Rabbi Howard Morrison

In this week's Torah portion, Parshat Shemini, we read the tragic deaths of Nadav and Avihu. While the text imparts that they died after offering an alien fire, no detail or explanantion is provided. The commentaries are diverse and vast trying to guess at their wrong doing. Were they drunk? disrespectful to Moses and Aaron? Innovating in a way which transgressed God's commandments? These and other interpretations span ritual and ethical concerns. Regardless, a family and a community are left to grieve over inexplicable deaths. Each year, I actually shake when we approach this Torah reading, knowing that this episode will be recounted from year to year.

Sadly, we know of too many inexplicable deaths in Jewish history. Every generation provides its own tragic tales of grief. From the treatment of Jews by the ancient Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Crusaders, the Cossacks, the Nazis, and so many other groups, who predicated their existence on cruelty against the Jewish people. 

This past Monday night, I could not sleep or rest at all when I heard about the death of a ninety-six year old Holocaust survivor, Borys Romanchenko, who was killed by a Russian strike on his home, the Ukrainian city of Kharkiv. This man had endured four camps during the Shoah. He might not have died from the cruelty of Hitler, but he did die from the cruelty of Putin. Why could this man not have been allowed to live his remaining years of life in peace and serenity?

When Aaron hears about the inexplicable deaths of his two sons, the Torah says, "Vayidom Aharon - Aaron was silent." There are times when no words, whether from a mourner or a comforter, can adequately respond to a tragic loss. That is how I felt Monday night and continue to feel now.

Sincerely,

Rabbi Howard Morrison