In my early years as a qualitative researcher, I was attuned to words and hungry for what they might teach. Whether it is reading poetry or doing ‘content analysis,’ I have always loved probing the depth of meaning that can be found in a single word or phrase, deployed in a particular way. Of course, some words are more freighted than others. Anyone engaged in the study of religion will eventually wrestle with words that are so over-determined and saturated that we need yet more words to make sense of what is being said: karma, grace, atman, tawid, mitzvot, God. What I love about fieldwork is that you can always ask. You can probe for more words, more nuance, a short tale, a life story, and with each elaboration, more meanings (as well as contradictions and struggles) will emerge. Whether I am studying texts or conversations, I have always understood words to be the key to unlocking both how people make meaning in their lives and how I might make sense of their meaning-making practices.

Lately, however, my obsession with words has begun to shift. The wisdom of my mentors, coupled with my own contemplative leanings, has led me to pay more careful attention to silences. What does someone's silence have to tell me? In the midst of an interview, does a moment of silence indicate an evolving sense of trust between me and my conversation partner? Or is that silence a sign of awkwardness or lack of connection? And what of the silences between individuals or groups with whom I am spending time in the field? Are these signs of unease, or indicators of unequal power dynamics and intentional acts of silencing? Or are these silences signs of comfort – of things understood that do not need to be said? Beyond these particular questions, there is also always the meta-question in the back of my mind: can I trust myself to be a faithful interpreter of the gaps between someone's words?

Sociologist Eviatar Zerubavel reminds us that silence is, indeed, a part of speech and a form of social expression that demands our attention.