It turns out, this isn't just a human tendency. The Torah itself, according to some rabbinic interpretations, goes out of its way to avoid using harsh or impure language.

Take the story of Noah and the Ark, for example. Genesis 7:2 tells us, "From every pure animal, you shall take to you seven pairs, a male and his mate, and of the animals that are not pure, two, a male and his mate." Now, why does it say "animals that are not pure" instead of simply saying "unclean animals?"

That's the question that intrigued Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Yoḥanan, Rabbi Berekhya, in the name of Rabbi Eliezer, and Rabbi Yaakov of Kefar Ḥanin, in the name of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi. As we find in Bereshit Rabbah 32, these sages believed that God deliberately chose a gentler phrasing. He added two or three words to avoid uttering an "expression of impurity." God, the creator of the universe, being mindful of language!

And it doesn't stop there. Rabbi Yudan ben Rabbi Menashe points out that when the Torah describes the signs of ritually impure animals in Leviticus 11, it always begins by mentioning the positive trait the animal does possess, before highlighting what it lacks.

For instance, it doesn't say, "The camel, because its hoof is not split..." but rather, "The camel, because it brings up the cud..." (Leviticus 11:4). Similarly, with the hyrax ("because it brings up the cud," Leviticus 11:5) and the pig ("because its hoof is split," Leviticus 11:7). The Torah starts with the good before pointing out the bad. It's a fascinating pattern, isn't it? A subtle, but powerful lesson in how we frame our words.

Then there’s the curious verse about the birds: "Also from the birds of the heavens, seven each, male and female, to sustain offspring on the face of all the earth" (Genesis 7:3). Now, what does "seven each" mean here? Does it mean seven birds total from each species? That would leave one bird without a mate! So, the Rabbis explain, it must mean seven males and seven females. And why this abundance? Not because God needed them, but "to sustain offspring on the face of all the earth." It emphasizes the purpose: life, continuity, and the repopulation of the world after the flood.

What does this all tell us? Perhaps it reveals a profound respect for language and a sensitivity to the power of words. Maybe it's a reminder that even in describing the "unclean" or the "negative," we can choose our words carefully, focusing on the positive aspects first. It's a message that resonates even today: to speak with intention, with kindness, and with an awareness of the impact our words can have.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we consider the weight of our words? How often do we choose gentleness over harshness, even when discussing difficult topics? Maybe the story of Noah and the animals, as interpreted by these ancient rabbis, offers a timeless lesson in mindful communication.