Words of My Mouth, Meditations of My Heart

Charlotte Jewish News, March 2025

Shira Firestone, Managing Editor CJN

Once a month I am crippled with anxiety. No, it’s not when the bills are due. No, it’s not my turn to host book club. No, it’s not any of those predictable monthly occurrences that might naturally trigger stress. It’s the time when I sit down to write this column. Not only do I have the usual trepidation looking at a blank page, but there’s an insecurity that rises up in me.

What could I possibly have to say that people would want to read? Who am I, sitting here in my office with my coffee and my doubts, to think my personal reflections matter in a world full of expert opinions and profound philosophical discourse? And if you’ve read my column, you know I tend to be a bit revealing and personal at times. I’ve tried

to write some other way — but I can’t seem to do it.

But then I think about the feedback I get — which I get often. Sure, there are the occasional messages of displeasure at my perspective, and I appreciate that feedback. But the most common message I receive is “thank you.”

And what I’ve come to notice is that it’s not “thank you for sharing that life-altering perspective” or “thank you for sharing your particular wisdom.” I am rarely saying anything new or imparting any particular insights. What readers say is “you gave voice to what I was thinking, feeling, experiencing.” Mostly I hear, “that really resonated with me.”

Resonance. The word itself seems to hum with meaning. In physics, it describes when one vibrating system amplifies another that shares its natural frequency. Think of a tuning fork — strike it, and a nearby fork of the same pitch will begin to sing in sympathy. Strike a note on a piano, and the strings of nearby instruments might quietly hum in response. Think about an orchestra tuning up before a performance. When the oboist plays the first A, every string and wind instrument in the hall responds to that note, each adding its own timbre to create something larger

than any single instrument could produce. Our community works the same way — one person’s story, honestly told, can awaken similar stories in others, creating a chorus of shared experience.

Our words work like those instruments, finding and amplifying what’s already there in others. This understanding has transformed not only how I view my role as a writer, but also how I communicate the rest of the month. When our words resonate with another, they amplify what that person already holds within them. We all have within us moments of and a belief in hope, gratitude, and goodness. So when our words align with those qualities, they amplify that part of ourselves. But we also all carry anger, resentment, and fear. Those too can resonate and amplify when met with matching frequencies in others’ hearts. I remember a particular morning when I arrived at work carrying the weight of world events. A colleague greeted me with a genuine smile and shared a small story of kindness she’d witnessed on her way in. It wasn’t earth-shattering news, but it resonated with my own need for hope that day. By the time I reached my office, I found myself sharing a similar story with someone else. The ripple

effect was tangible - one person’s choice to amplify goodness had changed the frequency of our entire office that morning.

I think about other times I’ve been around friends who were griping about the current state of politics or even the weather. Perhaps I shared their anxiety about where we are politically, or maybe I too was feeling blue from the cloudy day. Did I walk away from that conversation feeling uplifted or did it drag me down? And did I carry that resonance with me into my next encounter?

I am not suggesting we adopt some sort of false positivity or bury our authentic feelings beneath a forced smile. There is real value in sharing our burdens, in having our struggles witnessed by others who understand. But too often, we use complaint as an easy shorthand for connection — a lazy way to find common ground. We can honor our true experiences while still being conscious of our words and their ripple effects. When we reach for connection, we have choices about which frequencies we amplify.

Long before I was giving resonance any thought, I had a practice of stopping outside the door before walking in the room of any meeting or social occasion to recite quietly to myself the words:

Y’hiyu l’ratzon imrei fi v’hegyon libi l’fanecha, Adonai tzuri v’go’ali — May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to You, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer. Our sages taught that this prayer, which concludes our Amidah and appears in Psalm 19, reminds us of the sacred responsibility we carry in our speech. Perhaps they understood that our words don’t merely express our thoughts — they resonate and amplify within our community, creating ripples that extend far beyond our immediate conversation. I’m reminded to re-incorporate that prayer into my daily routine.

So now, as I face my monthly appointment with the blank page, I’m learning to replace anxiety with awareness. My role isn’t to create wisdom from nothing — it’s to send out words that will find their matching frequencies in others’ hearts. And in doing so, I choose carefully which vibrations I want to amplify. Because in this resonant chamber we call community, I’d rather my words sing in harmony with hope than clash with fear.

Shira