How does quietly whispering ten psukim crown Hashem King over the entire universe? What is the unique power of speech? Where else do simple words make such a profound change?
How does vidui actually work, and why are there variations in the way one confesses? Is there a difference between saying “I took” and “I stole”? How does mussar study affect changes in a person?
Should ones behavior reflect his actual spiritual level, or is there value in presenting oneself as better than he really is? Of what value are words recited “only from the lips outward” – as lip service? If someone has no access to a part of Malchuyos, should he still recite the rest?
These and other questions will be discussed in our article this week.
The Power of Malchuyos
We stand now at the threshold of a new year, on the eve of Yom HaDin -- the day on which we crown Hashem as King of kings, Ruler over the entire universe.
Chazal (Rosh Hashanah 16b) teach us how we crown Hashem: “Recite before Me psukim of Malchuyos, so that you will crown Me over you.”
Chazal don’t require of us grand or difficult actions. Crowning Hashem does not involve any action at all. Not giving charity to show submission of our wealth to the Creator; nor fasting to subjugate our bodily desires to the Almighty. Not even teshuva.
Even blowing the shofar is not the essence of Hashem coronation. While blowing the shofar serves in part as a royal fanfare, Chazal describe it as the ritual — the physical form — rather than the essence of crowning.
The Torah’s demand is simple: recite ten psukim. Ten psukim — and that’s it. No pomp, no spectacle, not even a communal proclamation. A mitzvah fulfilled in a whisper, during the silent Amidah, just you and your machzor. While the chazzan’s repetition and stirring melodies uplift us, the actual crowning occurs in those few quiet words.
How can the coronation of the King of kings, the Master of all worlds, of all history, of all creation, depend on a handful of verses murmured by human lips?
This is the question we will explore in this week’s article: why it is precisely through the power of simple speech — through the recitation of a few psukim -- that we crown the A-lmighty.
Essence of Malchuyos
Before addressing our main question, let us first review the source of the mitzva of reciting Malchuyos and its halachos.
The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 16a), as we mentioned last week, teaches that there are four days of judgment throughout the year:
“Rabbi Yehudah said in the name of Rabbi Akiva: Why did the Torah command us to bring the Omer on Pesach? Because Pesach is the season of grain. The Holy One, blessed be He, said: Bring before Me the Omer on Pesach so that the grain in your fields may be blessed. And why did the Torah command the bringing of the Two Loaves on Shavuos? Because Shavuos is the season of the fruit of the tree. The Holy One, blessed be He, said: Bring before Me the Two Loaves on Shavuos so that the fruit of the tree may be blessed. And why did the Torah command the pouring of water on Succos? The Holy One, blessed be He, said: Pour water before Me on Succos so that the rains of the year may be blessed for you. And on Rosh Hashanah, recite before Me Malchuyos, Zichronos, and Shofaros: Malchuyos, so that you will crown Me as King over you; Zichronos, so that your remembrance will ascend before Me for good; and through what? Through the shofar.”
In other words, attaining a favorable judgment follows a defined process: the recitation of Malchuyos, Zichronos, and Shofaros — ten psukim of each. Through Malchuyos we proclaim Hashem’s Kingship, through Zichronos we are remembered for good, and through the shofar we are sealed for life. The Pesikta Zutarsa (Bereshis 22) adds further depth: since on Rosh Hashanah the books of the righteous, the wicked, and the beinonim are opened — with the righteous inscribed immediately for life, the wicked for death, and the intermediate suspended until Yom Kippur — therefore we are obligated to recite these thirty psukim.
The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 34b) clarifies that Malchuyos, Zichronis, and Shofaros are not a collection of independent blessings, but rather a single, integrated process. Thus, if one finds himself on Rosh Hashanah in a remote place with only an incomplete machzor — for example, missing the section of Shofaros — and he does not know those psukim by heart, he may not recite any of the three blessings. Since it is a unified process, it must be performed in its entirety. Without all thirty psukim, one cannot fulfill just Malchuyos, or just Zichronos, or just Shofaros. This halacha appeasr in the Shulchan Aruch (OC 593:1).
The Tosfos Yom Tov (Rosh Hashanah 4:5) emphasizes that even the order of the blessings is important. Only after reciting Malchuyos and crowning Hashem as our King may we advance to Zichronos and Shofaros, to be remembered for good.
Yet this very point intensifies the question: How can such a profound and exalted process — the coronation of the King of the universe — be achieved in the span of just a few minutes, through a quiet recitation of several psukim?
The Power of Speech
What is the secret of speech?
Rav Eliyahu Lopian, the mashgiach of Yeshivas Kfar Chassidim (Shivivei Lev, Lev Eliyahu, Bamidbar p. 362), comments on the Haggadah: “Whoever elaborates in telling the story is praiseworthy (meshubach).” He explains that one who expands upon the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim does not merely earn praise — he himself becomes meshubach, a more elevated and refined person. Why? Because he has spoken. Because he has Said The Words. And how does he know this? From our very subject: just as one who recites the ten psukim of Malchuyos crowns Hashem as King over the world, so too one who speaks about Yetzias Mitzrayim becomes elevated.
Kriyas Shema is another such example. Twice daily we are commanded to proclaim, “Shema Yisroel: Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One.” This mitzva cannot be performed in thought. It must be uttered with our lips. This verbal declaration is called Kabbalas Ol Malchus Shamayim — the acceptance of the yoke of Heaven’s sovereignty. We recite three parshiyos morning and evening, and through this speech we actively accept Hashem’s kingship upon ourselves. Again the question arises: is mere speech enough? Is it not simply “lip service”?
The answer lies in the opposite case. Consider the prohibition of blasphemy. If, G-d forbid, one utters words of curse against Hashem, the punishment is the most severe — stoning. And this halacha applies not only to Jews, but to all humanity, as it is one of the Sheva Mitzvos Bnei Noach.
We see, then, that speech is not “just words” or hot air. Speech itself is a reality; it is action of the highest order.
Function of Viduy
Teshuvah is one of the central mitzvos of this Yom Tov season. This mitzva has several components: regret for the past, confession of sin, and a firm resolve for the future. Let us focus on the verbal element of teshuva: vidui, and through it, we can gain a deeper understanding of how our own speech creates our reality.
In teshuva, it is not enough to regret aveiros or make a firm resolve never to repeat the offense. The Torah also requires explicit verbal confession: we must say the words, “I have sinned. I did such-and-such, and it was wrong.”
I was once talking with an experienced educator who spent years working as a rehab counsellor for juvenile delinquents. He shared a striking insight with me.
He explained that he could gauge where a boy’s rehabilitation was holding by how he spoke about his mistakes (crime).
Some boys denied everything even when the evidence against them was indisputable. Others admitted the facts but refused to utter even a mild acknowledgment like “I took.” A more advanced group would admit the wrongdoing but avoid using simple statements, resorting instead to euphemisms: “I took without permission,” or “it was from the store.” The plain truth “I stole” was still beyond them.
Only those who had reached genuine contrition could state, “I stole, and it was wrong.”
Real progress, explained the counselor, occurs when the boys take one small step beyond their comfort zone in owning their actions. Even if they did not yet feel it, forcing themselves to articulate the plain facts —first “I took”, then “I stole”— becomes a catalyst for change. And each step they took was one step forward towards healing, responsibility, and a moral life.
The Eternal Struggle
Man lives in constant conflict. His soul longs to rise; his intellect recognizes truth. Opposing them stand the body, its desires and habits, pulling him toward material indulgence. As the Chazon Ish describes it: “neglect of life to its natural course.” This inner contradiction, this ceaseless cognitive dissonance, tears at the neshama.
When one uses speech, he expresses his inner self, revealing his soul. By uttering forbidden or negative words, he suppresses his spiritual part, hijacking this Divine tool of expression toward his physical expression and base desires. Conversely, when he verbalizes sacred, positive speech, he uplifts the body, subjecting it to the mind and the soul, crowning his neshama over his guf.
Thus, speech is the decisive tool in this battle.
One who says “I have sinned,” places himself on the road to repentance. When he says “Shema Yisrael,” he accepts upon himself the yoke of Heaven’s kingship. When he recites psukim of Malchuyos on Rosh Hashanah, he shapes reality itself: “I am Your servant; You are my King.”
The External Shapes the Internal
But what if you’re just not there? What if the words of vidui don’t sit well, if they feel hollow or untrue? Are we hypocrites for saying them anyway, just going through the motions?
Rabbi Avigdor Miller taught a powerful lesson on this point. People would come to him and say:
“Rabbi, I want to be honest. Inside I feel rotten, though outside I look respectable. I don’t want to live a lie anymore. Even Chazal criticize hypocrisy whose outer trappings don’t match the inner reality. I want to live as I really feel, to behave in line with my inner truth.”
To them Rabbi Miller would reply: “Don’t. Don’t change. You’re making a serious mistake. The outer influences the inner. When a person dresses like a ben Torah, acts with dignity, and conducts himself like a Jew should — even if he hasn’t reached that level inside — he is on the path to getting there. The way we dress, the way we act, and above all: the way we speak, gradually shapes who we really are.”
The external is not false; it is the very tool given to elevate the inner psyche. Chazal’s rebuke of hypocrisy is not a license to tear down the outer trappings, but a call to refine our inner world until both match.
When a man clothes himself with dignity, he grows dignified. When he speaks words of faith, he becomes a believer. When he says, “Hashem is King” — even before his heart fully believes it — his lips draw his heart along, until his inner world aligns with his outward expression.
Rav Yisrael Salanter experimented with many approaches to self-improvement and concluded that the most effective route was to read mussar aloud in a heartfelt, almost chanting singsong. This way, he explained, the words penetrate deeply. Because words can change reality.
“Say Before Me” – Not a Charm, but a Method
We can now better understand what Chazal tell us, “Say before Me Malchuyos so you will crown Me over you.”
This is no mystical incantation, no empty ritual. It is a method, a path towards moral growth and inner work.
Chazal teach us (Yalkut Shimoni, Va’eschanan 830): “One must say: When will my deeds reach those of my forefathers?” Why the emphasis on saying? Because the spoken word shapes and educates the ratzon, slowly pressing it into new form until it becomes reality.
Through repeated speech we train our desires, strengthen our resolve, and draw ourselves after Hashem, until at last we truly crown Him as King over us.
The Climax – Crowning the King
Picture the scene: the heavens themselves fall silent. Hosts of angels stand in trembling awe, awaiting the decree. On Rosh Hashanah, not only mankind, but the entire cosmos — all worlds, all of creation — stands in judgment.
And then — Klal Yisrael. A small nation, scattered in shuls around the world, rise as one to recite the psukim of Malchuyos.
At that moment, the unimaginable occurs: Hashem is crowned King over everything that is. With nothing but words, we crown the Master of all, the King of kings, as Sovereign over the universe.
Not with armies or swords.
Not with wealth or power.
Not even through mighty heroic deeds.
Only with the quiet force of speech.
A whisper that shapes the Worlds: “Hashem reigns, Hashem has reigned, Hashem will reign forever.”
