Once there was a rabbi who could not speak.
For many years, he spoke. When he spoke, he wove verses and teachings from Midrash and Talmud, from commentator and thinker, and from his own creative insights. His congregation enjoyed his sermons and his teaching. After a sermon, those who had not been present would ask, "what did the rabbi say today?" His congregants would respond, "the rabbi gave a powerful sermon," but would be unable to recall what he had spoken about.
After some time, the rabbi became ill. Although he soon recovered, his illness rendered him a mute.
On the first Shabbat after his return from the hospital, the rabbi came earlier to synagogue on Friday evening than had been his wont. He sat in his chair, awaiting a minyan. As men entered the prayer room, they instinctively approached him quietly. He held out his hand to shake theirs, looked deeply in their eyes with an expression full of affection and care, and shook their hands warmly.
On Shabbos morning, the rabbi again came early to the synagogue. Congregants again approached him and he shook their hands. After the Torah was returned to the ark, he stood up to the lectern as he always had. A rustle spread through the synagogue: What was the rabbi doing? He could not speak! The rabbi looked around at the men and women of his congregation with eyes full of love. After a moment, he returned to his seat and the service continued. The rabbi's silence and the caring and inquiring look in his eyes made a deep impression on his congregants. Each one felt that he had spoken to him or her. Each one felt called to better things by his look. Each heard in his silence a personal message that stayed with him or her.
From that point on, the rabbi stood up each Shabbat, each holiday, each Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. He stood up at weddings and at funerals. He stood up for a minute, for to, for five.
In the past, when congregants came to the rabbi for advice, they sought the wisdom of his words. Now they came for the wisdom of his silence and of his searching eyes. Husband and wife who experienced conflict with each other or difficulties with their children came to him. Young people who felt unsure of their futures came to him. Business partners would bring their disagreements to him. His silence allowed these people to give voice to their concerns and his eyes called on them to seek the best in themselves and in each other. More sought his silent counsel than had sought his speaking counsel.
It is said that, at the end of his career, a student compiled his teachings from the testimony of his congregation. It was published in Hebrew and in English and became popular among rabbi and lay person alike.