How do we move forward after losing a child? And how do we continue after losing two? How do we cope with mourning and loss? It seems that the weekly Torah portion has never been more relevant or more painful.
In Parshat Shmini, with the people of Israel in the desert, we finally reach the dedication of the Tabernacle, the Mishkan. After the communal effort of Am Israel, which we witnessed in the previous Torah portions, of contributing, building, and observing from afar, comes the moment of the Inauguration of the Mishkan. For seven days, Moshe instructs the priests in their duties, they practice "on dry land," learn the details, and then comes the eighth day - the day of opening the doors and the Inauguration of the Mishkan. The first sacrifices are brought, Moshe and Aaron bless the people, and you can feel the palpable excitement in everyone.
And as great as the excitement is, so is the devastation: right at that moment, Nadav and Avihu, Aaron’s two sons, bring unauthorized fire before Hashem and are killed. The fire consumes them. Aaron, the brother of our teacher Moshe, becomes a bereaved father, losing two out of his four sons, and the abundant excitement turns in one awful moment into profound mourning.
Many commentators focus on the sin of Nadav and Avbihu, questioning what exactly they did that was such a great sin, what was that 'strange fire' they brought, and which led to their deaths. Some write that the two were intoxicated, some blame them for bringing a foreign sacrifice or strange fire on their own initiative, and others argue that they didn't consult with Moshe or even with each other before performing their duties.
Aaron’s response is iconic, we don’t hear his words, we don’t know how he felt or what he looked like after he heard what had happened. He was silent. Aaron is torn apart internally between his public role as the high priest on the day of the altar's inauguration, supposed to lead the ceremony, supposed to celebrate, bless, and rejoice, and being a father whose world has collapsed on him. A father who lost two of his beloved sons in one moment.
How can we understand Aaron's silence? The Ramban writes here delicately: he writes that Aaron did not suppress his grief or that he had a quiet response to his tragedy, but rather that Aaron wept aloud, and only after Moshe turns to him and explains that the harsh punishment is part of the role - "I will be sanctified among those close to Me" - only then does Aaron fall silent. And the connection of "and Aaron was silent" explains that the silence comes after the shattering pain, after the crying.
According to the Ramban, Aaron is shattered, he breaks down in tears facing his two dead sons in the Mishkan. First and foremost, he is a father mourning his sons, his heart is broken within him. But he is also the high priest on the day of the Mishkan's dedication, and therefore he composes himself, manages to calm down, return to his leadership role, and only then does he fall silent.
As mentioned, the sin of Nadav and Avbihu, the two young priests, is not clear from the verses, but there is something profoundly powerful in these two short words describing Aaron. The paternal pain is incomprehensible. Bursting into tears, followed by containment and silence. A thunderous silence. Aaron doesn't exactly know why he lost his two sons, but he believes in the way, believes in the Creator who runs our world in a certain way, even if it's not understood. He cries but also accepts the judgment, understands that he doesn't understand. The crying doesn't symbolize lack of faith or resignation; it symbolizes our humanity, our pain and sorrow that is entwined in our faith.
Aaron teaches us a lesson in mourning and leadership; there is a time for loud crying, for breakdowns, for expressing emotions, and there is also a time for silence. One can also be silent when not understanding the loss, when not knowing what heavy prices we pay, why we lose children. "And Aaron was silent."
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