Dear Friends,
Some of us are wearing blue and yellow buttons of the sunflower.
Others are wearing blue and yellow ties or scarves of the Ukrainian flag.
Still others are attending vigils or prayer services for the Ukrainian people.
Many – across our county, our nation and the globe – are seeking ways to express outrage at the carnage wrought in Ukraine by Vladimir Putin’s army.
And, we struggle with making our voice loud enough, or heard. It feels as though silence prevails.
Silence is the enemy, especially in the face of roaring military equipment and screaming missiles in Eastern Europe, and parliaments and congresses gathering to gavel resolutions. The world learned during the Holocaust that silence only supports the aggressor.
Thus, we seek expression. Or, many of us do.
In this week’s Torah portion, in the face of terrible, mostly unexplained violence and death to two of his sons, we read that, “Aaron was silent.” (Leviticus 10:3)
It was the day of Aaron’s consecration as the High Priest, and the people had gathered to witness the celebration and great pageantry. Then, his two eldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, came forward with unauthorized offerings, and God struck them down with a fire from the heavens. They were immolated, killed – in public. “And Aaron was silent.”
Over the millennia, hundreds of commentators and rabbis have sought to explain this tragic silence. We have shouted our own outrage and condemned the hush in the sacred text. Yet, we – I – remain troubled.
We have learned from Dr. Martin Luther King, from Isaiah, from Nelson Mandela, from Rosa Parks, from Elie Wiesel and so many others, that injustice demands a clarion call of justice. Silence is unacceptable and unexplainable. It destroys our spirit, just when the spirit is yearning to shout from the treetops.
Thus, this week the Torah’s vignette and Aaron’s response leave a gaping hole of emptiness. We feel the grief of Aaron, yet the anger of our prophets. We want the entire world to shout its condemnation at the Russian army, and we want them to hear us. And, we want to trust that elected leaders around the globe are not being silent. Yet, our voices yearn… and our Torah demonstrates the conflict of silence.
We reluctantly read, “Aaron was silent.”
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
Some of us are wearing blue and yellow buttons of the sunflower.
Others are wearing blue and yellow ties or scarves of the Ukrainian flag.
Still others are attending vigils or prayer services for the Ukrainian people.
Many – across our county, our nation and the globe – are seeking ways to express outrage at the carnage wrought in Ukraine by Vladimir Putin’s army.
And, we struggle with making our voice loud enough, or heard. It feels as though silence prevails.
Silence is the enemy, especially in the face of roaring military equipment and screaming missiles in Eastern Europe, and parliaments and congresses gathering to gavel resolutions. The world learned during the Holocaust that silence only supports the aggressor.
Thus, we seek expression. Or, many of us do.
In this week’s Torah portion, in the face of terrible, mostly unexplained violence and death to two of his sons, we read that, “Aaron was silent.” (Leviticus 10:3)
It was the day of Aaron’s consecration as the High Priest, and the people had gathered to witness the celebration and great pageantry. Then, his two eldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, came forward with unauthorized offerings, and God struck them down with a fire from the heavens. They were immolated, killed – in public. “And Aaron was silent.”
Over the millennia, hundreds of commentators and rabbis have sought to explain this tragic silence. We have shouted our own outrage and condemned the hush in the sacred text. Yet, we – I – remain troubled.
We have learned from Dr. Martin Luther King, from Isaiah, from Nelson Mandela, from Rosa Parks, from Elie Wiesel and so many others, that injustice demands a clarion call of justice. Silence is unacceptable and unexplainable. It destroys our spirit, just when the spirit is yearning to shout from the treetops.
Thus, this week the Torah’s vignette and Aaron’s response leave a gaping hole of emptiness. We feel the grief of Aaron, yet the anger of our prophets. We want the entire world to shout its condemnation at the Russian army, and we want them to hear us. And, we want to trust that elected leaders around the globe are not being silent. Yet, our voices yearn… and our Torah demonstrates the conflict of silence.
We reluctantly read, “Aaron was silent.”
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
