Elisheva

Parshat Shemini continues onward with the drama of the first sacrifices. Just when we think that everything is all in place and will go flawlessly, Nadav and Avihu, the two sons of Aaron, offer a “alien fire” before God and in the blink of an eye, they are dead, incinerated for their indiscretion. Did they harbor too much spirit, were they drunk, did they neglect directions? The rabbis struggle with an answer. Aaron is left mourning and silent while Moses takes charge of continuing with the ceremony and ordering others to remove the bodies of the two men to outside the camp.

Occasionally on the pages of my blog, Words Have Wings,  I hope to bring  people into the parsha who do not appear in the narrative. This week Elisheva, the wife of Aaron, the mother of four sons, the sister-in-law of Moshe is not found, yet she  is part of this storied family. On the day that the Mishkan was initiated she must have been there watching along with the community. What was she thinking, how was she feeling, as a wife, as a mother? This is what I am imagining here.  So, come with me to that moment in time.

* * *

Elisheva,

On that day that the sacrifices were initiated there was a cloud in the sky.
A single cloud in a brilliant sky.

You stood in a spot of honor, reserved for a woman of your standing;
as tall and proud as your small frame would allow.

Your hair, graying now, remained  bundled under a pale veil, one curled lock escaped, feathered against your cheek.
Your finely woven linen robe, draped over your shoulders, its fringed bottom meeting the ground.

Beneath your robe your foot tapped rhythmically on the ground.
Up and down your heel rose and fell,
rose  and fell,
silently, so no one would note your sense of unease;
Could those present possibly see the scene through your eyes,
how very human your husband and sons were?
Their job?
To atone for themselves, for a skittish people.
Their work?
To do God’s business.
Step by step they proceeded,
The passing and slaughtering, the dipping and pouring.
You heard the sounds of splattering.
The air was sweet with the scent of blood mixed with smoke.
You glanced neither to the right nor to the left.
Your eyes scrutinized the actions of your husband,
your brother-in-law, your four sons.
There were moments that it was too much for you,
so you glanced upward
at the solitary cloud floating above.
Behind could be heard the sounds of people breathing,
as they stood shoulder to shoulder
quietly, solemnly.
You heard a nervous cough, muffled whispers,
the cry of babes.
You saw some turn away, for the blood was too much for them.
All breathed in the smell of smoke,
heard the bellows of the animals,
the sizzle and pop of the fat
and the odor of burning meat.
Above the crowds, vultures began to circle,
sensing the scent of kill.

Still the cloud floated lazily in the brilliant blue of the sky

Still your foot continued it constant tapping.
Faster and faster it tapped.
Was it the heat of the day that made you sweat so under your robe?

Aaron, your husband, always so bound to duty, trying his best to please,
performed the motions that he had practiced time and time again.
You anticipate his every move.
Finally, as your sons approach,
your Nadav and Avihu,
Elazar and Itamar
Your heart beats so loudly in your chest
you hope others  cannot hear its beat.

Here they are, your sons.

You allow yourself a solitary moment of pride,
one small hidden smile,
for you don’t wish for the people resent you,
be jealous of your husband
or resent your sons.

Your foot finally ceases its tapping
and you glance upward.
Strangely, the cloud has disappeared in the brilliant sky
and the carrion continue to circle.

You hear it before you see anything.

A wild pop.
A flash of bright white light,
a quick gasp,
a sizzling.
and then silence,
a terrible silence.

You smell the smell of smoke.
It is the wrong smell.
It burns your eyes, enters your nose.
It settles in your throat and there it lingers.

Your husband stands as still as a gray rock of the desert.
Your brother-in-law hurries to make things right again
for there is no time to waste.
He must attend to the rules.
The protocols, so new, so fresh,
must be followed.
What is holy must remain holy.
That which is not holy must be rejected.

Now life around you is a hazy blur of sound and sight.

The crowds behind you are confused.
You barely hear their footsteps as they flee in fear,
some whisper ancient incantations,
some shout,
but some run to your side,
but you, Elisheva, cannot find comfort.
You do not see, you do not hear.
You choke on the smell of the smoke.
You think, and it is as though
someone outside of yourself is thinking,
that this is what confusion must be.
You were a mother of four, now two.

How can this be?
How can this be?

Your eyes return to the sky
and through tears
and a heart that does not yet believe
you see
two brilliant white clouds that float in the sky.