Pshat:
"And it came to pass on the eighth day" - that is how this week's parashah, Shmini, opens. "The eighth of what?", you ask? We''ll get to the "pshat" forthwith. For me, this week, the "eighth" had a different association. This week I marked the eight yahrtzeit for my father, Osher Kahan, may his memory be a blessing. As is frequently the case, his yahrzeit falls this year between parashot Tzav and Shmini. As is also frequently the case, one of the two is Shabbat Parah. All of this is of great significance for me, since he passed away on Shabbat Parah, Parashat Tzav. Both of those Torah passaged make reference to mortality - the former instructing us regarding the rites of purification from the impurity imparted by physical contact with or proximity to a corpse, and the latter concluding with the verses that form the basis for the universal Jewish custom of sitting in mourning for seven days - the custom of shiv'ah.
So let's take a look at those verse. Toward the end of pararshat Tzav, after the Torah describes the sacrificial procedures followed by Moshe during the days of training and installation of Aharon and his sons as kohanim, Moshe says the following to Aharon and his sons:
Note the seemingly unnecessary repetition of the warning to Aharon not to leave the tent of meeting. We return to the theme of sitting at the tent of meeting in Shmini. After the consecration of the Mishkan, which culminates with fire from heaven descending and devouring the offerings on the altar, Nadav and Avihu, two of Aharon's sons, enter the holy of holies of their own initiative, brings an offering which has not been commanded. Fire again comes down from heaven, this time devouring the offending and newly consecrated kohanim. This is a personal disaster not only for Aharon, but also, presumably, for the entire people. But: the "show" must go on.
The Midrash goes on to tell us that Moshe had known that the Mishkan would be sanctified by the death of one of those closest to Hashem, but he did not know which one of them it would be. He thought it might be himself. He didn't tell Aharon, however, that it would be one of them collectively. He simply told him to mourn, to make a deposit, as it were, in the bank of tears in advance, so that when the inevitable overtook him, perhaps in a situation which would not allow mourning, he would have already paid his due. In the end, the Midrash has Moshe consoling Aharon by emphasizing the merit of his two sons that Hashem chose them for the necessary death via too much closeness that was imperative to instill an awe of the indwelling Presence in the midst of the people.
The question which I find disturbing is this: How is it possible to mourn before the loss. "While there's life, there's hope", goes the saying, and even were Aharon to have been privy to the information to which Moshe was privy, how could he have accessed the emotional space to sit shiva for an unidentified close relative whose fate has yet to befall him. Further: How is it possible to mourn generically. If, G-d forbid, you knew that one of your dear ones had been taken, but you did not know which one, could you mourn properly?
And then there's the ultimately question: How could Hashem have mourned for a world He was choosing to efface, and why did He do so beforehand? Unlike Aharon, He would not be in an active state of "highpriesthood", He could have mourned subsequently.
Perhaps the answer lies in discerning the elements of Avelut. Mourning can be dividing into two components. One is directed toward the other, the dear one who is no more, who has taken his/her last journey, and whom, more than anything, one wants to honor. The other component is directed toward self, and consists in recognizing the magnitude of the loss for oneself and reconfiguring one's own identity and life trajectory in the absence of the presence.
But what is it that has been lost? It is not the other per se - that is addressed by the first component of mourning. Rather, it's the potential inside oneself which corresponded to and was activated by the impact of the loved one upon one's soul. "How can I go on?" is the inevitable question. And yet: life goes on, and we gather our powers anew, with a rededicated conviction that we will become everything Hashem dreams us to be and with even more power and substance precisely because our loved one's departure has created such a gaping hole - in our souls, in the world - that is crying to be refilled by the powers of life flowing through us with our every breath.
This is a rededication that need not be occasioned by the departure of the loves ones of our life, but which the tzaddikim do on a daily basis, ever intensifying the fire of life, love and holiness coursing through their every action. This is the rededication engaged in by Hashem, as He considered the loss of the entire world He had created - for the death of each living being is a diminishing of the divine image in our world. It is as though Hashem chose to put Himself through a tzimtzum, in order to allow the re-expansion that the world would be so desperately in need of after the flood.
Shiv'ahi isn't seven days by happenstance. It is a time for moving through death to recreate a world anew. It is form of Shabbat, a transition and culmination that allows all that is beyond the world as we presently conceive it to be activated in our lives, to make way for the eighth day, the day beyond the way things are now, the day that brings the transcendent and inaccessible down to earth, to be incorporated into the new day.
May these thoughts, if they bear any insight, be a merit to memory of my father, Osher ben Harav Chizkiyahu Elizer Halevi - who was always keen to gain a peek at the eighth day in the intensity of his everyday activities. He knows now, and someday we all will know. May we all be reunited in the Oneness and Love of Hashem after we have done His bidding with faithfulness, yearning, and devotion.
Shabbat Shalom,
Yehoshua Kahan
"And it came to pass on the eighth day" - that is how this week's parashah, Shmini, opens. "The eighth of what?", you ask? We''ll get to the "pshat" forthwith. For me, this week, the "eighth" had a different association. This week I marked the eight yahrtzeit for my father, Osher Kahan, may his memory be a blessing. As is frequently the case, his yahrzeit falls this year between parashot Tzav and Shmini. As is also frequently the case, one of the two is Shabbat Parah. All of this is of great significance for me, since he passed away on Shabbat Parah, Parashat Tzav. Both of those Torah passaged make reference to mortality - the former instructing us regarding the rites of purification from the impurity imparted by physical contact with or proximity to a corpse, and the latter concluding with the verses that form the basis for the universal Jewish custom of sitting in mourning for seven days - the custom of shiv'ah.
So let's take a look at those verse. Toward the end of pararshat Tzav, after the Torah describes the sacrificial procedures followed by Moshe during the days of training and installation of Aharon and his sons as kohanim, Moshe says the following to Aharon and his sons:
"You shall not go forth from the entrance of the tent of meeting for seven days, until the the completion the days of installation. Just as was done today did Hashem command to do to atone for you.
You shall sit at the entrance of the tent of meeting day and night seven days, guarding Hashem's guard/watch, lest you die, for thus have I been commanded.
And Aharon and his sons all the things which Hashem commanded at the hand of Moshe".
You shall sit at the entrance of the tent of meeting day and night seven days, guarding Hashem's guard/watch, lest you die, for thus have I been commanded.
And Aharon and his sons all the things which Hashem commanded at the hand of Moshe".
Note the seemingly unnecessary repetition of the warning to Aharon not to leave the tent of meeting. We return to the theme of sitting at the tent of meeting in Shmini. After the consecration of the Mishkan, which culminates with fire from heaven descending and devouring the offerings on the altar, Nadav and Avihu, two of Aharon's sons, enter the holy of holies of their own initiative, brings an offering which has not been commanded. Fire again comes down from heaven, this time devouring the offending and newly consecrated kohanim. This is a personal disaster not only for Aharon, but also, presumably, for the entire people. But: the "show" must go on.
"Moshe said to Aharon and his two remaining sons: Do not let your hair go wild, nor tear your garments (signs of mournings), so that you don't die and Hashem's anger be upon the entire congregation. Rather, let your brothers, the entire house of Israel, bewail the burning that Hashem has caused to burn. And from the opening of the tent of meeting do not go forth, let you die, for the oil of consecration to Hashem is upon you" and they did in accordance with Moshe's word."
So Aharon and his sons cannot mourn their son and brother, that will be done by the rest of the people; They must stay on the job at this impossibly trying moment. So when CAN they mourn their loss? The answer is brought in an astonishing Midrash from the Tanchuma: In explaining the seemingly unnecessary repetition that we saw at the end of Tzav, the Midrash explains the second verse there as follows:Moshe said to Aharon and his sons: Keep the seven-day mourning period now, before it overtakes you. "Guard the guard of Hashem" - for so did Hashem keep a seven-day mourning period, as it were, before He brought the Flood. Now how do we know that He mourned? For it says, "Vayinachem (literarlly, "was regretting", in this context: "regretted") Hashem that he made man upon the earth, and He was saddened in His heart". The word "saddened" connotes mourning, as it is stated (in connection with David's behavior while his infant son, the first issue of his liaison with Bat Sheva was dying), "the king is saddened over his son". [There, David curiously engages in mourning rites WHILE his son still lives, but immediately upon being informed of his death, rises up from his mourning, and resumes his kingly duties].
The Midrash goes on to tell us that Moshe had known that the Mishkan would be sanctified by the death of one of those closest to Hashem, but he did not know which one of them it would be. He thought it might be himself. He didn't tell Aharon, however, that it would be one of them collectively. He simply told him to mourn, to make a deposit, as it were, in the bank of tears in advance, so that when the inevitable overtook him, perhaps in a situation which would not allow mourning, he would have already paid his due. In the end, the Midrash has Moshe consoling Aharon by emphasizing the merit of his two sons that Hashem chose them for the necessary death via too much closeness that was imperative to instill an awe of the indwelling Presence in the midst of the people.
The question which I find disturbing is this: How is it possible to mourn before the loss. "While there's life, there's hope", goes the saying, and even were Aharon to have been privy to the information to which Moshe was privy, how could he have accessed the emotional space to sit shiva for an unidentified close relative whose fate has yet to befall him. Further: How is it possible to mourn generically. If, G-d forbid, you knew that one of your dear ones had been taken, but you did not know which one, could you mourn properly?
And then there's the ultimately question: How could Hashem have mourned for a world He was choosing to efface, and why did He do so beforehand? Unlike Aharon, He would not be in an active state of "highpriesthood", He could have mourned subsequently.
Perhaps the answer lies in discerning the elements of Avelut. Mourning can be dividing into two components. One is directed toward the other, the dear one who is no more, who has taken his/her last journey, and whom, more than anything, one wants to honor. The other component is directed toward self, and consists in recognizing the magnitude of the loss for oneself and reconfiguring one's own identity and life trajectory in the absence of the presence.
But what is it that has been lost? It is not the other per se - that is addressed by the first component of mourning. Rather, it's the potential inside oneself which corresponded to and was activated by the impact of the loved one upon one's soul. "How can I go on?" is the inevitable question. And yet: life goes on, and we gather our powers anew, with a rededicated conviction that we will become everything Hashem dreams us to be and with even more power and substance precisely because our loved one's departure has created such a gaping hole - in our souls, in the world - that is crying to be refilled by the powers of life flowing through us with our every breath.
This is a rededication that need not be occasioned by the departure of the loves ones of our life, but which the tzaddikim do on a daily basis, ever intensifying the fire of life, love and holiness coursing through their every action. This is the rededication engaged in by Hashem, as He considered the loss of the entire world He had created - for the death of each living being is a diminishing of the divine image in our world. It is as though Hashem chose to put Himself through a tzimtzum, in order to allow the re-expansion that the world would be so desperately in need of after the flood.
Shiv'ahi isn't seven days by happenstance. It is a time for moving through death to recreate a world anew. It is form of Shabbat, a transition and culmination that allows all that is beyond the world as we presently conceive it to be activated in our lives, to make way for the eighth day, the day beyond the way things are now, the day that brings the transcendent and inaccessible down to earth, to be incorporated into the new day.
May these thoughts, if they bear any insight, be a merit to memory of my father, Osher ben Harav Chizkiyahu Elizer Halevi - who was always keen to gain a peek at the eighth day in the intensity of his everyday activities. He knows now, and someday we all will know. May we all be reunited in the Oneness and Love of Hashem after we have done His bidding with faithfulness, yearning, and devotion.
Shabbat Shalom,
Yehoshua Kahan
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