stands before a king… And all the more so when he imbues himself with the idea that he is standing before the King of Kings, the Holy One, Blessed be He – this will bring him fear and awe and surrender to G-d…"

R. Chelbo states in the Talmud: "Whoever has fear of Heaven, his words are heard, as is written in the end of Ecclesiastes: "The bottom line is that everything is heard; fear G-d and heed His commandments" – for his words are not like the chirping of a bird, but are rather thought-out and positive.

It is told about Rav Tzvi Yehuda, the son of HaRav Kook and Rosh Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav, that he rebuked his students for something – and yet a few days later, they did the same thing. He admonished them again, and yet again they did not listen. When it happened a third time, he quickly left and went into a side room. The students were greatly taken aback, and followed after him, and found him there crying. In shock at what they had done, they sought to mollify him: "We're sorry, we made a mistake, we will do teshuvah!" Rav Tzvi Yehuda said, "I'm not worried only about you – but also about myself! After all, if my words are not heard, it must mean that my Fear of Heaven is not strong enough! That's why I am crying!"

This is the extent to which the great giants of Israel were concerned for their fear and awe of Heaven. How much more so must we seek to strengthen this attribute in ourselves!

Translated by Hillel Fendel