This week's Torah portion begins, "After the death of the two sons of Aaron . . . " (Lev. 16:1). Earlier, the Torah records that these two sons, "Nadav and Avihu, each took his fire pan . . . and brought before Hashem (G-d) an an alien fire . . . A fire came forth from before Hashem and consumed them, and they died . . . And Moses said to Aaron: Of this did Hashem speak, saying, I will be sanctified through those who are nearest Me . . . and Aaron was silent" (Lev. 10:1-3).
Many commentators have focused on trying to discern the mysterious reason for the death of Nadav and Avihu, as offering an "alien fire" is a vague reason and needs explanation. There is another mysterious aspect to this story, however, and it's Aharon's (Aaron's) silence. We expect to hear Aharon respond in some way--whether it be in mourning, anger, or even acceptance. Sometimes, however, silence is the only way to respond to events in our lives.
This week many of my colleagues departed on the Leo Martin March of the Living to observe Yom HaShoah, Holocuast Remembrance Day. On Yom HaShoah, they will walk from the former work camp, Aushwitz, to the former death camp, Birkenau, in what used to be known as the March of Death. This annual March of the Living is a way to honor the memories of those who perished in the Shoah. I participated in the March of the Living when I was in High School, and I can truly say that it was one of the most deeply impactful experiences of my teenage years. The Shoah is a part of our history which often impels us to speak out loudly against anti-semitism, hate, and genocide wherever it lives. But it is also a part of our history which sometimes inspires silence as we contemplate the horrors that humankind is able to carry out and the tragedies members of our community have endured.
There is a custom when visiting a shiva house, or a house of mourning, to remain silent until the mourner begins the conversation. Sometimes, the mourner might not want to speak, but rather to remain silent, and simply sitting with someone in silence can be a very comforting act. Everyone is different and mourns in their own way. Some people have a need to process their memories verbally and to speak about their emotional pain. Others feel that no words could possibly be enough to express the depth of what they are feeling, and therefore, silence is the most respectful response to their suffering. Perhaps Aharon was one of those people, or perhaps as many of our rabbis have suggested, he was comforted by Moshe or he accepted G-d's decision to take his sons' lives due to his deep faith. We will never know. What we do know, however, is that Aharon's silence can be a holy and valid choice for us too in the face of life's mysteries, tragedies, and in moments of shock.
I believe it is very important not to judge each other's ways of coping and responding to life's events. There is no one way to process emotions or events; this is why we have so many personalities in the Torah and beyond to teach us different ways of being and different models for living. As Yom Hashoah approaches, I invite you to remember that as we mourn together as a community, we also mourn as individuals each in our own way. Some of us will speak, write poetry, or create art. Others of us will remain silent, and be some of the blank space between the lines or the negative space within a busy design. Nonetheless, we are all part of one beautiful tapestry that makes up the Jewish community's response to our history. May we all be a living testament to those who perished in the Shoah, and may their memories be for a blessing.
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