Adina Roth – Director of Jewish Life

The Sounds of Silence – Shemini 2024 

Silence can have many meanings. In this week’s Parsha, Shemini, we find an interesting and ambiguous silence – The Israelites are still in the desert and they have just inaugurated the Mishkan, their house of God. At this point, there is a very strict practice of ritual, of how to bring up sacrifices in this sanctuary. One can imagine in an ancient temple how these kinds of rites were circumscribed in terms of lots of do’s and don’ts!

The story goes that Aharon, the high priest has two sons, Nadav and Avihu who in some ways ‘go rogue’. They offer esh zarah or strange fire to God. There are many discussions in our tradition about what this strange fire was. Some say that the ingredients of the incense were not correct. Others say that it was the right ingredients, but they had not been invited into the holy space to offer such an offering. They were the wrong people at the wrong time. Regardless of what they did, it all seems to backfire (excuse the pun) rather horribly because as they offer their fire, they are swallowed by God’s fire and killed.

This is a rather dark, cautionary tale about the dangers of playing with holy fire. But more disturbing than the story itself is Aharon’s silence. After their death, we are told ‘Vayidom Aaron’, ‘Aharon was silent.’ How are we to read his silence? We can imagine the flagrant conflict of interests. Aharon is the head honcho of the Mishkan, the first High Priest among the Israelites and his sons have been, well, naughty. He is also, perhaps first and foremost a father who has just lost his children. Our tradition struggles to understand the silence of Aaron. Avot De Rabbi Natan reads his silence somewhat strangely as comfort but I prefer Nachmanides who says that Aharon’s silence came after he had cried out. I have always imagined Aharon’s silence not as acceptance or comfort, but as a terrible despair or even as protest against God’s extreme and rash action. We are not often told that a character ‘was silent’ and  Aharon’s silence has always spoken loudly to me.

This week, I had the good fortune to take Year 9 on their annual Rough Edges tour to meet with a formerly homeless person. Our guide, a man called Paul, walked us around Darlinghurst and shared stories of his difficult childhood, of his drug addiction and his experiences of homelessness. He shared with an open heart. Throughout the tour, the students were quiet. But I could see their silence was about listening. At the last stop, Paul spoke to them personally. He pointed to a leaf floating on the stairs and said, ‘don’t be aimless like a leaf, find meaning in your lives.’ Suddenly the floodgates opened, and the students started asking questions: How did you feel when you were homeless? What does it feel like when you see other homeless people on the street? The students didn’t stop. Their previous silence had not been apathy or disinterest. They had heard everything. They had just needed the time to process and respond. Afterwards the students reflected that the tour gave them a perspective on their own lives and made them feel grateful.

There is nothing more lovely than a class full of engaged discussion. But this week, I was reminded that silence is not always a bad thing. Silence can mean someone is processing, receiving, listening and thinking. And if we just wait, and are patient, the conversation will begin – from a deep place!

Shabbat Shalom