Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Parashat Shemini: On Brotherly Love

Moshe the leader and Aaron the High Priest, two brothers, are in charge of the dedication of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. After 7 days of preparation and practice, they reach the eighth day, the day on which the first, opening, purifying sacrifices are to be brought, and God is to appear to the nation in the Mishkan. It is a remarkable day, full of excitement, tragedy and pathos, and also full of brotherly concern and care. It is these brotherly interactions that I want to follow through the story.

First, after Aaron performs all the prescribed rites and sacrifices, he comes out to bless the people. Presumably, at this point, God is supposed to appear to show His approval. Instead the next verse tells us that Moshe and Aaron both came out and blessed the people, and only then did God’s Glory appear (Leviticus 9:22-23). Rashi plays out the following scenario: Aaron, seeing that God has not appeared after his performance, calls to Moshe in embarrassment, and Moshe -- acting quickly to avoid further embarrassing Aaron -- prays to God for mercy, and then appears, together with Aaron, in front of the people, and this time God’s Glory does appear.

Next, Aaron’s eldest two sons, after bringing forward an unwanted offering of incense, are consumed by divine fire. Obviously, they have done something wrong. Aaron, in addition to being grief stricken, must have felt some shame, some sense of divine reprobation. Moshe’s response to Aaron seems to be intended precisely to counter such feelings, to give him some small amount of pride: “Oh, that’s what God told me would happen: That He would be sanctified through those closest to Him.” I thought it would be either me or you, says Moshe, according to Rashi, that God would take one of us as a sacrifice at the dedication of the Mishkan. But no, it appears that actually your children are even greater and more desirable to God than we are. Many use Moshe’s statement to unpack the meaning of these deaths, but I think his words are concerned less with the event itself and more with his brother’s reaction to the event; Moshe’s words are an expression not of truth, but of brotherly concern.

Not all is smooth sailing between Moshe and Aaron, however, as we see in the next and final interaction of the day. Moshe, as the leader, is concerned that the dedication of the Mishkan continue smoothly despite this tragedy. When he finds out that Aaron and his sons have not eaten the sacrificial meat despite his instructions, he lashes out at them in anger. Aaron responds: “On such a day, when such things have happened to me, would it really be pleasing in God’s eyes if I partook of the sacrifices?” Aaron reminds Moshe of the human, emotional element. Moshe, though easily angered, is also extremely humble and quick to note that he is wrong. The verse says simply: “And Moshe heard and it was pleasing in his eyes (10:20).” The midrash elaborates, saying that Moshe sent out the following proclamation throughout the camp: “I made a mistake, and Aaron taught me the correct law.” Moshe publicly defers to Aaron, raising and supporting Aaron’s stature in the public eye.

Support, comfort, and an openness to criticism – these are the marks of the Moshe/Aaron relationship, of the Moshe/Aaron team. This is a new type of sibling relationship for the Torah, a far cry from that of Cain and Abel, Yaakov and Esav, or Yosef and his brothers. Those others did not merit the building of the Mishkan and the descent of God’s Presence to dwell on earth. Perhaps it was precisely this new type of sibling relationship that God was waiting for. When the Torah describes that special day long ago when God came to dwell on earth, what it describes is not just sacrifices, but also human relations, human relations of the most supportive, sensitive loving sort. It is this love, this kindness which brings God to dwell on earth, which defines His Presence here.

1 comment:

  1. Great. The stories of bereishis are told as if they are famioly tales. But at this point in the Torah, the story telling loses this form; everything (and everyone) seems somehow colder. (Compare "the Technicolor Dreamcoat" to "the Ten Commandments.") I think you're reading opens up new doors.

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