Falling silent

Shemini
Leviticus 9:1-11:47

The centerpiece of this week's parsha is the enigmatic story of Aaron's sons, Nadav and Abihu, who offered an "alien fire" before the Lord and were struck dead. Two aspects of this story are of interest: the image of God reflected here, and the father's reaction to his sons' death.

That the episode is enigmatic is reflected in the multiplicity of explanations offered by the commentaries on what precisely was the young men's sin. What made this fire "alien"? The text suggests that what they did was something that God had not commanded, that it was a violation of God's sanctity. But what was it and why did it merit that kind of death?

For "fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Lord." God does not speak. God offers no explanations. God simply acts in a sudden, dramatic, almost demonic way — and consumes them with fire.

It is left to Moses to attempt an explanation of the sin, which is as enigmatic as anything else about this story. It refers to a statement of the Lord's that is not otherwise recorded in Torah, and again, there are multiple explanations of what the statement means.

Finally, what is their father's response? "Aaron was silent." In the face of this personal tragedy, Aaron has nothing to say. There are no words.

The haftara for this parsha echoes this story. David transports the sacred ark to Jerusalem. On the way, the oxen pulling the cart carrying the ark stumble, and Uzzah, a bystander, reaches out and grasps the ark to steady it. God is incensed at this violation of the sacred, and Uzzah is struck dead "for his indiscretion."

What was the indiscretion? And why did it merit death? Again, God offers no explanation. Again, we are dealing with some serious violation of the sacred. Again, God acts suddenly, dramatically, demonically and strikes down this otherwise innocent man who was simply trying to prevent the ark from falling.

David's reaction? "David was distressed because the Lord had inflicted a breach upon Uzzah, and the place was named Perez-Uzzah, as it is still called." David may have been "distressed," but he is silent. There are no words.

The rabbis juxtaposed the Uzzah and the Nadav and Abihu narratives because they saw them as one story. One common theme is that the parsha deals with the dedication of the desert tabernacle, while the haftara deals with David's attempt to locate a permanent shrine for the ark in Jerusalem. But there are two other common themes: first, the image of God, and second, the reactions of Aaron and David.

We are habituated to think of the God of Israel as a nurturing God, a God who brings blessing and comfort. We rarely think of this God as inflicting pain and suffering, as capable of acting in sudden, apparently unjustified and demonic ways. But our life experience brings us multiple examples of terrible suffering on the part of innocent people who sometimes die a cruel and sudden death. We try to justify God's behavior, but at the end, we are forced to accept God's judgment with resignation.

At such moments, we too, like Aaron and David, fall silent. When we are faced with the death of a member of our family, the Jewish ritual is to tear our garments, on the left, over the heart, for the death of a parent, and on the right for another member of the family. We do utter some words but these words explain nothing. They simply affirm God's judgment as righteous. That ritual moment, one of Judaism's most profound, is a cry, a statement of resignation in the face of the mystery of our fate, which lies in the hands of God.

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