Parshat Shemini, D'var Torah

Although it's from a few weeks ago, here is the text of my D'var Torah!

Shemini D’var Torah

Elana Nemitoff

Shachrit, 4 March 2013

Silence.

Silence is uncomfortable. Silence is painful. Silence is funny. Silence often has a reason.

In Parshat Shmini, Leviticus 10:3, we hear, וידם אחרון, Aaron was silent. Why? This occurs after Aaron’s two sons bring אש זרה as a sacrificial offering and are swallowed by God. Aaron is represented as silent in the following moment, as God dictates that God will be sanctified through these two boys, saying בקרובי אקדש ועל-פני כל-העם אכבד. The Torah continues with the disposal of the bodies, and in verse eight, God begins speaking directly to Aaron, telling him the rules of what he can and cannot imbibe.

However, looking back at 10:3, Aaron has still not uttered a word. Why not? Is he silent because of his leadership role? Or, is he reacting to Moses’ retelling of God’s chilling words that he will lose his sons to God?

Most of the medieval commentators had different interpretations of Aaron’s silence. Rashi says Aaron is silent in order to receive a reward - aשכר טוב על השתיקה. Instead of blaming Aaron, Rashi suggests that Aaron directly received the gift of the word of God, which until that moment had only come to him through Moses. Aaron might suffer from the deaths of his sons, but the reward is greater than the pain.

I disagree with Rashi and am inclined to agree with Ramban who offers two suggestions for why Aaron is silent. One is that הוא בכה ואחר-כך הוא וידם, he was crying loudly and ceased once Moses stopped talking. He listens. The other interpretation, using Lamentations 2:18, אל תדום בת-עיניך, saying, don’t let the apple of your eye cease, is that the word וידם actually means cessation and not silence. Aaron stops crying but isn’t silent. Ramban’s assertion is that Aaron must grieve privately, not that he must cease his pain.

    Another interpretation from Midrash גור אריה (vayikor yud bet, bet) suggests that Aaron is silent because Moses had already told him of his sons’ impending deaths and he had time to process the pain. He didn’t need to call out. Ramban still seems to have the strongest argument, as pain is pain, even when expected!

    A more humanizing interpretation comes from Matthew Berkowitz of JTS. He suggests that Aaron is silent in a moment of humility, showing him t as a role model for how to bear pain and mourn. Ron Wolfson, writes that the bible often shows people wailing in pain. Yet he also writes that when people first hearof a familial loss they go into shock and often don’t know their emotions or just go through the motions. It would seem that is Aaron’s fate. Aaron is distraught over his son’s deaths. His silence is not passive acceptance or anticipation of a reward. Rather, it is him taking a moment to internalize the memory of his son’s.

    In our lives as Jewish professionals, we will often work with individuals who have suffered harrowing losses. Our job, which we see from Aaron, is both to allow the outburst of tears, anger, frustrations – whatever emotions we may find peope displaying – and give them time to recall the positives of the deceased individual’s life. Not only that, but we must be the example, caring for our own grief as well. Aaron takes the opportunity to mourn, however short it is, in order to continue on in his role as high priest. We too, have and will continue to have taxing roles in our community. However, unlike Aaron, we must recognize that it is not only acceptable, but necessary to take the time to grieve appropriately. Wolfson suggests that only when one takes the time to grieve, can life move on. Otherwise, one remains stuck in a constant dead-hold of depression and denial.

    Therefore, we must recommend, both to others and ourselves, that time is necessary when it comes to grief and mourning. The initial outburst, as well as the after-effect of shock or other emotions are all normal. They should be cared for delicately, and only after the fact can one truly return to everyday life. Aaron teaches that life moves on, but we must listen to our hearts and pause a moment or many moments to recognize our sorrow. In the periods of שבעה, שלושים, ירצית, יזכור, we slowly return to our lives. We return to our lives having taken care of the pain we felt. We allow the pain to continue, but in doing so, we also make room for the memories of our loved ones. We take Aaron’s example and learn to continue on, but as we do, we will always remember.

Pain, Passion, and Prayer

I’m supposed to be reading, in order to have all my sources read by the end of tonight, in order to write my Israel Seminar paper tomorrow. Hwoever, my stomach has decided it does not want to cooperate, so instead, I will write about the past few days (really 24 hours or so).

            Sam, Max and I were all sitting in services, ready to participate in our own unique way. We had already lit the Hanukkah candles as well as the Shabbat candles, and were each doing our own individual review of the week. I was looking around the Beit K’nesset, surprised by how many people were there, but only until I realized that there was a Bar and Bat Mitzvah class and most of the kids and families were from that. My eyes settled on the door, where I saw Someone standing, looking frantic. She gestured at me and I came immediately, unsure why I was being summoned.

            In the fore room to the Beit K’nesset, Someone’s 8-year-old daughter was throwing a fit. She was screaming and hitting, seemingly miserable with something. However, this is not a typically developing girl. Rather, she has PDD and therefore doesn’t always express herself in the most proficient way.

            I immediately knelt down, to be on her level and tried to talk to her. Although my Hebrew is not great, I can communicate with a child in meltdown. She wasn’t happy, so slammed herself in the bathroom. Fortunately, she doesn’t yet know how to lock doors, so I went in and sat on the floor with her. Eventually, I restrained her, to keep her from both hitting me, herself, and her mother. We sat there, in a stand still, each waiting for the other to make a move. Every time I slowly released her, the girl pushed against me, flailing her fists.

            Finally, I needed to let her go, because holding her simply wasn’t working. She simply crawled outside, howling. Getting to her feet, she walked around the bushes, seemingly desiring her mother’s and my attention. Neither of us were going to follow her, but nor were we willing to let her sounds out of our awareness. After a little bit of coaxing (and a short walk with her brother), she came back, not calm.

            Deciding to ignore her, I zeroed in on her little brother. He was being ignored and the two of us had fun playing games of Hebrew language and communication. Finally, the little girl came back, pouting and desiring attention (as well as still frustrated). This time, I treated her like I would any other child: teasing her and then throwing her on my back. That one caught her by surprise, so I then just ran with it, almost literally, and we walked around the Kibbutz for a while. We walked and talked, me mostly making sure I wasn’t going to drop her and focusing on understanding her words. She was having a blast, away from the commotion of the Beit K’nesset and getting individual attention.

            Once we returned, I was able to re-enter the Beit K’nesset, with my little monkey firmly attached to my back, for the noisiest part of the service. She sat on me quietly, simply observing, knowing that I would protect her. When I tried to set her down for a quick moment, just to receive a glass of juice, she balked and almost began screaming again. Picking her up, I quickly replaced my hand on her back and she calmed almost immediately. We remained until the end, where I made a retreat back to David and Miri’s house (after Sam decided to do the one bite sufganiyah challenge that Em Hy, Rachael, and Max had done the night before and Max dared Sam to do).

            Dinner was, fortunately, uneventful. Well, minus the fact that it was absolutely spectacular and that the dinner guests included someone with whom dad attended ELEMENTARY school! She didn’t have any good stories, but she did know him, and his siblings, which was really neat!

            After dinner, someone ended up looking at the news and we found out that there had been a shooting at an Elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut. I was stunned. It seemed strange, that something like this affects people, even from halfway across the globe. We turned on the television around 11pm, all remaining glued to the screen until around one in the morning. I was fascinated and distraught by the destruction, both in the same instant. I wanted to do something, but knew not what. We talked about it, about the fact that this was breaking news, yet very little information was actually available. We discussed that parents would hug their children a little tighter and a little longer, just to ensure that they get that hug. Truly, we were in shock.

            This morning was typical, spent reading, running (for me), and relaxing. During lunch we talked about Zionism, the separation between church and state, whether the Israeli army should be an army for all Jews or just for the state of Israel, and much more. Within David and Miri’s home, life is constantly revolving around discussion and discovery, with people always finding new ideas and impressions. David is never without something to say, and often offers profound words to prod and provoke, attempting to help people shape their opinions.

            Later in the afternoon, after Alon had finally returned home for the first time in a year (everyone was INCREDIBLY excited), we settled down and were waiting for our afternoon activity. The television was turned on, simply to find out if anything new was happening. Honestly, not much had changed nor had more information been released. People were grieving, parents were preparing to bury their children, families were in shock. But no new information on the shooter or the people who were actually killed within the school was released.

            Sam and I talked about this kind of reporting, where the reporter is on the scene and has to keep talking, to keep people interested, even though no new news is actually being released. They interview parents, teachers, friends; trying to ascertain both who the shooter was and what actually transpired within the walls of the school on Friday morning. The talent that it takes to report on that is unbelievable. Even more incredible is that a viewer truly sees the rough edges, recognizes that this is not all polished and pretty, but rather, the reporters are also straining to keep themselves together.

            At some point, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got my phone and called dad. It just wasn’t a situation I could process alone, while I was stuck in Israel, finishing school. Something about the fact that I was halfway across the world, but felt a need for action propelled me to call dad. We discussed the fact that there is nothing I can do from here, nor would there be anything I could do in the states. In fact, I am in the right place, in a place where I will gain the tools in order to help in this kind of situation if, God forbid, it happens again.

            And then, we packed up and went off to the Emmaus Catholic Monastery at Latrun. We watched a prayer service that they performed in their beautiful chapel (with a painting reminiscent of medieval Christian art, incorporating biblical imagery (Jacob’s ladder and the angels), high and low Jerusalem, Mary Magdalen, and many more biblical figures like Abraham and Isaac and more. The entire service was beautiful, but felt very strange. Regardless, I was glad to be able to experience it.

            We all walked down the hall (made me feel like I was in a haunted house, with the cracked walls and old floors and doors), entering a giant dining hall. We did Havdallah in a circle, all these people from all over the world, representing the Czech Republic, France, Poland, an East Asian country, Israel, America, German, and likely more. It was pretty incredible to be with so many people, many of whom didn’t really know the ritual, but participated in the song. After that, we all joined together in lighting the Hanukkah candles for the Eighth and final night. The beauty of the light shone in everyone’s face and emanated throughout the room.

            The holidays are supposed to be a time of family, of love, of joy, of beauty. Yet tragedy struck a small, well-to-do down in Connecticut yesterday. One girl asked her mother if this was her 9/11, as she had not been born at that time. Although I do not recall the mother’s answer, the question is poignant. We all turn to those around us who are wiser in times of need, of pain. Some turn to spirituality, some to parents, some to inflicting pain on others. I choose to write, to reach out. Today, I wish peace on this earth. For Israel, for the citizens of Newtown, Connecticut, for the families who are grieving. But most of all, for everyone. Everyone deserves peace. I don’t expect this planet to suddenly wake up and embrace everyone who walks among it. But at least, learn what tolerance looks like. Learn that love is powerful, much, much more powerful than hate. Amen.

The full circle of life

Waking this morning, I ventured into Facebook to check in with the world. I saw that someone had posted a video of kittens, a very adorable piece of infancy and new birth at its finest.

However, during my walk to school, I saw a cat lying dead on the sidewalk. The sad fact is, I have no idea how common an occurance this is. To die, to leave this adventure, is one of the scariest things for a human being to encounter face on.

However, what about animals? Are they faced with that same sense of the fleeting nature of life and existence? Do they even have the brain power to consider such an ephemeral existence?

Regardless, I do know that I am not indefinitely for this world. Seeing the youth and then death reminded me of such a truth. It reminded me that I need to truly experience and live my life, not simply allow it to pass me by without attention. Awareness of my fallibility also came about, as I recognized my full potential to both take for granted or fully grasp and immerse myself in life!

16:55

I was walking from Rachel's apartment, all the way to Emek R'fai'im to meet a friend, and took a pit stop at a bakery. Jeff had shown it to me previously, and I was excited to try something from this incredible place. However, when I walked in, there was no one there. So I looked around for a little while and another woman came in. She also was looking to buy something (it took me a minute to figure out she wasn't the shopkeeper), but we couldn't see anyone. The strangest thing is that all of the sweets were just out in the shop, easily accessible. I was shocked-an Israeli trusted people to just leave his or her shop unattended?