STAM
TORAH
PARSHAS
SHEMINI/PARAH 5779
“UNDAUNTED”[1]
From mourning to
mission: Miriam Peretz, a mother of all the boys
By Deborah Fineblum/JNS.org
Before 1998, Miriam Peretz’s life was rather ordinary. She and her husband were living in the
same house in the Jerusalem suburb of Givat Ze’ev where they’d been for many
years. Her work as principal of a local elementary school kept her busy. Their
six kids were coming and going as dictated by their school schedules and army
duty.
That was until
the bottom fell out of Peretz’s life at the moment every Israeli parent fears: the knock on the door
announcing their 21-year-old son, Uriel, had been killed in action in Lebanon.
Nearly 12 years
later, the knock came again, this time with the terrible news that their
younger son Eliraz, 32, a major in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) Golani
Brigade and a father of four, had been killed in a Hamas ambush near the Gaza
border. His death came more than a decade after eulogizing his big brother. “Sometimes we pay a price for doing the right
thing,” Eliraz had said
at the time. “The price of
life.”
Whatever thin
thread of normalcy Miriam Peretz had clung to was gone. Her husband Eliezer had also died, at age 56, between the deaths of their two sons. For this bereaved
mother, the only way to cope with her pain was to leave the education of young
children behind and begin teaching soldiers, bereaved families, parents of
incoming IDF soldiers, and Jews around the world (an estimated 1,000 people now
hear her speak during a typical month) about what was important enough for her
sons to give their lives to defend.
“I know my sons did not die in vain,” Peretz told JNS.org. “My children fell
so other children can live in peace, so we Jews can give a huge light to the
world. They viewed military service as a mitzvah and a privilege, not an
obligation.”
In fact, despite
the fact that Israeli law excuses younger siblings of fallen soldiers from army
service, Eliraz, followed by Peretz’s two youngest sons and a daughter, also insisted on joining the IDF.
The two younger sons are still serving in reserve combat units…
Peretz is too honest to whitewash her pain,
having described the terrible choice she must make each year on Israel’s Memorial Day (Yom Hazikaron), when families
visit their fallen children’s graves at Mt. Herzl Cemetery.
“The dilemma I face on this day is inhuman,”
she said. “During the ceremony, by which grave do I stand?”
…
And now this ima
shel kol hayeladim—a “mother of all the boys,”
as the soldiers call her—is protecting the Jewish people in her own way….
Peretz said it’s the soldiers she speaks with who give her the greatest satisfaction.
“Honestly, I prefer being with them than wearing the crown of
celebrity,” she said. “I bless them that they should return peacefully
to their homes, but that no matter how hard the road ahead and how long it
takes, they can’t give up hope
and faith in this nation, this people, and this Torah that keep us strong.”
“The sons of Aharon – Nadav and Avihu – took,
each man his firepan, and they placed in them fire, and they placed upon them
incense…and a fire went out from before G-d and it consumed them, and they died
before G-d. Moshe said to Aharon ‘This is what Hashem said ‘through those who
are close to me, I will be sanctified and in the presence of the entire nation I will be honored’’. And Aharon was silent.”[2]
Rashi notes that as
a reward for Aharon’s silence in the face of such personal tragedy, he was
rewarded that the laws forbidding a kohain from performing the avodah while
intoxicated[3]
were instructed directly to him.
Why were these laws
particularly taught to Aharon as a reward for his restraint?
Ateres Mordechai
explains that when the Torah forbids a kohain from performing the avodah while
under the influence of an intoxicating beverage, it is also alluding to the
fact that a kohain may not perform the avodah if he is under the influence of
anything, including strong emotions. Life events, especially unexpected
vicissitudes, can cause a person to become befuddled and lose his equilibrium
and ability to continue is normal functioning. Every aspect and stage of life
is a challenge for a person and can distract him.
The gemara[4]
explains that when the pasuk refers to “walking modestly with G-d”[5] it
refers to one attending a wedding or a funeral. These two events represent the
extremes of emotional experiences which one can attend. The task of a person is
to maintain his sense of balance and what his role and responsibility are even
when dealing with the greatest celebration or the most challenging tragedy.
The greatness of
Aharon was that even as his righteous sons - for whom he undoubtedly had dreams
of greatness - lay dead during what had moments before been the happiest day of
his life, he did not lose himself to his profound grief. He did not become
intoxicated by the magnitude of the tragedy that had just befallen him and a
word of protest or complaint did not escape his lips. Thus, Aharon demonstrated
mastery over the deeper meaning of the prohibition for the kohanim to perform
the avodah while under any foreign influence. For that reason, it was
appropriate that those laws were commanded to him alone.
Rav Shimshon Pincus
zt’l quipped that in a sense throughout the year we operate in a state of
emotional intoxication. In the words of the prophet we are “drunk – but not
from wine”.[6]
We become overwhelmed with anxieties, pressures, stresses, deadlines, inclinations,
desires, and strife and it causes us to lose perspective and connection with
our only real source of security, G-d. One day a year, on Purim, we have a
mitzvah to drink wine to help us traverse the angst and fear that dominates us
continuously, so that we can get in touch with our real essence and emotionally
connect with the soul within us. How ironic that in that sense Purim is the day
when we achieve and celebrate emotional sobriety!
When a person
became ritually impure through contact with a dead body, the purification
process required that he be sprinkled with the ashes of the parah aduma
(red heifer) on the third day and seventh day of his purification.
The symbolism is
extremely profound; the ashes of the burnt heifer purify those who are
sprinkled by its ashes. Our generation has been sprinkled with the ashes that
emerged from the chimneys of the crematoria. That sprinkling has miraculously
generated a spirit of purity – a regeneration of Torah and avodas Hashem in
Eretz Yisroel and throughout the diaspora. We, as a people, personify the
poignant symbolism of the process of parah aduma throughout the generations.
Time and again, when it seemed that we would never be able to recover from the
pain and tragedy that befell us, we rose from the ashes and regenerated the
world of Torah.
Life has a way of
challenging us so deeply that there are days when we feel like surrendering to
our grief and fears by pulling the blanket over our heads and not picking our
heads off our pillows. The greatness of Aharon was “Vayidom Aharon”, despite
his personal anguish he silenced his inner turmoil so that he could continue
doing what G-d wanted of him.
When our
forefathers marched forth from Egypt at the time of the exodus, they did so
with incredible self-sacrifice and devotion. Virtually the entire nation was
still within the initial thirty-day mourning period for numerous relatives who
had perished during the plague of darkness[7], the
men had undergone circumcision just days earlier[8], and
they left behind beautiful and comfortable homes[9] to
march into unchartered and inhabitable desert terrain with all of their
possessions, livestock, and numerous children.
To undertake such
an arduous journey required incredible faith. There too, every Jew had to
silence the undoubtable fears that rumbled within him in order to follow
Moshe’s lead.
The ability to not
become swept away and intoxicated by one’s inner raging emotions requires
fortitude and staunch faith. It was personified by our ancestors at the time of
the exodus, and poignantly displayed by Aharon at the time of the demise of his
two sons. It is what has kept our nation going in the darkest of times.
“Remember the day
that you left from Egypt”
“And Aharon was
silent”
Rabbi Dani Staum,
LMSW
Rebbe/Guidance
Counselor – Heichal HaTorah
Principal – Ohr
Naftoli- New Windsor
[1] The
following is the lecture I delivered at Kehillat New Hempstead, Parshas Shemini/Parah
5776
[2]
Vayikra 10:1-3
[3] Which
was taught immediately after the tragedy
[4]
Makkos 24a
[5] Micha
6:8
[6]
Yeshaya 51:21
[7]
Chazal say that four fifths of the nation perished during the plague of
darkness because they did not want to leave the country. It happened when the Egyptians would not be able to see and gloat over
our massive tragedy. The plague began one month before the exodus on the
fifteenth of Adar and lasted for six days.
[8] One
of the prerequisites for offering the Korbon Pesach is that all males have to
be circumcised. That is the last thing one would want to do before one
emigrates on foot with his entire family.
[9] The
Jews became wealthy from the plagues and conceivably raised their living
standards