About Silence After Loss and Post Traumatic Growth

Read Leviticus 9:22-10:2 In this section of the Torah we read about the death of Nadab and Abihu, two of Aharon’s four sons. Although we are never explicitly told why they were struck down, I personally am not interested in going into all the reasons suggested in commentaries about this section. I am however interested in looking at the response of Aharon to the sudden death of his sons. His response is given in two words in the text: Vayidom Aharon (and Aaron was silent). According to our Etz Hayim chumash, it states: The traditional interpretation is that Aaron accepted G-d’s harsh judgment and did not cry or complain at his painful loss. There are several other reasons, however, that one might remain silent in the face of tragedy. First, the experience might be so utterly overwhelming, that there are no words to express one’s feelings without lashing out at others who are nearby to help or even at G-d. When words are uttered in such cases, the hurt may end up being expressed as anger and can destroy relationships when relationships are so desperately needed . I’ll give you an example that comes to my mind of a chaplaincy corps call I responded to at the scene of a fire several years ago. When I arrived, a house was totally gutted by fire and the owner of the house was sitting in her car. Fortunately, no one had died in the fire, but she was distraught and blaming herself for the fire. I went over to her with a Red Cross worker to try to see how we could help her find a safe haven and just be with her in her time of emotional pain. She did not remain silent, instead she cursed us and became verbally abusive toward us. I was able to accept the fact that her overwhelming feelings rose in the language she used that night and I’m sure had I met her under other circumstances, her response to me would have been different. Perhaps, Aaron knew that if he uttered words at his time of overwhelming sadness, his feelings might have been expressed as anger at G-d or the community that he was serving at the time of his sons’ deaths. Second, silence might be a way of dealing with a pain that is extreme. It might be a symptom of shutting down emotionally in the face of trauma. We now speak of PTSD and have ways of offering trauma informed help but look at what Moses did following the traumatic event that caused two of Aaron’s sons to die. It does not follow what we call best practices. 10:4- 6 “Moses called Mishael and Elzapha, sons of Uziel the uncle of Aaron, and said to them, “Come forward and carry your kinsmen away from the front of the sanctuary to a place outside the camp.” They came forward and carried them out of the camp by their tunics as Moses had ordered. And Moses said to Aaron and to his sons Eleazar and Ithamar, “Do not bare your heads and do not rend your clothes, lest you die and anger strike the whole community.”…. There was no taking into account the shock, the hurt, the stress caused by the sudden death of Aaron’s sons. Perhaps this reaction by his brother also made it impossible for Aaron to speak. Without being able to mourn in a healthy way, he could not muster the words that his psyche and soul needed to utter in order to heal. Third, perhaps Aaron remained silent because he knew that he had to accept the fact that at that moment he was feeling distant from G-d who sent the fire that consumed his sons. Maybe he understood that he would never know what G-d’s purpose and intent were. Interestingly enough, when we hear of a love one’s death today, we use the words, Baruch Dayan HaEmet, G-d is a true judge. We attempt not to lash out at the injustice we feel, rather we attempt to restructure our thinking by uttering the words that have been given to us that in essence also mean that we don’t understand the ways of G-d. Rabbi Eliezer Diamond, a teacher of Talmud and Rabbinics at JTS wrote, “There is, however, an interesting custom which is reminiscent of Aaron's silence. It is the practice to omit from the mourners' kaddish one of the paragraphs that is a part of the full kaddish. This paragraph, which begins with the word titqabel, states: "May all the prayers and pleas of the people Israel find acceptance before their Father in Heaven." Why is this paragraph omitted? It is, I believe, the silence of Aaron. This omission is a declaration of disengagement. Yes, God, I will continue to pray to you and serve you, but I cannot be expected at this moment, when you have taken from me the one I love, to declare that You are the One who hears prayers. My prayer, at least, has gone unanswered. In this moment of mourning, I will not pretend otherwise.” One thing I do believe, is that the death of a child, is a loss that is felt even more intensively than the death of a parent or older friend. Aaron was not allowed the “luxury” of being able to “cry alone, pray, scream, cry with others, withdraw, express anger, meditate, cry some more.” He was not allowed to look out for his own needs because of his role in the community. He wasn’t allowed to grieve at all. His silence was the only reaction he could make that was within his own realm of control. Individuals in positions of leadership are often not given the leeway to grieve in healthy manners. They must continue to fulfill their roles for the community. When my mother died just before Rosh HaShanah in 2008, I remember consulting a Rabbi to ask what I should do in terms of leading the congregation in prayer. I was told that I needed to continue as I had originally planned before her death because without my participation the congregation would be left at loose ends. Was it easy to accept his comments, no! Perhaps he was responding in the same way that Moses responded to Aaron at his time of loss. This week in Israel, we experienced the death of 3 fine women at the hands of terrorists. The women, a mother and her two daughters, were buried with thousands gathered round. The surviving husband/father and three other children/siblings were not silent in grief. They wailed along with the rest of the nation, but they also eulogized their loved ones. They pointed out what goodness they left behind them and asked that the nation not be silent but come together in unity setting aside discord and division. In my mind, this husband/father, who is also a rabbinic leader in his own community, taught us that there is another way to approach the death of one’s two children that does not include silence. Yes, his pain was overwhelming, but he used his words to bring honor to their names, to point a path for healing, even amid his tears. An individual who visited his home for shiva wrote, “Rabbi Dee was the one offering us comfort, encouraging each person in the room to learn about hallachic organ donation, telling us, with his Arab/Israeli friend standing beside him that only through love and kindness and shared values, can our country overcome the hatred of a small few.” My friend, Naomi Graetz of Omer, Israel, refers to this form of healing as Post Traumatic Growth. It comes after shedding tears, wailing, and mourning…allowing one to move on although still experiencing loss. Thoughts? Shabbat Shalom.