Shemini: The Sound of Silence

by Michal Fox Smart '28

Why would anyone volunteer to write a parsha blog due the week before Pesach? I will explain.

The spreadsheet for choosing which blog to write arrived in my Maharat inbox back in early September 2024. I was in Israel at the time. Even amidst a difficult year-long war, it was an especially devastating week. The bodies of six hostages, all recently murdered, had just been recovered by the IDF. I had the dark privilege of standing among the thousands who lined the streets of Jerusalem as the Goldberg-Polin family drove by en route to Har Herzl, to lay Hersh z”l to rest. Everywhere I turned I heard the same phrase: “Ein milim—I have no words.”

We witness this same phenomenon in this week’s parsha, Shemini. A day that began amidst celebration, and particular elevation for Aharon and Elisheva’s family of Kohanim, turned into one of death and grief. We read in Vayikra 10:1-3: 

Now Aharon’s sons Nadav and Avihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Hashem alien fire, which had not been commanded. And fire came forth from Hashem and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of Hashem. Then Moshe said to Aharon, “This is what Hashem meant by saying: Through those near to Me I show Myself holy, And gain glory before all the people.” Vayidom Aharon—And Aharon was silent.

There are moments of loss and devastation, of intense pain, that defy speech. Grief can be too big for words to contain or express. In such moments, the attempts of others to rationalize, to soften, to frame in profundity, even to comfort, likewise fall flat. “Ein milim.” “Vayidom Aharon.”

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch views Aharon’s silence in just this way. Noting the active form of the verb “vayidom–he was silent,” Ramban likewise imagines that Aharon first cried aloud, then went silent. I can imagine Aharon being in shock—a trauma response that leaves him literally frozen, uncomprehending, and unresponsive. Several other traditional commentators, however, perceive Aharon’s response differently. Rashi interprets Aharon’s silence as a laudatory acceptance of God’s judgment, insofar as he did not protest. Silence was an expression of faith even in the face of personal loss. Others see an indication that Aharon was comforted by Moshe’s words. Given Aharon’s reputation in Pirkei Avot (1:12) as a “lover of peace and pursuer of peace,” it may be a reflection of his personal middot that he avoided confrontation. Alternatively, the Kabbalist R. Chaim Vital understands Aharon’s silence as a way for him to create space for the Divine presence. Like our own practices of silent prayer or meditation, perhaps Aharon experienced a deep connection to God that was wholly private. And likely a multiplicity of thoughts and emotions jumbled together or flowed through him in those moments. The Gemara (Zevachim 115b, based on Vayikra Rabbah 12:2), in fact, asserts that Hashem responded favorably to Aharon’s initial silence by then addressing him. 

Previously, I have been skeptical of these loftier interpretations of Aharon’s silence. This year, however, I have the words of another hero of Am Yisrael in mind as I read Parshat Shemini anew. Speaking of her own faith journey, Rachel Goldberg-Polin recently told an interviewer (recounted in JNS March 7, 2025), “This will probably sound strange…but I actually feel that the closest that I’ve ever come to feeling, really feeling God, is when Hersh was killed. It felt so unbelievable that it could only be from God.” She went on to recall her experience as a child, viewing the famous painting by Georges Seurat, A Sunday on the Island of La Grande Jatte: “It’s the pointillist masterpiece that, if you look at it very closely, it doesn’t make any sense; it’s just a bunch of dots and chaos and blurriness. And when you step back, then you see this glorious tapestry of gorgeousness. But when you’re very close and in it, you don’t see it. And I really believe—and maybe this is a survival tactic, maybe it’s the lies we tell ourselves to keep ourselves okay—but I believe that there is a grand tapestry. And I don’t have the hubris to say that I understand the tapestry, but I’m faithful that it’s there and that’s why I think that this indescribable blow that we’re learning how to digest is also in some way a kiss from God.” Wow.

Parshat Shemini brings us into a moment in Jewish history when life goes profoundly off-script, and events are devastating. There is no one way to understand Aharon’s silence. Rather, the range of interpretations holds up for us a wide array of possible human responses to grief and profound loss. 

I pray for better times, for security and safety for Klal Yisrael and all lovers of peace. And when hard moments come, I am grateful for the wisdom of Torah and the example of contemporary women leaders. Like Aharon in this week’s parsha, they teach us how to navigate moments of tragedy with dignity and grace.

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Michal Fox Smart has led ground-breaking work in the field of Jewish education for more than 30 years. Michal co-founded COEJL, TEVA, and directed the Isabella Freedman Retreat Center. Michal served as Associate Principal of Bi-Cultural Hebrew Academy and Director of Ayeka North America. Her book, Kaddish: Women’s Voices, Winner of the National Jewish Book Award, addresses issues of inclusion in Jewish communal life, family dynamics, as well as the powerful role that ritual and prayer can play in healing. Michal also served as Chief Program Officer for IJS. As a leadership coach, Michal helps executives in and beyond the Jewish community. A Fulbright Scholar, Michal completed her undergraduate studies at Princeton University and earned her Master’s degree from Cornell as a Wexner Graduate Fellow.