In leadership, there’s a saying: culture eats strategy for breakfast.
And culture isn’t what’s printed in the handbook. It’s what’s whispered in the hallway, the jokes we repeat, and the stories we tell new hires. It’s the language we live by.
I once had to correct a manager who’d been wronged by a subordinate. The subordinate’s actions were unacceptable, but so was the manager’s response. My message was simple: “It’s not what you said. It’s how you said it.” Because in leadership, words aren’t just words. They’re signals. They set the temperature, define the boundaries, and shape the tone for everyone else.
Dr. Frank Luntz built his career on one insight: change the words and you can change the world. We fear “illegal aliens” but feel sympathy for “undocumented immigrants.” We are indifferent to an “estate tax” but support eliminating a “death tax.” “Juvenile delinquents” once threatened our streets. Now they’re “at-risk youth.” Addicts became “people with substance disorders.” Each shift changes not just the label but the moral lens.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe, zt”l, refused to call a hospital a beit cholim, “house of the sick,” because words shape reality. He called it a beit refuah, “house of healing,” reinforcing hope and recovery. The label itself becomes part of the cure.
Language isn’t neutral. It’s a steering wheel for public opinion.
- Pro-abortion became pro-choice, shifting focus from the act to the woman.
- Anti-abortion became pro-life, shifting focus to the unborn child.
- Abortion rights became reproductive rights, erasing the word “abortion” altogether.
We’ve seen similar battles over the word marriage. In the Middle East, “Free Palestine” paints one picture, while “A Secure Israel” paints another.
Psychologists have long known: what we talk about most becomes who we are. Speech shapes thought. Thought shapes identity. That’s as true for a family or a company as it is for a nation. The real measure of values is whether they live in our daily language.
That truth lies at the heart of the Torah’s teaching. In the Shema (Devarim 11:18-21): “Teach them to your children so that they will speak in them.”
Rashi explains: when a child learns to speak, the first words should be Torah tziva lanu Moshe so that it becomes limud diburo, training a child’s manner of speech. The goal isn’t only to impart knowledge, but to shape the very language they live in. Just as political phrasing can reframe a public debate, Torah phrasing can reframe an entire life.
There’s a difference between being a Torah person and being a Torah parent.
A Torah person studies, loves, and lives Torah.
A Torah parent does all that and also builds a home where Torah is the family’s mother tongue. Where values aren’t merely studied; they’re spoken. Where Torah isn’t confined to sedarim and shiurim, but colors every conversation. How we interpret news, how we encourage one another, even how we share a joke.
Rabbi Wein often recalled how his elementary school teacher, a Holocaust survivor, would bring a newspaper into recess and tell the students: “You teach me how to read English, and I’ll teach you how to read the news as a Jew.”
When I was dating, people would often ask, “Who is your rebbi?” The answer I wanted to give, and the truth, was that my father, z”l, was one of them. Ironically, we didn’t have many sedarim with him. He was a busy businessman, often traveling. Yet Torah found its way into so many conversations: in the car, at the dinner table, on the phone. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t scripted. It was simply how we spoke.
My father used to say: The goal of Jewish education isn’t just to teach Torah knowledge. It’s to instill a love of Torah. Knowledge can grow later. Love must be planted early, with warmth, joy, and lived example. In our home, Torah was not a subject. It was a vocabulary. It framed our challenges, our opportunities, even our humor. Without ever announcing it, my father lived the Shema’s vision: he taught his children what it means to live ledaber bam. To “speak in them.”
This Shabbos marks my father’s first yahrzeit. Rav Yaakov Elchanan ben Moshe Yehuda, z”l, together with my mother, gave us the Shema’s greatest gift: not just knowledge of Torah, but the instinct to speak its language. It’s the gift I now strive to give to my children, and to you. Because whether in the boardroom, the classroom, or the living room, the values that last are reflected in everyday speech.
The greatest legacy we can leave is not only words we say, but the language in which we live.
