Hello darkness, my old friend,
I’ve come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
–Simon and Garfunkel

 This Simon and Garfunkel song was the first poem I analyzed. When I was still a student in Evanston. What does the sound of silence mean? Isn’t that a contradiction? I won’t ask my congregation to do anything I am not willing to do myself. And maybe my friend the Rev. David Ferner is right—we always preach the sermon that we ourselves need to hear. This is one of those mornings.

 This morning we are going to read one of the most difficult portions of the entire Torah. This is the portion that includes the death of Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu. Let’s look at it.

“And Nadav and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, took each of them his censer, and put fire therein, and laid incense thereon, and offered strange fire before the LORD, which He had not commanded them. And there came forth fire from before the LORD, and devoured them, and they died before the LORD. Then Moses said unto Aaron: ‘”This is it that the LORD spoke, saying: Through them that are nigh unto Me I will be sanctified, and before all the people I will be glorified.’ And Aaron was silent.” (Leviticus 10:1-4)

What is going on here? What is strange fire? Do other translations help—alien fire, idolatrous fire? What about the phrase that this was something that G-d had not commanded? Is this something over and above what G-d wanted, demanded, commanded? Something over the top? Were they being narcissistic, thinking they were above the law and they knew best? Were they being passive aggressive as one member suggested?

What about the punishment. Fire from G-d? Struck by lightening? G-d devouring them—consuming, eating them, what does that mean? As one member pointed out, we should not be surprised by this. In the previous chapter, G-d seems to eat the sacrifice Aaron has prepared. G-d maybe kind and compassionate, but G-d also seems to have His own anger management issue. So watch out. Do exactly what G-d says or watch out!

What is the role of Moses here? How is he like Job’s friends? Does he jump in immediately? Too quickly? Does his explanation ring true—“It is G-d’s will. They are with G-d now. G-d is sanctified, made holy because they are close to G-d.” if you had been Moses, how might you have responded?

And my real question. What about Aaron’s response? Aaron is silent. Aaron kept his peace. We are told he is the only one in the Torah who was silent. What would your response be to, G-d forbid, the death of a child? To Moses trying to comfort you?

Let’s talk about silence. Have there been times in your life when you have been stuck silent? What emotions were contained in the silence?

There is that old adage, “Silence is golden.” I have a t-shirt we bought for my mother that says “Silence is golden but duct tape is silver.” There are times when we might wish we could duct tape someone’s mouth. We can probably all remember our mothers saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Maybe that ideal came from Eishet Chayill, A Woman of Valor in Proverbs, “She opens her mouth with wisdom and the law of kindness is on her tongue.” For me, still working on that one!

It seems Judaism puts a premium on silence. We learn from Psalms, “Silence is praise to You” (62:2). From the Talmud: “Words are worth a perutah, silence is worth two” (Tractate Megillah) and “What should a man’s pursuit be in this world? He should be silent” (Chullin 89a). From the mystical tradition: “Silence is the means of building the sanctuary above [the godhead] and the sanctuary below [the soul]” (Zohar 2a). “It is often more effective to fast with words than with food. As fast of words, a struggle with silence, can teach us how often we misuse words” (Vilna Gaon). The Maggid, the disciple of the Baal Shem Tov, declared “It is best to serve God by silence.” So is Aaron’s silence an example of his deep faith?

For many of us, in a world we never turn our electronics off and CNN is blaring in the background, silence makes us uncomfortable. I am not very good at silence.

And sometimes we shouldn’t be silent. Just last week at Purim, we read that Esther was not silent. The artwork in the front hall that we put up specifically to tie in with Purim says, :”For the sake of Jerusalem I will not be silent.” (Isaiah 62:1) So when should we be silent?

Back to our text. In times of terrible tragedy, the natural response seems to be to cry out in grief and anguish. Just think about recent images of grieving families in China and Malaysia—or families in Newtown, Connecticut after the horrific shooting at Sandy Hook. However, as we know, people respond to grief in many ways—some cry, some withdraw, some tell stories, some channel their energy into cooking, some write, some laugh.  We read a Psalm this morning for the dedication of the Temple, praising G-d for turning the Psalmists’ mourning into dancing, his tears into joy. That takes time.  Dancing can be a sign of joy but it can also be an expression of grief.

Aaron was silent. How profound his grief must have been! How hurt! How amazed! How shocked. How confused? He just witnessed this inexplicable event. What had his sons done to cause this? What had they done that he hadn’t done. Remember this was a brand new rite. Had they gotten caught up in the moment? Why was he still here and not them? Survivor’s guilt? Moses’s words don’t help much.

Many of the words we say at funerals and shivas don’t help. Let’s build a list. Things I hope you never say to someone at a funeral or to someone who has just lost a child. Things like:

• It was G-d’s will.
• G-d needed a little helper up in heaven.
• He is in a better place now.
• Time will heal.
• You can have another child.

These kinds of comments make me nuts.  They make me want to scream. That’s why we learn from Job’s comforters that silence really is golden. When you go to a house of mourning, traditionally, you are supposed to let the mourner speak first. Only when he or she is ready. Not before.

I want to find just the right words to comfort Aaron. And maybe that is the point here. Aaron’s silence is so compelling because in the face of this tragedy there are no words.

The rabbis were uncomfortable with Aason’s silence. They invent midrashim around it. But the rabbis traditional interpretations don’t help me. I thought about using them, and they are appended to the end of this d’var Torah. In a sermon about silence, maybe we should just use less words. Maybe we can’t explain what happened and maybe we shouldn’t try.

Maybe the sages are right and silence is a sign of wisdom. That wisdom can reflect contradictory emotions. Maybe Aaron’s silence reflects those contradictions. It can be a sign of keeping the peace–between Aaron and Moses (I might be a murderous rage towards Moses), between Aaron and G-d (how could G-d do this! WHY!) or even with himself. It can be a sign of discretion or a sign of guilt. We can be silence out of anger or sorrow or because there simply are no words.

I have rambled too long. Meditation and silence has a long history in Judaism. I will be really honest here. Like was mentioned earlier, many people are scared of silence, uncomfortable with it. That would include me. I am always afraid that if I slow down long enough, I will either fall asleep (embarrassing!) or I will cry and will not be able to stop. I feel like I can’t take that chance.

Nan Gefen talks about the power of silence in her book, Discovering Jewish Meditation. “Over the years, you’ve undoubtedly had experiences that were spiritual in nature. Perhaps they took place while you were reading a poem, or holding a sleeping child, or walking in the woods, or watching the sunset. Or while you were praying. These experiences and more have helped you know that something exists beyond your regular, everyday reality. This “something” is what I call, “the silence within.” To many of us this state seems both familiar and mysterious. It has the quality of spaciousness and it appears to have no boundaries. Like a pregnant pause, the silence within contains all possibility. It is the raw material of creation, the formlessness that exists before the concrete emerges. When we enter into this state, we have our most intense spiritual experiences and receive our most significant moments of understanding.”

Gefen continues, “If you are like many people, you probably don’t pay much attention to the silence within as you rush from place to place. (YES! That is me exactly!), juggling responsibilities and meeting deadlines. But you sense its existence. In the quiet moments it hovers just outside your consciousness and you are drawn to it. (OK, for me maybe not drawn to it, maybe prefer to avoid it, to keep running away from it!) It might even frighten you, the scary unknown. (Yep, that’s me!)

A Chasidic rabbi was asked what he does before he prays. He answered he prays for an hour that he might be able to pray. I told that to our president last week as we were both running around the sanctuary adjusting the heat while other people were praying. But it is true, most Shabbatot I have prayed and prepared for at least an hour before I ever get to CKI. This morning was no exception. I tried the exercise I want us to try as a group shortly. I made myself slow down enough to hear the silent sound of silence. And what I heard amazed me. It wasn’t while I was trying to sit in silence. It was actually while I was getting dressed. It was very simple. Very quick. And VERY profound.

When we move into Passover mode, we talk about Elijah, and G-d’s “still, small voice.” What I heard was “You are loved.”

So we are going to try this. The women of Mayyim Hayyim, the community mikveh and education center in Boston, wrote a wonderful book, Blessings for the Journey, A Jewish Healing Guide for Women with Cancer. It is especially appropriate this morning, since in the haftarah we will read about a purification rite that actually mentions the phrase Mayyim Hayyim. Part of the beauty of this book is that it is a non-judgmental reference, giving practical suggestions for spiritual practice for someone has cancer—or really any crisis. There is even an entire chapter on what to do if you are angry with G-d, giving you permission to be angry with G-d, which is OK in my book, and maybe even a necessary stage.

One of the sections includes a way to be silent. If you are willing, let’s try it. It is a shortened version of the same exercise that I went through earlier this morning. Close your eyes gently. Focus on your breathing. Ruach is the Hebrew word for breath or spirit. The Divine breath. Think of the Divine entering your body as you breathe in. Exhale through your moth with a big breath and let out anything you don’t need. Keep following the natural flow of breath. Each breath is a miracle. G-d’s breath out, expression, is your in=breath, inspiration…If tears well up, let them flow, watching and letting go of the stories about the tears, while maintaining your awareness of sensations of greif or joy, anger or safety of love—whatever precipitated your tears. (page 136)

Come back gently to the room. Open your eyes slowly. Now we know the gift of Torah study this morning. Something Aaron already knew. The power of silence.

The Classical Rabbinic Material:
The rabbis wrestled with Aaron’s silence too. The Midrash tells us that G-d rewarded Aaron for his silence. That it is through him, not Moses, that the we learn the prohibition of performing the Temple service intoxicated. Now I want to scream. NOT GOOD ENOUGH! I want my kids back.

The word here for silence is not the usual one sheket. Instead it is dom. It appears only one other place, in the story of the battle at Gibeon. Battling the Canaanite kings, we learn that God stopped the sun in its path so Israel would have time to defeat its enemies: “Stand still (dom), oh, sun, at Gibeon; oh, moon, in the valley of Aiyalon.” (Joshua 10:15) The term, dom, implies a moment of complete and absolute paralysis. That must have been Aaron’s response. Complete paralysis, utter disbelief and shock. He was unable to respond. He was unable to move. His life comes to a crashing halt. A state of suspended animation. A state of inertia.

It also means something like singing. I can understand where being inert goes with grief. You just don’t want to do anything. Even getting out of bed is hard. But what about singing? How is that connected to grief and to silence? By being silent, by not moving can we achieve inner peace, inner happiness through silence? Is that too much to ask of a grieving father?

The rabbis teach that meditating in silence, leads to a sense of inner harmony and happiness leads to singing. Apparently in that split second, when Aaron’s sons were taken from him—let’s use the real words—were killed, the rabbis believe that Aaron was able to achieve that sense of inner harmony and be silent. Some say his faith was that profound, so profound. 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. Here are the texts:

Babylonian Talmud, Zevachim 115b
When the sons of Aaron died, he [Moses] said to him: ‘Oh my brother! You sons died only that the glory of the Holy One might be sanctified through them’. When Aaron perceived that his sons were the honored ones of the Omnipresent, he was silent, and was rewarded for his silence, as it is said, “And Aaron was silent.” And thus it says of David, “Be silent before the Lord, and wait patiently [hith-hollel] for Him,” (Psalms 37:7) this means, ‘though He casts down many slain [halalim], be silent before Him.’ And thus it was said by Solomon, “A time to keep silence, and a time to speak” (Ecclesiastes 3:7) sometimes a person is silent and is rewarded for his silent; at others a person speaks and is rewarded for speaking. And this is what Rabbi Hiyya ben Abba said in the name of Rabbi Johanan’s: What is meant by, “Awful is God out of your holy places, mi-mikdasheka?” (Psalms 68:36)? Read not mimikdasheka but mimekuddasheka [through your consecrated ones]: when the Holy One executes judgment on His consecrated ones, He makes Himself feared, exalted, and praised.

Lamentations Rabbah 1:17, #52 (Quoted in Sefer Ha-Agadah)
The congregation of Israel said also: Master of the universe, my soul is desolate within me, for when I pass Your house, which is destroyed, and am plunged in utter silence, I ask myself: The place where the seed of Abraham used to bring offerings to You, where priests used to minister on the dais, where Levites used to intone praise with harps–is it right for foxes to be romping about in it? “How I passed on with the throng, and led them (eddaddem) to the house of God” (Psalm 42:5). …According to Rabbi Berekhiah, the people of Israel also said to the Holy One: In the past, we used to go up carrying baskets of first fruits on my head, but now [we go] “in silence” (eddaddem) – we go up in silence (demumah) and come down in silence (demumah). In the past, we used to go up with songs and psalms of praise before the Holy One. But now we go up with weeping and come down with weeping. In the past, I used to go up in “a festive throng” (Psalm 42:5), throngs and throngs caught up in festivity – but now I sneak up like a thief, and like a thief sneak down. (Note the connection between eddaddem – led them – and demumah – silence.)

Babylonian Talmud Megillah 18b
Rabbi Judah of the village of Gibborayya–according to some, of the village of Gibbor-hayil–interpreted  “Silence is praise for You,” (Psalms 65:2) as meaning that silence is the height of all praises of God.

Lamentations Rabbah 1:1
It is reported in the name of Rabbi Joshua ben Levi: The Holy One summoned the ministering angels and asked them, “When a mortal king loses a dear one and wishes to mourn, what is customary for him to do?” They replied, “He hangs sackcloth over his door.” God said, “I will do likewise.” Hence it is written, “I clothe the heavens with blackness, and I make sackcloth their covering” (Isaiah 50:3)…..”What else does a king of flesh and blood do?” They replied, “He sits in silence.” God said, “I will do likewise.” Hence it is stated, “He sits alone and remains silent, because he was taken away” (Lam. 3:28).