Parashat Sh'mini 5769 -- Alien Fire

This week’s Torah portion brings us unexpected tragedy. It brings us a tale of unexpected death and loss. The book of Leviticus, so sparse with its narrative, interrupts its ritual and legal descriptions to deliver us three verses of pain in Parashat Sh’mini. The text reads:

Now Aaron's sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Adonai alien fire, which God had not enjoined upon them. And fire came forth from Adonai and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of Adonai. Then Moses said to Aaron, "This is what Adonai meant by saying: Through those near to Me I show Myself holy, And gain glory before all the people." And Aaron was silent. (Leviticus 10:1-3)

The Torah cries out for explanation. What was this alien fire? Why is such a harsh punishment inflicted on the sons? What do we make of a God who consumes people with fire? If Adonai is our God of Salvation, why would God kill Aaron’s sons?

Question after question, but the text answers none. The Torah remains as silent as Aaron.

Throughout the generations, interpreters have sought to shed light on these and other mysteries of the Torah. This is why we, as a Jewish community, rely so heavily on our sages. We use their interpretations to help us articulate our own understandings of Torah. This is the great chain of Jewish tradition. And, for generation after generation, the interpreters of our Torah have been solely men. The fact that men, exclusively, were the commentators on Torah has affected the way that we read and understand our holiest of texts. Indeed, we have come to realize that women’s voices and women’s experiences were kept out of the realm of Torah scholarship for generations. (This does not even address the belief of many that the Torah itself was written by different men—and not women—over many generations)

Why, you might ask, do I raise this question skewed Torah interpretation now? For two reasons:

1. In just a little over a week, on April 25, our congregation will be blessed to welcome our 2009 Scholar-in-Residence, Dr. Tamara Eskenazi, into our community. Dr. Eskenazi, co-editor of the newly published, award-winning "The Torah: A Women's Commentary,” is one of the most sought after Jewish scholars today. During her Shabbat with us, Dr. Eskenazi will teach us Torah in unique and exciting ways. Dr. Eskenazi lends an important voice to the Jewish community today. She and others declare that Torah can only be made fully relevant in our lives when both men and women’s voices join together to interpret and uncover the meanings of our holiest of texts. No longer can we solely rely on the voices of men of generations past, we must add new voices to the chorus. This Torah portion provides the perfect backdrop for my personal invitation to you to join us on April 25 for our scholar in residence. Check out details and RSVP by clicking here! In the “The Torah: A Women's Commentary,” Dr. Eskenazi and others help shed new light on ancient texts.

1. In reading through selections of this week’s parashah in the Women's Torah Commentary, I read Sh’mini anew. I focused on the implied pain of the final line “And Aaron was silent.” How did Aaron, devoted father and priest, feel seeing his sons die before his eyes? How helpless he must have felt. How devastated. How alone. In the Women’s Torah Commentary’s “Voices” section, the editors present a series of poems exploring issues of loss and mourning. These poems are meant to draw out the reader’s experience of these verses. I believe they help us link our own experiences to the emotions of the text. I want to share one of these poems with you this week.

A Pure Whole Memory

Only when the face is erased

can anything here be remembered whole,

only when the face is erased.

Then the light go wild,

the colors start from their frames.

Stars plunge from their height like epileptics.

Grasses groan up out of the earth

(their growing pains greater than wilting pangs).

All those things that blind our eyes

draw back to the shadows.

So too the face.

Somthing begins to stir in the depths.

How many days,

how many years of wind and weather,

have we waited for it to erupt

from the depths of the earth,

one pure whole memory,

like a lily,

pale red.

by Dahlia Ravikovich, translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

I invite you to reflect on the following questions. I also, again, invite you to join us in our studies with Dr. Eskenazi on April 25.

1. What does this poem suggest about the nature of loss?
2. How might this poem relate to Aaron and his experiences in the text?
3. How might this poem reflect (or not reflect) your own experiences of loss?