The Many “Faces” of Silence

Parashat Shemini doesn’t lack for themes but the one which stood out for me as I began to prepare this D’var Torah is one that “speaks” to me every year when we read this parashah – namely, the theme of silence. Although Aaron’s silence is of course in an almost inconceivably tragic context all its own, I’ve been recalling and searching for other instances of silence in the Bible and in contemporary literature as well as in the area of mourning practices.

An example in the latter category is Chaim Potok’s well-known book, The Chosen, which powerfully and poignantly explores the theme of silence between fathers and sons. Rabbi Harold Kushner also explores the concept of silence in his widely-read book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. In it, he deals with the role of silence in understanding suffering and in searching for meaning in life. In response to grief and misery, Kushner believed that silence can find a space for introspection and can offer a place where individuals can grapple with difficult questions.

I will try to show how Aaron’s response to the tragedy, which unfolded before his eyes in an instant, conveys multiple meanings. Vayidom Aharon, and Aaron was silent (Lev. 10:3), has been interpreted in several different ways which reveal fascinating insights into who Aaron was – a father, the High Priest responsible for atoning for the people and for fulfilling Gd’s instructions in the service of the Almighty, the brother of Moses, who counselled his brother in his sacred duties and as a human being who had just experienced the unthinkable.

Immediately following the death of Nadav and Avihu, the subject of silence is introduced by the following sentence, “And Moses said to Aaron: this is what Gd was referring to when he said ‘with those close to me I will be sanctified, and before the entire nation I will be honored’, and Aaron was silent…vayidom Aharon”… (Lev 10:3)

וַיֹּאמֶר משֶׁה אֶל אַהֲרֹן הוּא אֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר ה’ לֵאמֹר בִּקְרֹבַי אֶקָּדֵשׁ וְעַל פְּנֵי כָל הָעָם אֶכָּבֵד וַיִּדֹּם אַהֲרֹֹן.

I suggest that we look at some examples of silence – both textually and in “real life” events throughout the years – in the face of grief and trauma:

Rabbi Bruce Kadden quotes the verse in Kohelet, “there is a time to be silent and there is a time to speak” (Kohelet 3:7).

He also reminds us of Elie Wiesel’s powerful take on silence:

               Indeed, silence is sometimes the most appropriate response to death and tragedy. Reflecting on the fact that he did not write about his experience in the camps for ten years after liberation, Wiesel says “I felt I needed ten years to collect words and the silence in them”. There is a silence that is “a very eloquent silence, a screaming silence, a shouting silence.”  If a person has a lot to say but decides not to say it, “that suggests the power of silence”.

Rabbi Kadden reflects on how “Aaron’s silence in the face of the death of his sons reflects the power of silence”. Aaron doesn’t lash out angrily. “Instead, Aaron is silent, reflecting his strength, his dignity, and his composure.”

Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld in his Series on Pirkei Avot cites the Talmud (Brakhot 6b) which says: “The main reward one receives for attending the house of a mourner is for the silence”. Often, such silence speaks far louder than words. We learn that when visiting the bereaved during shiva, we should wait for the mourner to begin speaking. Being there in silent solidarity and support for a mourner is, therefore, both appropriate and cathartic.

Rabbi Ari Kahn views Aaron’s silence with these words:

              Aharon witnesses the horrific death of his sons; instead of rejecting God or harboring destructive ill will toward God, Aharon accepts God’s decree. As we have noted, some commentaries see his acceptance as outward, others inward; some see silence, others a silent prayer. The Rambam sees a lonely Aharon receiving a revelation as he utters praise to God, his religious conviction able to withstand any assault. Like Eliyahu in the dessert, Aharon understands that the word of God is contained in silence, in solitude. Perhaps Aharon now understood what his brother Moshe felt, alone, away from the people, but receiving the word of God.

Rabbi Kahn adds that:

               Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, in his book, The Living Torah writes that Aharon “remained silent”, while the Artscroll translation is “Aharon fell silent” and The Jerusalem Bible prefers “And Aharon held his peace”. These translators echo different approaches found in ancient and medieval sources: Ramban writes that Aaron had been crying out loud, but upon hearing the comforting words of Moshe he became silent. According to this approach, Aharon may well have continued to mourn in his heart; when he saw Moshe attempt to console him, Aaron realized that he must be silent.

I think that Rabbi Kadden’s words sum up Aaron’s silence, as well as the silence which countless mourners have experienced throughout the millennia to this day, when he says, “Silence affirms that no words are adequate to fully explain what cannot be explained. Rather, the silence allows us to experience the full extent of the tragedy and thereby allow it to penetrate our hearts and souls.” Silence can speak volumes if we will but listen to its cues.

Shabbat Shalom.
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Rabbi Marge Wise (AJR ’21), is also known as the Journey Rabbi (journeyrabbi.com). Her passion is outreach, including teaching prospective Jews by choice and accompanying them on conversion. She teaches in person and on Zoom – currently her students span 5 continents and as many time zones!