Dear Friends,
Moses could only sit and watch. Helpless.
The powerful once-in-all-of-history Law-Giver, himself, could only watch. It was the singular day when Moses’ older brother, Aaron, was about to be consecrated as the first High Priest of Israel, following weeks of preparation and construction of the Holy Tabernacle and the sacral vestments which now adorned his priestly brother.
Aaron had just offered the initial offerings to God, and fire came forth to consume the sacrificial animal. Then, Nadav and Avihu, Aaron’s sons, came forth unexpectedly with their own apparent offerings, unsolicited and unscripted, and instead of accepting their submissions, God sent fire which immolated them immediately.
Moses watched.
Aaron kept silent. (Leviticus 10:3)
Moses offered a simple, unempathetic theological remark, suggesting that this was God’s expectation of those who lead.
Over the millennia, commentators and scholars have offered myriad explanations for the silence and the feeble consolation of the two brothers. Some proffered that they demonstrated acceptance, some suggest that this was lofty piety, or that this was an accounting for sins. Some argue that consoling Aaron would have been tantamount to indicting God. Some extolled their restraint, while others excoriated it.
Over the years, I have found this vignette more and more disturbing. I can understand those who brand the God of the Hebrews as merciless and angry. And, I can be stunned annually when this portion comes around at the sudden brutality of the episode. I most identify with the silence of Aaron. What could have been said?
This year, I am pondering the helplessness of Moses. What could have been done? Could Moses have warned his nephews to keep back? Could Moses have stepped forward to placate God? Could Moses have found better words to console his brother? What did it feel like to be totally ineffectual, emasculated, before the whole assemblage of Israel, and before one’s bereft brother?
Moses then jumped to action, assigning kin to remove the bodies and dictating memorial rites to Aaron and his remaining sons. Then, he carried on with the directives of the nascent priesthood.
Essentially, it appears to me that Moses compensated for his helplessness by getting back to work. It is exactly the opposite of what Jewish tradition now expects.
As we reflect on this Torah portion this Shabbat, we allow ourselves to feel the hurt, to be angered, and to feel soft, gentle empathy. All, while we may be stunned and confused.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
Moses could only sit and watch. Helpless.
The powerful once-in-all-of-history Law-Giver, himself, could only watch. It was the singular day when Moses’ older brother, Aaron, was about to be consecrated as the first High Priest of Israel, following weeks of preparation and construction of the Holy Tabernacle and the sacral vestments which now adorned his priestly brother.
Aaron had just offered the initial offerings to God, and fire came forth to consume the sacrificial animal. Then, Nadav and Avihu, Aaron’s sons, came forth unexpectedly with their own apparent offerings, unsolicited and unscripted, and instead of accepting their submissions, God sent fire which immolated them immediately.
Moses watched.
Aaron kept silent. (Leviticus 10:3)
Moses offered a simple, unempathetic theological remark, suggesting that this was God’s expectation of those who lead.
Over the millennia, commentators and scholars have offered myriad explanations for the silence and the feeble consolation of the two brothers. Some proffered that they demonstrated acceptance, some suggest that this was lofty piety, or that this was an accounting for sins. Some argue that consoling Aaron would have been tantamount to indicting God. Some extolled their restraint, while others excoriated it.
Over the years, I have found this vignette more and more disturbing. I can understand those who brand the God of the Hebrews as merciless and angry. And, I can be stunned annually when this portion comes around at the sudden brutality of the episode. I most identify with the silence of Aaron. What could have been said?
This year, I am pondering the helplessness of Moses. What could have been done? Could Moses have warned his nephews to keep back? Could Moses have stepped forward to placate God? Could Moses have found better words to console his brother? What did it feel like to be totally ineffectual, emasculated, before the whole assemblage of Israel, and before one’s bereft brother?
Moses then jumped to action, assigning kin to remove the bodies and dictating memorial rites to Aaron and his remaining sons. Then, he carried on with the directives of the nascent priesthood.
Essentially, it appears to me that Moses compensated for his helplessness by getting back to work. It is exactly the opposite of what Jewish tradition now expects.
As we reflect on this Torah portion this Shabbat, we allow ourselves to feel the hurt, to be angered, and to feel soft, gentle empathy. All, while we may be stunned and confused.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
