Parshas Shemini 5781
The greatest day of Aaron’s life is abruptly transformed into the worst. As the Mishkan is dedicated and he is installed as the Kohen Gadol, his two sons, Nadav and Avihu, suffer death at G-d’s hands for having brought a korban that never should have been offered. The gala celebration is marred by the news of the untimely deaths.
What is Aharon’s response to this personal calamity? “וידם אהרן—Aharon was silent” (Vayikra 10:3). Rashi notes the correctness of this response and that Aharon was rewarded for it with a private prophecy directly from Hashem. Indeed, that Aharon does not complain—does not point an accusing finger up at the heavens—but silently accepts the Divine judgement in the face of personal sadness and confusion is no small feat. But I believe there is another side of the coin that deserves further attention.
The Gemara in Brachos (4b) explores the fascination that the compilers of the Siddur had with with the 145th chapter of Tehillim, the perek we commonly refer to as “Ashrei.” Why was this particular chapter chosen to be recited three times daily? Among other factors, the Gemara notes that the full gamut of the Hebrew alphabet is reflected within this Psalm, with each pasuk beginning with a new letter. There is but one exception: the letter Nun. Bearing a connotation of nefilah, downfall, this letter is skipped so as to make no reference to Jews who have stumbled and fallen. Only an oblique reference to this letter is included in the verse, “סומך ה׳ לכל הנופלים—Hashem supports all those who have fallen.”
What is so magical about the inclusion of nearly the full range of the Aleph-Bais? Kabbalistically, we speak of Hashem’s creation of the universe as having been achieved through the manipulation of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Praising Hashem with each of these letters, then, represents the determination to see Hashem’s hand in every aspect of life and nature. There is nothing that exists or that is achieved without the Divine will and the Divine imprint. By referencing every letter of the Aleph-Bais, Psalm 145 references the full expanse of space, time, and reality, and praises Hashem for His involvement throughout.
Why, then, no Nun? If we seek to recognize Hashem’s presence in all that happens, isn’t a reference to stumbling, difficulty, even hardship in order? Wouldn’t it be correct to attribute even difficult times and situations to Hashem’s master plan and praise Him for them?
Yes and no. Later in Gemara Brachos (48b), Rebbi Meir enjoins us to bless Hashem for evil just as we do for good. Following the death of a loved one, we do indeed recite the bracha of Dayyan HaEmes, recognizing Hashem as the True Judge and accepting the loss as part of His plan.
Yet Ashrei strikes a very different tone. It is one of jubilance and enthusiasm, not muted recognition of G-d’s sovereignty over even the somber moments of life. Recognizing that nothing can transpire without Hashem’s imprimatur is not the same as offering full throated praise of G-d’s handiwork when we experience His harshest decisions.
We recognize Hashem’s hand in all that transpires, but to do so ecstatically in the face of pain and suffering would be to mute our own humanity and dull our natural inclination and tendencies towards life and blessing. What would happen to our own drive for chessed, improvement, and building if we responded to sadness and destruction with exuberance? Could we be sufficiently sensitive to the needs of those suffering loss if our insistence of Hashem’s hand in the tragic was no less enthusiastic than when we witness the manifestation of His blessing? Could we maintain our own decency and kindness if we responded to Hashem’s middah of Judgement with the same vigor as to His middah of Mercy?
Ashrei is an exuberant Psalm, so tragedy and downfall have no place. Could tragedy occur without Hashem’s knowledge and allowance? Of course not. And yet it is the muted bracha of Dayan HaEmes that is recited at a funeral, not a Shehechiyanu.
Perhaps it is this lesson as well that is contained in Aharon’s silence. He is praised and rewarded not only for holding his tongue from criticism, but also from full, jubilant praise. One of the Jewish People’s greatest leaders taught that when tragedy strikes, we do not become angry with G-d, but neither do we blur the lines between what is good and what is bad, what is joyful and what is tragic.
Aharon is remembered as the great lover and pursuer of peace, seeking out strategic ways to bring two friends together following a rift (See Avos 1:12 and Bartenura’s commentary). Why did Aharon care so much for his fellow Jews? Why did he insist upon change and give his all to making peace? Why did he not simply shrug his shoulders and resign himself to this falling out as being G-d’s will? Aharon’s silence is actually a silent rebellion against these very thoughts. G-d can be found in every moment, but He is to be identified most enthusiastically with the joyous ones. By doing so, we pave the way to properly follow in His footsteps.