Rabbi Joshua Kullock
Comunidad Hebrea de Guadalajara
The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche maintained that there are no facts, only interpretations. Likewise, we may affirm that the higher the number of interpretations concerning a specific event, the higher the possibilities that no one knows for sure why the event happened. And on this account, Nadab and Abihu can very well serve as our witnesses.
Our parashah begins with the staging of a memorable act: on the eighth day following the Tabernacle’s inauguration, after a week of celebrating the occasion, the time has finally come for the heart of Israel’s camp to start working according to stipulations. Nevertheless, what was a joyful celebration suddenly fell deep into sadness: “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 the Lord alien fire, which He had not enjoined upon them. And fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Lord” (Lev. 10:1-2).
Comunidad Hebrea de Guadalajara
The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche maintained that there are no facts, only interpretations. Likewise, we may affirm that the higher the number of interpretations concerning a specific event, the higher the possibilities that no one knows for sure why the event happened. And on this account, Nadab and Abihu can very well serve as our witnesses.
Our parashah begins with the staging of a memorable act: on the eighth day following the Tabernacle’s inauguration, after a week of celebrating the occasion, the time has finally come for the heart of Israel’s camp to start working according to stipulations. Nevertheless, what was a joyful celebration suddenly fell deep into sadness: “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 the Lord alien fire, which He had not enjoined upon them. And fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Lord” (Lev. 10:1-2).
On the eighth day, when joy abounded, the priestly family in charge of the Tabernacle went into mourning, with the unexpected death of Aaron’s two oldest sons.
These deaths caused so much pain and bewilderment that we find countless interpretations, during Talmudic times, on the fact described in the biblical text. Some sages placed the emphasis on the “alien fire”, others concluded that Nadab and Abihu were drunk, and there were those who said that the problem with Aaron’s sons was that they were desperate to overcome their father and uncle, so as to seize power. All of these answers, as well as many others that appeared later on, have just one thing in common: they all try to find an explanation for something that seems unexplainable.
Fifteen centuries ago, our sages could not conceive the death of two young men, in the prime of their life, without an obvious explanation. The event required an explanation. Otherwise, the tragedy could not be assimilated nor digested. Or, as occurred with Aaron according to the biblical text itself, the only possible answer before such a lack of interpretation would be just a deep and heartrending silence (Lev. 10:3).
History is burdened with difficult times, which we invariably attempt to understand by means of finding some kind of explanation or hidden meaning. Hence, the Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas’s idea, that what hurts most about tragedies is the impossibility to explain them in such a manner that they can be integrated into an economy of sense. When evil exceeds our capacity to understand it, it hurts us without anesthesia, incomparably. That is why we dress up the facts with interpretations, even if different groups interpret what has happened in different ways, or perhaps even in opposite ways.
What our sages suffered trying to explain the tragedy of Aaron’s sons, likewise happened with the different answers outlined during the second half of the 20th century by all kinds of scholars, while attempting to find theological reasons to understand the Shoah.
But the Shoah cannot be understood, cannot be explained, cannot be grasped. Nothing and no one will be able to find a rational explanation of why this tragedy happened, because what happened cannot be analyzed from the perspective of what is rational or intelligible. Radical evil has no explanation. Radical evil hurts. That is why when faced with radical evil, unexplained tragedies, and times of much suffering, we should focus our energies on finding specific answers, not from the point of view of interpretation but rather from presence and action. When evil happens, our minds should focus on mending the evil and then struggling as much as we can to prevent that barbarity from happening again. And this is mainly achieved through our participation, our being there, not through our disappearance or our hiding.
This week, as we read about the tragic death of Nadab and Abihu, we also commemorate Yom HaShoah veHagevurah, a moment when we remember the victims of Nazism. In this spirit, we recall philosopher Emil Fackenheim’s words, saying that in our times Jews should keep an additional precept, the 614th mitzvah: To not give Hitler a posthumous victory.
As we remember the victims and connect to the heroism of those who went forth to fight against the German army, even knowing that everything was already lost, we are summoned to practice a memory activated in concrete actions, that not only perpetuate the remembrance of those who are no longer with us, but also propose the meaningful continuity of the communities we inhabit today, and which we hope our children and descendants will inhabit tomorrow.
May the memory of those we remember these days be an eternal blessing and inspiration to us. May their souls remain forever bound to eternal life.
Shabbat Shalom u’Meborah!
These deaths caused so much pain and bewilderment that we find countless interpretations, during Talmudic times, on the fact described in the biblical text. Some sages placed the emphasis on the “alien fire”, others concluded that Nadab and Abihu were drunk, and there were those who said that the problem with Aaron’s sons was that they were desperate to overcome their father and uncle, so as to seize power. All of these answers, as well as many others that appeared later on, have just one thing in common: they all try to find an explanation for something that seems unexplainable.
Fifteen centuries ago, our sages could not conceive the death of two young men, in the prime of their life, without an obvious explanation. The event required an explanation. Otherwise, the tragedy could not be assimilated nor digested. Or, as occurred with Aaron according to the biblical text itself, the only possible answer before such a lack of interpretation would be just a deep and heartrending silence (Lev. 10:3).
History is burdened with difficult times, which we invariably attempt to understand by means of finding some kind of explanation or hidden meaning. Hence, the Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas’s idea, that what hurts most about tragedies is the impossibility to explain them in such a manner that they can be integrated into an economy of sense. When evil exceeds our capacity to understand it, it hurts us without anesthesia, incomparably. That is why we dress up the facts with interpretations, even if different groups interpret what has happened in different ways, or perhaps even in opposite ways.
What our sages suffered trying to explain the tragedy of Aaron’s sons, likewise happened with the different answers outlined during the second half of the 20th century by all kinds of scholars, while attempting to find theological reasons to understand the Shoah.
But the Shoah cannot be understood, cannot be explained, cannot be grasped. Nothing and no one will be able to find a rational explanation of why this tragedy happened, because what happened cannot be analyzed from the perspective of what is rational or intelligible. Radical evil has no explanation. Radical evil hurts. That is why when faced with radical evil, unexplained tragedies, and times of much suffering, we should focus our energies on finding specific answers, not from the point of view of interpretation but rather from presence and action. When evil happens, our minds should focus on mending the evil and then struggling as much as we can to prevent that barbarity from happening again. And this is mainly achieved through our participation, our being there, not through our disappearance or our hiding.
This week, as we read about the tragic death of Nadab and Abihu, we also commemorate Yom HaShoah veHagevurah, a moment when we remember the victims of Nazism. In this spirit, we recall philosopher Emil Fackenheim’s words, saying that in our times Jews should keep an additional precept, the 614th mitzvah: To not give Hitler a posthumous victory.
As we remember the victims and connect to the heroism of those who went forth to fight against the German army, even knowing that everything was already lost, we are summoned to practice a memory activated in concrete actions, that not only perpetuate the remembrance of those who are no longer with us, but also propose the meaningful continuity of the communities we inhabit today, and which we hope our children and descendants will inhabit tomorrow.
May the memory of those we remember these days be an eternal blessing and inspiration to us. May their souls remain forever bound to eternal life.
Shabbat Shalom u’Meborah!
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