When the Voice Turns Sweet, Do Not Believe It

“When his voice turns sweet and pleading, do not believe him, for there are seven horrors in his heart.” Opening Two verses, and two worlds. The first: “A broken and humbled heart, Hashem, You will not scorn.” A broken heart is what Hashem wants. It is the heart of serving Him. It is the root of returning to Him. A broken heart opens gates. The second: “When his voice turns sweet and pleading, do not believe him, for there are seven horrors in his heart.” When the voice grows soft and pleading, when the eyes grow wet and the story grows heavy, do not believe it. Do not believe it right away. King Solomon, the wisest of all people, gives a warning. There is a kind of charm in the voice that hides seven horrors inside. Every young married man who wants to serve Hashem simply and honestly should be troubled by this question. What is the difference? How do you tell the two apart? Two Faces of Lowliness The Tanya, the classic book of Hasidic thought, teaches us a basic distinction. There are two states that look alike from the outside. On the inside they are complete opposites. There is a holy bitterness. It is a feeling that something is missing. It is sorrow over being far from Hashem. It is real pain over what should have been and was not. This is a lowliness that comes from deep inside. It hurts, and it is real. And it always leads to movement: to returning to Hashem, to taking responsibility, to actually fixing things. And there is a sadness that comes from the dark side. It uses the same words and has the same mood. It sheds the same tears. But inside, the ego is not broken. It is made stronger. It does not say, “I did wrong, and I will act differently.” It says, “Look what happened to me. Look at my pain. Look at my story.” The “I” stays at the center. It has only put on new clothes. The clear sign is simple. That is exactly why it is dangerous to bury it under complications. True lowliness builds. False lowliness takes advantage. The Clever Trick Everyone knows that the animal soul, our self-centered side, learns fast. It watches the advice of the divine soul, and it copies it. In earlier generations, the arrogant man would say, “I am great.” He was easy to spot. But our generation values being open, being authentic, being vulnerable. So the animal soul has learned a new trick. It says, “My flaw is great.” “My trauma runs deep.” “My pain is special.” And every time it says this, the “I” stays at the center. The ego was not broken. It was given a new crown. And the result? An excuse. An excuse from discipline. An excuse from keeping order. An excuse from the question, “Why didn’t you keep your word?” “But I’m being open. But I’m weak. But I’m hurt.” This is a vessel being used, not the truth. In the words of the verse: “When his voice turns sweet and pleading.” The voice turns pleading, soft, moving, and inside there are seven horrors. This is exactly the “trick” that Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, author of the Tanya, speaks about. It means using the language of serving Hashem in order to get out of serving Hashem. The Test There is one test. It is simple and sharp: After the “lowliness,” where does it lead? After King David sinned, he said, “I have sinned against Hashem.” At once he turned back to Hashem, and he took action. King Saul also said, “I have sinned.” But he added right away: “Please honor me.” He meant, “Honor me in front of the elders.” The same words, two worlds. One asked to repair. The other asked for honor. A truly broken heart builds. It is fuel for returning to Hashem and for doing. A “broken heart” that is a performance takes advantage. It is a soft pillow of self-pity. You can sleep on it comfortably without moving a foot.