When Grief is Quiet
Today marks Yom HaShoah, remembering the 6 million lives lost in the Holocauast. Mourning, regardless of how much time has elapsed, is a time filled with many emotions and memories, some bitter and some sweet, but all powerful. It may be shocking, then, to read this week's parsha, Shemini, which recounts the tragic deaths of Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu. The sons offer a "strange fire" to God, an offering that was not commanded. As punishment, the sons are consumed by divine fire and die.In the immediate aftermath, the Torah tells us simply, "And Aaron was silent." This reaction may seem puzzling. Why doesn't Aaron lash out at God, who took his sons' lives? Why is Aaron not screaming and crying? How can Aaron be so calm, so heartless, in the face of an immense loss?
The medieval commentator Ramban urges us to look between the lines and understand the depth of Aaron's emotions at this loss. "This means that he had cried aloud, but then he became silent." Drawing a parallel to Eicha, the book of Lamentations, Ramban suggests that Aaron cries, shouts, and screams. His silence is not an absence of grief, but a transformation: a silence full of pain from which tears still flow. The Torah: A Women's Commentary adds an important question, "There is not much that one can say when confronted with the awesome power of God. But what was the reaction of Nadab and Abihu’s mother, Elisheba? The text does not record her response to this tragedy." Her grief at the death of her two children, surely profound, is left unspoken and unseen.
This parsha teaches us an important truth. We rarely see the full scope of a person's pain. Mourning takes on many forms, and not all are visible. This is true not only in times of loss - people carry unspoken struggles in everyday moments as well. A quiet demeanor may hide deep anxiety and a smile may mask misery. Instead of judging the ways people express, or do not express, their emotions, we are called to hold space for the many faces of human experience. Let us be present for one another, with compassion and care, in moments of heartbreak, challenge, and simply being.
L'Shalom,
Eden Anolick, Rabbinic Intern
