On Silence

The History of Not Speaking from the Akeida to Shemini

Moses appealed to the Lord, saying, “See, I get tongue-tied; how then should Pharaoh heed me!” The Lord replied to Moses, “See, I place you in the role of God to Pharaoh, with your brother Aaron as your prophet. You shall repeat all that I command you, and your brother Aaron shall speak to Pharaoh to let the Israelites depart from his land. (Exodus 6:30-7:2)

Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what the Lord meant by saying:
Through those near to Me I show Myself holy,
And gain glory before all the people.”
And Aaron was silent. (Exodus 10:3)

Now Jacob heard that he had defiled Dinah his daughter; and his sons were with his cattle in the field; and Jacob was silent until they came. (Genesis 34:5)

I resolved I would watch my step
lest I offend by my speech;
I would keep my mouth muzzled
while the wicked man was in my presence.

I was dumb, silent;
I was very still
while my pain was intense. (Psalm 39:2-3)

Teach me; I shall be silent;
Tell me where I am wrong. (Job 6:24)

Moses and Aaron form a pair. Moses speaks directly to God, but Aaron speaks directly to Pharaoh. Moses ascends Sinai to receive the Torah, while Aaron placates the Israelites with a golden calf. Why does Moses claim to be tongue-tied when we see him speaking frequently and elegantly throughout the Torah? While I have argued elsewhere that Moses undergoes a metamorphosis, we can also interpret his speech-impediment in a non-literal way.

Moses’s stutter is not physiological but psychological: when he gets emotional, he can’t get the words out. And he is frequently emotional. Recall that Moses strikes an Egyptian task-master, then flees when confronted by Israelite witnesses. He is a man of decisive, perhaps even impulsive action, not words. When he sees the Israelites worshipping a golden calf, he shatters the tablets first; words come later. When the Israelites complain at the waters of Meribah, Moses strikes the rock, rather than speaking to it. Moses is tongue-tied, not in any literal sense, but in the sense that “he has no words.”

Aaron is given to Moses as an aid, specifically to help him with communication. While Moses, if you will, has no patience or tolerance for wrongdoing, Aaron’s task, and the task of the priesthood, is to facilitate atonement. Moses seeks justice, which makes it hard for him to talk. Aaron, by contrast, knows how to converse with and even disarm tyrants and transgressors. To a pure justice seeker, perhaps Aaron’s fluency in “Pharaoh-speak” appears to be a form of placation. Yet crucially it takes both Moses and Aaron together to send the right message to Pharaoh. It takes Mosaic silence and Aaronic eloquence to produce the right balance between pressure and invitation.

The archetypal role and personality distinctions between Moses and Aaron form the set-up for a pathos-filled reversal in this week’s parasha, Shemini. After the death of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, Moses offers words of comfort to his brother, while Aaron remains silent. On a meta-level each brother experiences in that moment what it’s like to be the other. Moses reaches for sense-making; Aaron remains pre-linguistic.

Aaron is not the only character to fall silent in the Torah, although the word for his silence “vayidom” is unique to him. Jacob falls silent after the rape of his daughter, Dinah. The psalmist is often silent—although paradoxically telling us about it. We never read the words “I am silent,” only “I was silent.” Job is far from silent—the book is formed by speeches—but Job suggests that he would be silent if humbled. The reason he speaks out is that he does not accept his fate as a) sealed and b) justified. His speech marks his desire to fight God’s judgment. In the case of Jacob and Aaron, their judgment cannot be fought—justified or not—because “what’s done is done.” We can now understand Job’s refusal to be silent. Job tells God “I do not accept this.” Aaron’s silence, by contrast, is a kind of acceptance. Nadav and Avihu are gone.

Thus far I’ve suggested Moses and Aaron exchange roles, but now I want to offer a different view on Aaron’s silence, namely, that it is perfectly composed. Aaron’s silence is also consistent with our view of him as a good communicator. For as Heidegger puts it “Only one who has something to say can remain silent.” Aaron’s silence itself communicates the fulness of what he has to say, yet will not say. Thus, “vayidom Aharaon” but “v’hecherish Yakov.” Aaron’s silence can also be interpreted as a form of diplomacy—anything he says will offend someone.

So is Aaron’s silence the silence of an emotional whirlwhind or the silence of self-control? The ambiguity itself maps onto the ambiguity of how to interpret the deaths of Aaron’s sons. On a macro-level, we hear in the story notes of the Akeidah. In that story, Abraham and Isaac exchange only a few words on the way up, and we never find them talking on the way down. While Aaron doesn’t literally sacrifice his sons, his position, enables their position, and exposes them to occupational risk. Rather than become stewards of the altar, they become the sacrifice. Aaron certainly does not intend to sacrifice them, but all leaders and all Jews do place their children on a metaphorical altar. A bris constitutes a substitution for human sacrifice, but nonetheless a realization that our lives are not entirely ours—we are consecrated to God. Thus I hear in Aaron’s silence a doubled valence: the anguish of a human being suffering shock and grief and the stoicism of a Jewish leader who understands that personal sacrifice is what he signed up for.

In Greek tragedy, Agamemnon sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to redeem his ship from being marooned on an island—he sacrifices his personal life for public service. But he doesn’t grieve. His wife, Clytemnesta, in turn, kills him and avenges the death of their daughter. Aaron’s example contrasts with the protagonists of Greek tragedy who renounce private life for public life or vice versa. His silence is at once personal and social, a remarkable feat.

Shabbat Shalom,

Zohar Atkins

Etz Hasadeh