To Speak or Not to Speak

When G-d created man, “…He blew into his nostrils the soul of life; and man became a living being.” (Bereishis 2:7) Targum Onkelos defines the last two words as “a speaking spirit,” meaning that man is elevated over animals by virtue of his power of intelligent speech. This article deals with a particular aspect of speech, namely, public speaking.

A very common phenomenon associated with public speaking is glossophobia, or fear of speaking in public, which manifests in an array of emotional, mental, or physical symptoms. I wish to share a very personal perspective on this topic and then offer approaches to subdue this fear. Please accompany me down memory lane for a glimpse of my encounters with the dreaded microphone over the years.

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Toward the end of seventh grade at the Hebrew Academy of Washington, my English teacher, Mrs. Levitt, rolled out a book reading/oral presentation assignment for the class. I chose to read Jack London’s The Call of the Wild. When oral presentation day arrived, she announced that we were to all gather in the back of the class, in a circle. I was vaguely aware that such a seating arrangement would maximize eye contact among the assembled, and it caused me sudden nervousness. When my turn arrived, I started my discussion without incident, but within a minute, all that came out of my mouth was “Uh…uh…uh…,” whereupon Mrs. Levitt informed me that my turn was over. At the conclusion of class, she privately remarked “Howard, you have a way with words.” She must have been referring to my writing ability. At any rate, she was trying to give me encouragement.

At the time, I didn’t give much thought to my speaking fiasco, but the incident was not lost on the school. Early in eighth grade, I was summoned to a resource classroom. I was met by two ladies with a very large contraption known as a tape recorder. Speech therapists, I surmised. One lady pressed the play button and instructed me to talk. “About what?” I asked. “Anything,” she replied. Fortunately for me, it was late October, and the 1967 baseball World Series had recently concluded. As a rabid baseball fan, I felt fully prepared to discuss the contest between the Boston Red Sox and the St. Louis Cardinals and immediately launched into a speech about America’s favorite pastime and the Fall Classic. Within two minutes, however, she stopped the recording. “That’s it,” she said. “Return to your classroom.” That was the end of my speech therapy!

I walked back to class, confident and smiling. While I wasn’t sure how interested these ladies were in my dissertation, I knew one thing: I was not a candidate for speech therapy! Nevertheless, I was starting my descent into glossophobia. I would characterize this phobia in terms of abject fear: How can I speak publicly if I may falter, stumble, or lose my train of thought? I dreaded the prospect of audience reaction: mockery, laughter, and derision. For my own “protection,” I soon formulated a policy of speaking in public only when compelled to do so. Although, over time, I came to realize that I really did possess the potential for public speaking, alas, this ability was not to emerge for another three-and-a-half decades. Meanwhile, the ensuing years left behind a litany of lost speaking opportunities.

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Sometime in 1970 or 1971, I participated in a local NCSY Shabbaton held at Young Israel Shomrei Emunah, in Silver Spring, and found myself leading the Friday night services. I managed to get through just fine, but Rabbi Anemer, seated nearby, was able to detect how shaky I felt inside. After davening, he came over to me: “You were quite nervous, weren’t you?” he asked. I quickly and decisively nodded.

In June 1972, I graduated high school from Yeshiva of Greater Washington. The administration designated me as one of the speakers at my graduation, so I prepared a speech and rehearsed it well. There I was, perched on stage at the Rockville JCC with my classmates and the hanhala of the school. When it came my turn to speak, I rose from my chair to head to the podium. En route, I passed Rabbi Anemer, who suddenly leaned forward and intoned words that reverberate in my head to this day: “Very loud and very slow.” And so it was. At the podium, I peered into the audience and beheld total darkness. Soon, however, faces came into view. But with G-d above me and Rabbi Anemer behind me, I pulled through!

Many years later, my mother, a”h, passed away. My father discussed funeral arrangements with the rabbi, but neither of them bothered to approach me to speak. I must have been in my normal anxiety mode, because this omission did not bother me in the least, and I never did speak.

Things were not much different when, in December 1994, my father-in-law, a”h, passed away. Prior to the funeral, my brother-in-law, Rabbi Yehuda Harbater, prepared to speak and encouraged me to do the same. I demurred, confiding in him how terrified I felt to face the public. But he persisted: “Just speak from your heart,” he pleaded, but to no avail. As much as I wanted to deliver a hesped (eulogy), I just couldn’t. Yudi, on the other hand, was an excellent speaker, and while delivering his hesped with great emotion, he made it look natural and easy. And me? Just crickets.

On and on it went as I avoided the mic at almost every opportunity. And then, one day, everything changed. In October 2001, my niece in Lakewood got married. One of the sheva brachos was to be held here in Baltimore at my shul, Ohel Yakov Congregation. Upon arriving, I immediately combed the gathering to see who could serve as MC as every such event requires one. Seeing no suitable family members there, I quickly turned to see which unrelated shul member might be willing to step forward. At that very moment, however, I stopped myself and resolved to do the right thing: I, as a family member, would assume the role. After casually informing several relatives, I signaled for the simcha to begin. Surprisingly, I found myself in command of my emotions; I organized my thoughts, made eye contact with the assembled and began to speak. As MCs customarily do, I welcomed everyone, offered some brief remarks when introducing each speaker and at some point proffered a short speech of my own. As I spoke, someone interjected with some clarification. I listened, thanked him, and was able to continue without losing my nerve or my trail. Baruch Hashem, everything worked out without a hitch. Just how this turnabout came to pass will be addressed later.

In retrospect, I regard this sheva brachos as a pivotal moment in my chronicles of public speaking. No longer did I shy away from delivering speeches, whether it involved family lifecycle events or occasional speeches at my job. Of note, when my main high school rebbe, Rabbi Zecharia Mines, zt”l, passed away in 2011, I attended a hesped shloshim. After the keynote speakers concluded, alumni were invited to speak. I was one of them. I wish to add, I have never been one to rush to the mic. On the contrary, unless I have something of value to say, I will rarely utter anything publicly.

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I sincerely hope this article will inspire the faint-of-heart who aspire to speak publicly.

A Public Speaking Primer

by Howard Elling

So, there you have my story. It took many years to overcome my glossophobia; nothing happened overnight. How did that work? In addition to Heavenly assistance, I believe it was the culmination of lessons learned from many years of keenly watching various speakers. Here are some thoughts based upon those observations:

·         The audience is always well behaved: If a speaker sounds dull, unprepared, or stumbles over words, no one in the audience will react with derision. You will see nothing more than one person playing with his cell phone and another one doodling, this one speaking softly with his neighbor and that one struggling to keep her eyes open. Once the speech is completed, these same individuals will invariably join in the applause, and no one will know the difference!

·         It’s okay to make gaffes or revisions: I have observed a plethora of blunders over the years. There was once a speaker invited to address a local educational institution. Very early on, he switched gears and started speaking about saving wildlife in Africa, a totally unrelated topic. He never returned to the proper subject matter, and no one in the audience blinked. Another speaker nearly always fumbled when it came to articulating names. The crowd was very accommodating and never corrected or booed him. There are any number of speakers who are fond of repeating themselves repeatedly. The only audience reaction I observe is drooping of the head.

·         Build self-confidence: Cultivate a healthy sense of self-worth, which will enable you to convince yourself that you have something of value to convey to others.

·         Know your audience: Before speaking, try to gauge the nature of the assembled. After all, you want to speak to them, not to the wall. Maintaining some degree of eye contact will also enhance your presentation and will be noticed and appreciated by the attendees.

·         Keep it short: Only gifted orators can deliver lengthy speeches and hold everyone’s attention throughout. Keeping it short enables the speaker to focus on a limited number of themes (one or two), elucidate each one, conclude, and sit down. I believe most audiences appreciate a concise, focused presentation.

·         Writing a speech: Some like to write out an entire speech and read from it. It’s perfectly fine. Personally, because I greatly prefer brief presentations, I work from nothing more than several brief notes to ensure I don’t skip the salient points.

·         Inject a bit of humor: It never hurts.