 |
The Eloquence of Silence
What can be more painful
than the loss
of a child? After a parent holds
his infant child
in his arms, after
he helps the growing child
walk, speak, read,
discover the wonders
of the world, the child becomes forever
a living part
of the parent. The death
of a child, therefore, rips
a gaping hole in the parent’s heart,
a wound that can never
be healed – and the older the child the more gaping
the wound.
In times of such terrible tragedy, it is almost impossible for a parent
not to cry out in grief
and anguish, not to scream
with pain. And yet, in this week’s
Torah portion we are told
that when Aaron witnessed the violent death
of his two grown sons
“Vayidom Aharon – Aaron
was silent.” How deeply he must have been hurt and grieved
by the loss of his beloved sons! But nonetheless he remained
totally silent. He showed no reaction whatsoever. How can this be? How could he suppress his cries of anguish?
Furthermore, the Midrash
tells us that the Creator
rewarded Aaron for remaining silent
by conveying through him,
rather than through
Moses, the prohibition against performing the Temple service in a state of alcoholic intoxication. The question immediately arises: The Torah is attuned to the feelings
of the mourner and actually
encourages him to cry for the
first three days of his bereavement; why then was
Aaron’s suppression of his cries
of
anguish
so praiseworthy? And if his
silence was indeed
so commendable, how
was his selection
to convey the prohibition against
intoxication during the Temple service
a fitting reward?
The Hebrew word
the Torah uses here to portray Aaron’s
silence, domeim, has two other meanings – the state
of being inert
and singing. What common thread
connects silence, inertia and
song? Let us consider for
a moment the
most desirable state
that all people seek. The American Declaration of Independence actually
hits the nail on the head when
it speaks of “life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” Everyone
wants to be happy, but how
is this achieved? Does a lot
of money deliver happiness? More often than not, it accomplishes the exact opposite.
Does physical gratification deliver happiness? Hardly.
Happiness
depends on inner
harmony. When a person is at peace
with himself and his
environment, he is happy.
But harmony does
not derive from
external sources. It emanates
from within, from serenity of the soul.
Our senses, however, are the enemies
of harmony. They constantly bombard us with
a variety of stimuli to which we are inclined to react, and thus
our harmony is disrupted. We cannot be at peace
with ourselves if we are
at the mercy of a volatile world.
A simple experiment proves this point.
Enter a room by yourself, shut out all sound, close the lights and sit back with
your eyes closed.
In a short while you
will undoubtedly feel
a pleasant serenity (if you don’t
fall asleep). Insulated from external influences, your soul naturally
gravitates towards harmony; it enters a state of happiness. Thus, inertia and
silence lead to song. The only problem
is that we cannot spend
our lives in a dark
and silent room,
and as soon
as we step out, we are back
into the vortex.
Aaron,
however, was able
to achieve absolute harmony and serenity even in the
midst of the active world.
His faith in the Creator
was so profound that he was impervious to external stimuli. He did not react to his senses;
his thoughts and
actions all emanated from the wellsprings of his soul within. Even
when his sons
perished suddenly, he did not react with an outcry
of pain. He dealt with his sorrow
within the confines
of his soul.
He bowed to the will
of the Creator
with perfect acceptance, and his harmony
remained undisturbed. “And Aaron
was silent.”
As a reward
for this transcendent silence, the Creator
conveyed the prohibition against intoxication during the Temple service
through him. The
priestly service symbolized the spiritual bond
between the human
soul and its Creator, and as such,
it could only be
distorted by external stimulants such as alcohol
and other consciousness-altering chemical substances. Aaron had
shown himself to be completely at peace with
his inner self,
and therefore, he was the
perfect conduit for this prohibition.
In our own
lives, we can also seek
to achieve, to the best
of our abilities, some semblance of inner harmony. The key is to recognize the source of true happiness, that it does
not come from external sources
but from within.
When we embrace
Torah values and ideals, we insulate our inner selves
against the vicissitudes of the world
around us, and we are rewarded with a harmonious and immeasurable enriched
life.
|
The Challenge of the Eighth Day
The events described in this week
parsha occur on the eighth
day – after the seven
day dedication period
of the Mishkan and the installation of the kohanim/priests that would serve in that sanctuary. And this eighth
day turns into
a day of challenge and eventually sad tragedy. By emphasizing that
all of this
occurred on the
eighth day, the Torah teaches
us a vital lesson in life.
The seven days
of dedication are
days of exhilaration and accomplishment. But such
feelings and emotions cannot
usually be maintained indefinitely. In life there always
is the day after, the eighth day,
which is one of challenge, struggle and even
of pain. This
day, though, can
define and determine one’s life and future.
I have often
thought that this
is perhaps one of the more subtle
messages implied by the
Torah when fixing the day of circumcision of a Jewish infant boy to be on the eighth day of his life. It is the day that imprints on him his Jewishness forever. It is a day of joy and commemoration for parents
and the family,
but also one of pain
– with the
drawing of blood from the infant.
It is therefore a day of solemnity and dedication and
it teaches that
sacrifice, consistency and determination all are part of one’s
lot in life. One of my revered
teachers in the yeshiva
put it to us starry eyed teenagers quite
succinctly, if not somewhat ironically, many decades ago. He said:
“Life is like
chewing gum – a little
flavor and the
rest is simply
chew, chew, chew.” And so it is.
My beloved grandson, Binyamin Gewirtz, the youngest of all of my beloved
grandsons, is celebrating his Bar Mitzva
this Shabat. Happily,
parshat Shmini was also my bar mitzvah parsha. I remember that
my father of blessed memory
said to me in his synagogue sermon
that Shabat,
that what I would make
out of my life on the eighth
day – after all of the bar mitzvah celebrations had receded – was the important challenge in life.
It is certainly correct that the challenge of the eighth
day is the true test
in life. I pray that the Lord grant my Binyamin all of the blessings of life but my main
prayer is that
he, like all of
us, realizes that
the challenges of life lie in the everyday mundane
behavior which we can,
if we so desire,
transform with purpose
and holiness.
That is the message that
is transmitted here
in the parsha
to Aharon and
his sons. Steadfastness, belief, obedience to Torah law and Jewish values is what is asked of them. The seven
days of celebration and dedication have
ended and now the task
of caring for the
holy Mishkan is entrusted to them.
And perhaps that
is what the
rabbis meant when
they indicated that
the two sons
of Aharon who were
killed in the Mishkan died
because they were
inebriated from wine.
They were still in the seven
days of celebration mode which had ended and not in the eighth
day mode which now descended upon
them. Such errors
in life can be fatal
and often disastrous.
Shabat shalom. Rabbi Berel Wein
No comments:
Post a Comment