It’s a universal feeling, and it echoes even within the ancient texts of our tradition. Let's delve into a verse from Genesis, explored in Bereshit Rabbah 98, that touches upon this very pain.

The verse in question is Genesis 49:23, part of Jacob's blessing to his sons: "They embittered him and shot him [varobu], and archers hated him." Now, the Rabbis of the Midrash, never ones to shy away from a good interpretive puzzle, unpack this verse with their characteristic brilliance. Who are "they"? And what does it mean to be "embittered" and "shot"?

The Midrash offers multiple interpretations. "They embittered him" – could this refer to Joseph, the son who stirred up jealousy among his brothers? Or perhaps it points to the brothers themselves, who made Joseph's life a misery? Or even Potiphar's wife, whose advances Joseph rejected, leading to his imprisonment? It's a multi-layered reading, isn't it? A son embittering his brothers, brothers embittering a son, a son embittering his master’s wife… So who inflicted the most pain?

The verse continues, "And shot him." Aha!, the Midrash seems to say. By emphasizing the act of shooting, the verse hints that the brothers, in their actions against Joseph, caused the deepest wound. Their actions, their hatred, pierced him like an arrow.

Then comes the phrase, "Archers [baalei ḥitzim] hated him." Who are these archers? According to some interpretations, like that of the Matnot Kehuna, these are Joseph's brothers, the very ones who plotted against him. Alternatively, Etz Yosef suggests it could be Potiphar's wife and the other members of the household, casting aspersions and accusations at him like sharp projectiles.

But why, the Midrash asks, does the verse liken the attacks to arrows in particular? Why not swords or spears? The answer is striking: "It is because all weapons strike from nearby, and this strikes from afar." Think about it. Evil speech, gossip, slander – these can travel across vast distances, inflicting damage even when the speaker is far away. As the Midrash poignantly puts it, "Evil speech spoken in Rome kills in Syria." It’s a powerful image of how words can transcend geography and time, leaving lasting scars.

The Midrash goes even deeper. It compares the impact of malicious words to "burning coals of the broom bush" (Psalms 120:4). Why broom bush coals? Because, unlike ordinary coals that extinguish from within, broom bush coals burn even after the outer flame is gone. They smolder, unseen, refusing to be quenched. Similarly, someone who believes evil speech, even if outwardly placated, may still harbor resentment and pain deep inside. "Even if you go and placate [the victim] and he is placated, it still burns from within."

The Midrash concludes with a remarkable anecdote: "There was an incident involving a certain broom bush in which they ignited a fire and it burned twelve months: winter, summer, and winter." A fire that refuses to die. A wound that festers.

So, what are we to take away from all this? Perhaps it's a reminder of the immense power of our words. They can build bridges, or they can launch arrows that wound and scar. They can ignite fires that heal, or fires that burn for a year, unseen, beneath the surface. It's a call to be mindful, to choose our words carefully, and to strive to be healers rather than those who embitter and shoot from afar. Because sometimes, the deepest wounds are the ones we can't see.