How Far is Too Far?

 

Ramblings of a Retired Mind

How Far is Too Far?

When is it too far—truly too far?

That question has gnawed at me like a vulture on a carcass for the past two weeks.

A Lifelong Big Mouth

I’ve always had a big mouth—not in size, but in words.

As a child, I grew so accustomed to hearing, “Why would you say that?” that the question barely registered anymore. Now, at seventy-two, I still hear it.

Perhaps the real question I should ask is: “Why do I say aloud what others only think in silence?” Yet, if I’m honest, I rarely ask it at all.

How the World Sees Me vs. How I See Myself

To the outside world, this makes me look selfish. Inside, I see myself differently.

I am forever telling myself: “Question everything. Challenge others to prove they are awake.”

One small point of pride: I never challenge another’s faith. Religion is too personal. Still, since reconnecting with the faith of my ancestors, I’ve wondered why all Jews didn’t embrace Christianity in its time. Was it stubbornness? Was the leap from a parted sea to an immaculate conception too great? And why didn’t the whole world turn to Islam?

In the end, I chalk it up to stubbornness—a trait I know runs deep in me, passed down through a long line of questioners.

The Weight of Words

But questioning isn’t my only struggle.

Why do I feel compelled to call out what I think is wrong, instead of letting it pass? I don’t have a satisfying answer. I only know that words, once spoken, can’t be retrieved. They take on a life of their own, wounding others even when wrapped in truth—especially when there’s no real gain in exposing them.

An Ancient Practice of Reflection

So I’ve turned back to the faith of my ancestors for guidance.

Judaism holds a profound tradition of cheshbon hanefesh—an “accounting of the soul.” It’s the practice of self-examination, of weighing words and deeds over the year. This reaches its height on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, when one confronts failings and seeks renewal.

Where I Fall Short

My struggle is speaking aloud what should remain unspoken—or at least handled with care.

Jewish teaching allows for calling out wrongdoing, but under strict conditions: it must be private, gentle, free of ulterior motives, and based on certain facts. Public shaming is forbidden, even if no names are mentioned.

Yet this is where I stumble. I’ve described situations in ways that hit too close to home, causing hurt and escalating conflict.

Turning Over a New Leaf

I see the error of my ways. I’ve broken nearly every guideline. I often go too far.

Inside, a voice still insists: “But they are wrong! They are saying terrible things!”

And yet, when the people I love most are the ones hurt, my heart breaks.

So now, I will try to turn over a new leaf—one rooted in reflection, in pausing before I speak or write. I will return to the wisdom of my ancestors, to cheshbon hanefesh, and learn not to go too far.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.