Shabbat Sh'mini
Written by Student Rabbi Monique Meyer Monday, 31 March 2008
Under a fiery, blood-soaked sky, a contorted figure—hands clasped to the sides of a hairless, skeletal face—stands paralysed on a wooden bridge, its mouth agape in horror.
The intense colour gives voice to a shock of fear, confusion, and despair in a soundless medium. The subject appears to shake, yet remains frozen for all time in a moment of anguish. And we wonder: what could be so terrible? What could provoke such a response?
For many years I interpreted “The Scream”, by the Norwegian painter Edvard Munch, as a reaction to an incident hidden from our view, but in plain sight of the character. Powerless and terrified, the subject shrieks in a silent yet deafening expression of agony. Why was this individual so frightened, so desperate? What could be so horrifying that he or she could only stand transfixed, wide-eyed, and quaking? And what about the approaching figures in the background? Do they see what the subject sees, their carefree stroll grinding to a halt as they, too, gaze on the unimaginable? Or are they unaware of his plight, lost in idle chatter and a leisurely stroll as the subject screams in silence?
The existential angst in Munch’s painting flooded my mind as I read one of the most discussed sections of our Torah, in which Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Abihu, offer strange fire which God did not command (Lev. 10:1). A fire then comes forth from the Eternal and consumes them. Moses speaks to Aaron, Vayidom Aharon, “And Aaron was silent” (Lev. 10:3). I looked up the root of the word vayidom and was astonished to find a secondary meaning of rare attribution, “wail” (BDB, pp. 198b-199a)—in other words, to make a sound suggestive of a mournful cry.
In an instant, I saw a Munchean Aaron standing at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting, newly ordained in dazzling priestly attire, in exquisite anguish after witnessing God’s fire consume his sons. Aaron freezes in his tracks. His mouth drops open and his eyes widen, the very embodiment of The Scream. Moses turns to address him.
הוּא אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּר יְהוָֹה | לֵאמֹר בִּקְרֹבַי אֶקָּדֵשׁ וְעַל־פְּנֵי כָל־הָעָם אֶכָּבֵד
This is what the Eternal spoke, saying, ‘By those near to Me shall I be made holy, and I shall be glorified before all the people’ (Lev. 10.3)
Those closest to God, Aaron and his sons, have a sacred duty to uphold. They accept that duty at great peril. That text implies that coming too close to Divine fire can get one burned if the responsibility is not taken seriously and the laws followed to the letter.
How does Aaron respond to this? וַיִּדֹם אַהֲרֹן, “Aaron was silent”—but he is not silent in quiet resignation. In the innermost recesses of his brain, from the depths of his soul, Aaron wails as his heart breaks. Aaron, who was Moses’ voice before Pharaoh, cannot utter a sound. His is a silent scream which only God can hear—an anguished cry of grief that Aaron cannot audibly express as he stands before the community.
The Israelites are not yet aware of what happened. Lying prostrate on the ground after seeing Divine fire consume the burnt offering (Lev. 9:24), they were spared the sight of Divine fire consuming Aaron’s sons. Like the background figures in Munch’s picture, they are momentarily oblivious to the turn of events and to Aaron’s pain. Aaron is paralysed in his loss, shivering in terror. And so, Moses now speaks for his dumbstruck older brother.
He calls Aaron’s nephews to remove the deceased from the sanctuary to a place outside the camp. He instructs Aaron and his two remaining sons, Eleazar and Ithamar, not to perform any of the customary mourning rites such as baring their heads and rending their clothes. Aaron and his sons are still anointed with the oil of ordination; they must comport themselves and continue with the dedication offerings or they, too, will risk God’s wrath.
But Aaron’s sons will be mourned. As news of the tragedy reaches Aaron’s fellow Israelites, the entire community declares a period of mourning, keening over the burning deaths. And so, Aaron’s silent scream, his mournful wail, finds voice in the sobs and laments of his people.
An entry in Munch’s diary reveals that the subject of “The Scream”, the artist himself, is not screaming, but covering his ears in a frantic attempt to block out the unbearable, incomprehensible scream of Nature. So desperate is he to stop the sound that he is overcome with panic and shakes in abject terror as the scream penetrates his psyche. Perhaps this understanding reveals another dimension of Aaron’s silence. Moses reminds Aaron that as priests, he and his sons must distinguish between sacred and profane, clean and unclean. They must also be good teachers, instructing the Israelites in all the laws given to them by God through Moses (Lev. 10:10–11). As Aaron prepares to discharge his priestly duties in the dedication of the Sanctuary, he squints in a vain attempt to block out the deafening roar of God’s judgement mingled with the mournful cries of the people. He struggles to regain his composure. He fails and tries again . . . and again. The roar subsides and the cries fade into the background. The bold reds, yellows, and blacks of anger, sadness and loss become softly-muted pastels as Aaron stands in awe of and commitment to his sacred responsibility and his God. There is no hesitation. Aaron unfreezes to complete the dedication of sacred space, stepping out of Munch’s picture and into the light.
