Dr. David Pelcovitz, professor of psychology and education at Yeshiva University, relates a story of his colleague Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, a world-renowned trauma expert, showing him a picture of a man’s brain that was taken using an fMRI, a machine that measures brain activity by detecting changes in blood flow in different brain regions. This particular image was taken while the man was having a flashback of being caught in the stairwell of the World Trade Center on 9/11.
At that moment, there was absolutely no brain activity in the part of the brain dedicated to speech, known as Broca’s area. The memory of the trauma rendered him speechless. Only after therapy, during which van der Kolk helped the man give words to the pain, did the later images show brain activity in the language center.
Perhaps, Pelcovitz suggests, this vignette can help us understand Aharon’s silence in Parshat Shemini. After they brought a “strange” fire on the altar, a fire burst forth and consumed Aharon’s sons Nadav and Avihu. Moshe then tells Aharon, “This is what Hashem meant when He said: Through those near to Me I show Myself holy, and gain glory before all the people.” The verse then ends, “Va’yidom Aharon – And Aaron was silent” (Vayikra 10:3).
How are we to understand Aharon’s silence?
Does silence mean a lack of crying, a lack of speech, or both? Does it mean that he couldn’t say anything, didn’t have any urge to say anything, or that he desperately wanted to cry out but controlled himself? If the latter, what exactly would he have said and why did he feel he shouldn’t? What was his facial expression like? Did he just control his speech while “leaking” his emotion visually or was he stoic in his expression as well?
The Ramban assumes that upon witnessing their deaths, Aharon started weeping. It is only after Moshe said, “Through those near to Me I show Myself holy” that he was silent. This assumes that Aharon experienced a natural emotional reaction and was subsequently consoled.
Rabbi Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg disagrees and says that if he were crying and then went silent, the word used should have been “vayishtok.” “Vayidom” connotes an absence of any noise. According to Rabbi Mecklenburg, Aharon accepted G-d’s decree without an ounce of conflict or even a slight desire to question.
The Chofetz Chaim suggests that it wasn’t just Aharon’s voice that went silent; so did his facial expression. The word “vayidom,” he argues, is related to the word “domem,” which denotes an inanimate object. His face was like a rock, lacking even a hint of negative expression.
The latter two commentaries align well with Rashi, who quotes the Talmud (Zevachim 115b), which states that Aharon was rewarded for his silence.
But why couldn’t Aharon cry out in mourning?
Some look to Aharon as a paradigm for how we should react to tragedy: Accept G-d’s judgment and don’t question “why.” The Rashbam, however, suggests that Aharon’s silence is not indicative that one should not demonstrate emotion upon the loss of loved ones. Rather, this was a one-time exception, requiring a higher, perhaps super-human, level of self-control. Aharon was called on to (at least temporarily) suppress his emotions as he was needed for the public sanctification of the Tabernacle.
As a rather bold alternative, Rabbi Shmuel Goldin suggests that Aharon chose silence as his way of dealing with loss. Moshe attempted to console Aharon by telling him that G-d is sanctified by those who are close to him, indicating that Nadav and Avihu were precious to G-d. Yet, Rabbi Goldin suggests, that in Aharon’s silence he was responding:
“Moshe, there are times when words do not suffice, when they are, in fact, hurtful. I reject your attempt to explain the inexplicable. No words or comfort will assuage my heart’s deep pain. I am willing to accept G-d’s justice, but I know that I will never fully understand. For me, in the face of overwhelming loss there is only one meaningful response: silence.”
Despite their variations, the aforementioned opinions all assume that Aharon chose to stay silent. Dr. Pelcovitz, based on his interchange with Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, suggests that maybe Aharon didn’t choose to stay silent; rather, his silence was actually a natural reaction to witnessing the trauma of his two sons dying. Broca’s area in his brain was lifeless. He literally could not speak. There were no words.
Perhaps the range of explanations is indicative of another important lesson that Dr. Pelcovitz emphasizes. It is normal for different people to react differently to distress. There is no one right way to cope. While we may never be exactly sure what Aharon’s inner thoughts and emotions were, the diverse possibilities model and validate various ways one can respond to tragedy.