How Can There Be a Mitzvah to Rebuke Even One Hundred Times If There Is Also a Mitzvah Not to Say Something That Will Not Be Heard?

How Can There Be a Mitzvah to Rebuke Even One Hundred Times If There Is Also a Mitzvah Not to Say Something That Will Not Be Heard?

At the heart of relationships between one person and another stands one of the Torah’s most complex and delicate commandments—the mitzvah of rebuke. Torah commands us, “You shall surely rebuke,” and our Sages go so far as to teach that one must repeat the rebuke even one hundred times. Yet we also find an instruction that appears entirely opposite: “Just as it is a mitzvah to say something that will be heard, so it is a mitzvah not to say something that will not be heard.”

The believing person therefore stands before a painful dilemma. Must he continue correcting his friend again and again, hoping that perhaps on the hundredth attempt a ray of change will finally break through? Or should he guard his tongue and remain silent because further words will only deepen the sin and perhaps transform the other person from one who acts unwittingly into one who knowingly rebels? We are setting out to clarify how an apparently endless duty to speak can coexist with the wisdom of silence, and how rebuke can change from a tool of confrontation into an act of love and mutual responsibility.

From the flame of holiness rising from our portion we draw the resounding command given to the entire nation, a command that forms part of the backbone of Jewish mutual responsibility. Here, within the fabric of interpersonal mitzvot, Torah planted a key to repair of the world—but also one of the heart’s greatest tests: how to rebuke without hurting, and how to persist without exhausting. “You shall not hate your brother in your heart; you shall surely rebuke your fellow, and you shall not bear sin because of him” (Leviticus 19:17).

The question immediately arises: why does the Torah double the expression “you shall surely rebuke”? And how can a mitzvah intended to cleanse the heart of hatred become the burden of saying something that cannot be heard?

Rashi (Leviticus 19:17) explains: “You shall surely rebuke—even one hundred times. And you shall not bear sin because of him—do not shame him publicly.” Rashi exposes the built-in tension. On one side stands seemingly endless persistence; on the other, extreme care for the dignity of the other person. The repetition teaches that rebuke is not a single event but an ongoing process of concern.

Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra explains: “You shall surely rebuke—until he leaves his sin, or until he rebukes you and it becomes clear that you were the one who erred.” Ibn Ezra teaches that rebuke is a dialogue of truth. The “hundred times” are not a one-sided sermon but a shared clarification in which the one speaking must be willing to listen no less than he wishes to be heard.

Ramban explains that it is a mitzvah to rebuke one’s fellow privately, and if the other does not listen, one should still not carry hatred in the heart. Ramban sees rebuke as a remedy for hatred. The repeated attempts express the refusal to let the heart close and fill with resentment. As long as there is the possibility of dialogue, there remains hope for relationship.

Sforno explains that the purpose of rebuke is to return the person to the straight path and that failure to rebuke can make one morally responsible for having remained silent. Sforno emphasizes responsibility. Silence can make the observer a partner in wrongdoing, which is why repeated effort may sometimes be required.

Kli Yakar explains that the doubled phrase alludes first to rebuking oneself and only afterward another person. The “hundred times” are required first inwardly. The more a person corrects his own conduct, the more his words to others may become capable of being heard. This itself helps resolve the tension between the duty to speak and the duty not to say what cannot be received.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains “you shall surely rebuke” as presenting evidence and reasons clearly and explicitly. He sees rebuke as an educational and intellectual act. If the first presentation is not understood, perhaps the explanation itself was not clear enough. The “hundred times” may therefore mean returning to the subject from different angles and in new ways until the idea can be received by the heart.

From the verses we enter the sea of the Talmud, where words become actions and the tension between speech and silence receives its most powerful expression. Our Sages set before us two pillars that appear to contradict one another, yet together they define the boundaries of Jewish responsibility and wisdom.

Bava Metzia 31a derives from the doubled wording: “You shall surely rebuke—even one hundred times.” The Gemara makes clear that the mitzvah is not exhausted by one or two attempts. Love and responsibility may require seemingly endless persistence. Rashi there explains that the obligation continues until the recipient strikes or curses the one offering rebuke. This sounds, at first glance, as though despair and silence have no place while any possibility of correction remains.

On the other hand, Yevamot 65b records Rabbi Ila’a in the name of Rabbi Elazar son of Rabbi Shimon: “Just as it is a mitzvah for a person to say something that will be heard, so it is a mitzvah for a person not to say something that will not be heard.” Rabbi Abba intensifies the statement and calls it an actual obligation. Beitzah 30a gives the familiar reason: “It is better that they remain unwitting than become deliberate sinners.” Silence can therefore become a moral tool intended to prevent a person from worsening his spiritual status after being warned and refusing to listen.

Arakhin 16b contains a sharp discussion that feels particularly relevant to later generations. Rabbi Tarfon says: “I wonder whether there is anyone in this generation capable of rebuking.” Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah says: “I wonder whether there is anyone in this generation capable of accepting rebuke.” Our Sages teach that the mitzvah depends not only on the desire of the speaker but also on the emotional and spiritual capacity of the recipient.

The Jerusalem Talmud, Demai 4:3, reflects the balancing principle. Silence need not come from indifference. It can come from deep understanding of the other person. If speaking will produce greater alienation or deepen the sin, silence itself can become the “true rebuke”—an act of restraint arising from fear of Heaven and respect for the Divine image in the other.

We therefore learn that “one hundred times” and silence are not necessarily contradictions. They are two different tools in the hands of someone who genuinely seeks repair. The wisdom lies in knowing when persistence reveals love and when silence reveals responsibility.

From the Talmudic sea we rise to the Rishonim, where we find the key to resolving the tension through distinctions among people, settings, and intentions.

Rabbeinu Yosef Haviva, Nimukei Yosef (Yevamot 65b), resolves the contradiction by looking toward the likely future. The “hundred times,” he explains, applies where the person may eventually be persuaded and accept the words, while the present refusal stems from temporary emotional resistance or lack of understanding. In such a case every additional conversation may bring the person closer to change. But when the rebuker knows with certainty that the sinner will not accept the words at all, even a first rebuke may be improper if it would merely transform him into a deliberate transgressor.

The Rosh (Yevamot, chapter 6, siman 11) distinguishes between private and public settings. A private conversation carries greater potential because personal, warm speech can penetrate the heart even after repeated attempts. Public rebuke, by contrast, requires far greater caution. Words that will not be received in public can lead to contempt for Torah or to conflict and desecration of God’s Name.

Rambam (Laws of Human Dispositions 6:7) defines the proper form of rebuke: the one rebuking his friend must speak privately, gently, and softly, and make clear that he speaks only for the other person’s benefit. Rambam teaches that the “hundred times” are not only about quantity but about quality. If the approach is soft and caring, one may continue trying in different ways. But if the speaker sees that his manner produces hatred, humiliation, or damage, he must stop or change course.

Rashba, in Responsa (part 3, no. 184), explains that sometimes the duty to remain silent arises from fear of a destructive reaction. If rebuke will push a person to reject a central principle or disparage another mitzvah, the speaker should fulfill the duty not to say what cannot be heard. Preserving the other person’s overall spiritual connection may be more important than correcting one isolated failure.

The Rishonim therefore resolve the contradiction through an honest assessment of reality. Persistence is required when there is long-term hope. Silence is required when speech is reliably expected only to destroy what remains.

From the Rishonim we come to the Aharonim and later poskim, where the issue becomes an everyday test in relationships, education, and communal life.

Rabbi Yehiel Mikhel Epstein, Arukh HaShulhan (Orah Hayyim 608), distinguishes fundamentally between an individual and the public. In a public setting, he explains, there is generally no obligation to repeat words that are not being received again and again, because public repetition can create contempt and conflict. In a private setting, however, where hearts are closer, there is room for the duty of “even one hundred times.” Privacy allows patience, repeated explanation, and the search for a path into the heart.

Rabbi Yitzhak Isaac of Komarno, Shulhan HaTahor, interprets the “hundred times” as corresponding to many gates of understanding. Sometimes a person does not listen because he is not rebellious but because one level of his inner world remains closed. A rebuke repeated in varied forms—through a story, a tear, a halakhic explanation, or personal example—may eventually reach the right gate.

Rabbi Yekutiel Yehudah Teitelbaum, Yismah Moshe, analyzes the rule “better they remain unwitting than become deliberate.” Once a person has already been rebuked properly and understands the prohibition, he is no longer protected by lack of knowledge. According to this line of reasoning, the concern that rebuke will turn him from unwitting into deliberate has already occurred after the first effective warning. Thereafter, the obligation of repeated effort may return, because silence can no longer preserve the earlier status and the remaining hope is to rescue him from sin.

Rabbi Israel Meir HaKohen, the Hafetz Hayyim, warns in his laws of harmful speech that every discussion of rebuke must be surrounded by extreme care not to cross into lashon hara or public humiliation. The repeated attempts must be conducted so that the other person senses that the rebuker shares his pain rather than taking satisfaction in exposing his failure. Rebuke spoken from superiority quickly becomes “something that will not be heard.”

Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, Responsa Igrot Moshe (Orah Hayyim II:115), explains that in a sensitive generation the “hundred times” should often be understood as unlimited patience. If direct rebuke cannot be heard, one may have to find “a hundred indirect ways” of influencing another person for good without making him feel attacked.

The last generations deepen this point further.

Maran Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, Hazon Ovadia (Yamim Nora’im, p. 247), emphasizes the need for exceptional caution in contemporary rebuke. If the speaker sees that direct criticism will cause a guest or another Jew to deteriorate spiritually or distance himself from Torah altogether, the words become “something that will not be heard” and should not be said. The “hundred times” should instead be invested in pleasantness, love, and drawing hearts near, because only relationship gives difficult truth a chance to enter.

My teacher Rabbi Asher Weiss, Minhat Asher (Leviticus, siman 37), explains a psychological foundation: the “hundred times” need not mean one hundred repetitions of “you are forbidden to do this.” They can mean one hundred expressions of concern and connection. The prohibition against saying something that will not be heard applies when words come as cold preaching. When they arise from shared destiny and genuine pain for the other person’s situation, they remain part of a living relationship even if their effect takes a long time.

Mishnah Berurah (siman 608) rules that where a person knows his fellow will not accept the rebuke, one should sometimes remain silent so as not to turn him into a deliberate transgressor. He adds an important qualification: this discussion applies especially to matters whose prohibition is not well known. Where the prohibition is explicit and publicly known, protest may still be necessary so that silence not create the impression that Torah has permitted the act. In such a case the purpose includes preserving the public dignity of Torah even when the particular sinner may not change.

My teacher Rabbi Shmuel HaLevi Wosner, Responsa Shevet HaLevi (vol. 4, no. 67), explains that rebuke today may sometimes need to be “rebuke through silence” or “rebuke through personal example.” A person can continue fulfilling “you shall surely rebuke” through exemplary conduct repeated again and again, while verbal speech observes the mitzvah not to say what cannot be heard. This becomes one of the most practical ways of harmonizing the two teachings.

Several practical distinctions emerge.

First, public and private situations differ. In a synagogue or community, if a public rebuke has clearly not been received, endlessly repeating it may produce conflict and contempt. In a private conversation, “between him and himself,” there may be a greater duty and opportunity to persist because patient personal speech can eventually find a path into the heart.

Second, we must assess whether resistance is temporary or permanent. If a friend is not listening because of momentary anger, distraction, or emotional pain but may later accept the message, one should not give up. The “hundred times” then becomes a duty of patience and faith in the other person’s capacity to change.

Third, according to the line of reasoning developed from “better they remain unwitting,” once one has already clearly informed the person and he understands the prohibition, the fear of converting him from unwitting to deliberate may no longer provide the same reason for silence. At that stage repeated efforts may again have a place, depending on the circumstances and manner.

Fourth, one must vary the style. If a direct statement was not heard, the “hundred times” may mean a hundred different forms: indirect teaching, a story, an example, a question, or personal conduct. The duty not to say what cannot be heard can be about the “how,” not necessarily the “what.” It obligates creativity in bringing another person closer.

Fifth, public honor of Torah can create a separate obligation. Where a blatant wrong is being done publicly and silence would be interpreted as acceptance, protest may be necessary even if the sinner is not expected to listen. The purpose then includes protecting the community from a false norm and preserving the truth of Torah.

From these practical distinctions we ascend to the deeper idea. The issue is not merely the technique of moral criticism. It touches the root of Jewish mutual responsibility and the relationship between self and other in a world of repair.

Rebuke is not a tool of punishment but an expression of love that refuses to give up. When the Sages say “even one hundred times,” they teach faith in human free choice. “One hundred” represents completeness of effort. As long as a person lives, the gate of change remains open. Yet the mitzvah not to say something that cannot be heard teaches humility. It reminds the rebuker that his speech is not everything. Sometimes speech becomes an instrument of ego, an attempt to “win.” At that point Torah commands silence. Moral silence recognizes that the sanctity and inner wholeness of the other person may be more important than my need to voice my opinion.

The “hundred times” and silence can therefore complement one another within a cycle of influence. Sometimes repeated words build a foundation, and the silence afterward allows the words to settle and grow. The rebuker must become an artist of the soul, knowing when to play the strings of speech and when to use the pauses of silence. The duty not to say what will not be heard protects the value of speech itself. Words repeated when no one is listening can cheapen truth.

The issue of unwitting and deliberate sin reveals an even deeper principle. The highest goal is the good of the sinner, not merely the speaker’s technical fulfillment of a mitzvah. If rebuke will worsen the person’s spiritual condition, the speaker may have caused more harm than the original act. Mutual responsibility means not only urging friends toward good but protecting them from deterioration. Intentional silence can become an act of kindness that preserves a space of mercy.

From here we enter the realm in which rebuke touches the most delicate strings of the soul and joins the foundations of faith and trust in the Creator. On the level of thought, the tension between speech and silence reflects inner character work. The ability to rebuke one hundred times requires iron patience and faith in the goodness hidden within a person, while the ability to remain silent requires the strength of restraint and surrender of the ego before God’s will.

Every Jew is an entire world, and a sin may sometimes be only a shell covering an inner wish to do good. When a person offers loving rebuke again and again, he is saying: “I am not giving up on you; I believe in you more than you currently believe in yourself.” Even if the gate was closed ninety-nine times, it can open on the hundredth. Conversely, silence when the words cannot be heard acknowledges that every person has his own rhythm and path. Rebuke spoken at the wrong time is like seed scattered on frozen ground. Only patience and sensitivity to the moment when the heart opens can turn speech into life.

On the level of faith, the issue teaches us about Divine conduct. Just as the Holy One is slow to anger and waits for sinners to return, our repeated attempts should reflect patience. But faith also teaches that there are moments when silence is the highest expression of fear of Heaven. The outcome is not in our hands. We must do what is right through speech or silence and recognize that God opens hearts. The mitzvah not to say what will not be heard connects us to the belief that perfection is not measured only by the immediate “result” of changing another person, but by loyalty to the right path at every moment.

There is also a deep connection between rebuke and mutual responsibility. “All Israel are responsible for one another” is not merely a legal slogan but a soul connection. When I see my friend fail, it should hurt me. The “hundred times” are like trying to heal an injured limb in a shared body. Precisely because of that closeness, I must not deepen the wound. The compass of faith teaches that the goal is not “to be right” but to increase holiness. If speech will multiply hatred or desecration of God’s Name, faith itself can demand the courage of silence, trusting that God has hidden paths to the other person’s heart.

From faith we enter morality, where a person must examine the purity of his own motives. The moral compass distinguishes rebuke intended for repair from rebuke intended for victory.

The first moral principle is self-criticism by the rebuker. One must ask: “Am I repeating this because I care about my friend, or because I enjoy the position of moral superiority?” Rebuke born from arrogance becomes a weapon. In such a place, the duty not to say what cannot be heard becomes an essential moral barrier. The right to rebuke rests entirely on love and pain for the other person. If speech does not come from a loving heart, it is unlikely to be heard and may be better left unsaid.

The moral compass also demands responsibility for results. Torah morality does not suffice with good intentions. We must examine the likely effect of our words. If rebuke will provoke spite, rejection, or a sense of exclusion, the speaker bears responsibility for foreseeable harm. Silence can become moral restraint—the ability to conquer the urge to “say the truth” in order to protect another person’s dignity and welfare.

A further moral insight concerns the value of words. Speech that is endlessly repeated into sealed ears can reduce the dignity of truth itself. A person may not only fail to help his friend but also cheapen the Torah and morality he claims to represent. Moral discipline requires preserving the weight of rebuke by using it sparingly, accurately, and at the right time. One who speaks without listening loses the moral compass of dialogue and becomes a preacher whose voice disappears in the wind.

After our journey through Scripture, Talmud, and the rulings of our teachers, we return to daily life and discover that the mitzvah of rebuke is really the art of partnership and concern. Speech and silence are not rivals; they are two tools intended to build another person’s spiritual stature with respect and sensitivity.

In everyday conduct we must adopt the practice of listening before speaking. We should remember that the “hundred times” of Torah demand first of all one hundred percent patience and faith in our friend. Every time we feel the need to correct someone, we should examine the inner compass: will these words be received with love, or will they make the other person more defiant? If the heart is closed at that moment, silence may be the greatest mitzvah. We must turn rebuke into a conversation of closeness, learn to change tone and method, and understand that at times the deepest influence comes from a quiet personal example that penetrates more deeply than any explicit statement.

The Main Point:

The apparent contradiction between the obligation to rebuke “even one hundred times” and the command not to say something that will not be heard is resolved by understanding the recipient’s state of mind and the setting of the rebuke. When dealing with a person who may accept the words after time, or when the conversation is private and conducted pleasantly, the duty is to persist and rebuke again and again out of love and responsibility. But when it is clear that further words will produce absolute refusal, hatred, or transform the person from an unwitting sinner into a deliberate one, silence itself becomes a mitzvah and a moral obligation.

Our responsibility is therefore to exercise judgment in every case: continue speaking as long as there is an opening for change, and know how to guard the tongue when speech is likely to do more harm than good. In this way we fulfill the true purpose of rebuke—to increase peace, truth, and purity among Israel.