D'Var Torah for Shabbat of Shemini from Rabbi Douglas Kohn
Dear Friends,
This one hurts.
We have somehow come to accept intellectually – but not accept emotionally (I hope) – the sting of capricious death. The evening news accounts of the outstanding people – from Italy to Illinois, and drivers to doctors – whose lives were snuffed-out as breathing ceased, a week after they were busy serving patients or delivering meals, is becoming insufferable. The unexplainable, capricious, wanton losses…
Thus, when we read this week in the Torah of two more whose lives were taken summarily, it makes me want to skip this week and go to the next; reading about leprosy is more palatable.
In Parashat Shmini, early in Leviticus, Aaron was about to be anointed as the High Priest. The people were assembled for the festivities, including prescribed sacrifices, when Aaron’s two eldest sons, apparently mimicking their father, each took their fire pans, put fire and incense in them, and offered an alien, unsanctioned fire offering. Immediately, a fire came forth form God, consuming them, and they died instantly at the hand of God. (Lev. 10:1-2)
Moses attempted to either console or explain the circumstances to a dumbfounded Aaron, but the text reads, “Aaron was silent.” (Lev 10:3) Moses then carried on, calling upon cousins to remove the corpses, and warning Aaron and his two surviving sons to restrain their mourning, so as not to provoke further wrath from God.
I find this to be the most difficult portion in the Torah, even when there is no coronavirus. The capriciousness of the deaths, and the seeming unforgiving fury of God, each silence me as they did my ancient priestly forebear, Aaron. Yes, there are explanations for the unexplained offence: the sons were usurping their father’s role, perhaps alcohol was involved, they had mocked the sanctity of the priesthood, they were martyred in sanctity. Yet, each of the explanations I find wanting and hollow, and I could readily refute.
Instead, I stand troubled and yearning, gasping for literary breath.
And, thus, we are. Sometimes such is our only authentic reaction.
We might attempt to plumb the commentaries, or hammer away at Google, trying to find explanations for Torah oddities or modern medical catastrophes. We might blame April storms and tornadoes on global warming, or just randomness. But ultimately, sometimes we should just stand awestruck, and feel the agony.
Hence, we read, “Aaron was silent.”
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
Dear Friends,
This one hurts.
We have somehow come to accept intellectually – but not accept emotionally (I hope) – the sting of capricious death. The evening news accounts of the outstanding people – from Italy to Illinois, and drivers to doctors – whose lives were snuffed-out as breathing ceased, a week after they were busy serving patients or delivering meals, is becoming insufferable. The unexplainable, capricious, wanton losses…
Thus, when we read this week in the Torah of two more whose lives were taken summarily, it makes me want to skip this week and go to the next; reading about leprosy is more palatable.
In Parashat Shmini, early in Leviticus, Aaron was about to be anointed as the High Priest. The people were assembled for the festivities, including prescribed sacrifices, when Aaron’s two eldest sons, apparently mimicking their father, each took their fire pans, put fire and incense in them, and offered an alien, unsanctioned fire offering. Immediately, a fire came forth form God, consuming them, and they died instantly at the hand of God. (Lev. 10:1-2)
Moses attempted to either console or explain the circumstances to a dumbfounded Aaron, but the text reads, “Aaron was silent.” (Lev 10:3) Moses then carried on, calling upon cousins to remove the corpses, and warning Aaron and his two surviving sons to restrain their mourning, so as not to provoke further wrath from God.
I find this to be the most difficult portion in the Torah, even when there is no coronavirus. The capriciousness of the deaths, and the seeming unforgiving fury of God, each silence me as they did my ancient priestly forebear, Aaron. Yes, there are explanations for the unexplained offence: the sons were usurping their father’s role, perhaps alcohol was involved, they had mocked the sanctity of the priesthood, they were martyred in sanctity. Yet, each of the explanations I find wanting and hollow, and I could readily refute.
Instead, I stand troubled and yearning, gasping for literary breath.
And, thus, we are. Sometimes such is our only authentic reaction.
We might attempt to plumb the commentaries, or hammer away at Google, trying to find explanations for Torah oddities or modern medical catastrophes. We might blame April storms and tornadoes on global warming, or just randomness. But ultimately, sometimes we should just stand awestruck, and feel the agony.
Hence, we read, “Aaron was silent.”
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
