Summer 2013 • JEWISH REVIEW OF BOOKS 37

Religious martyrdom is a complex and painful subject in the history of Juda-ism, but the general thrust of both the Bible and classical rabbinic theology is

to value living for God over dying for Him. !e rabbinic tradition understands the verse “You shall keep my laws and statutes, so that man may practice them and live by them” (Lev. 18:5) to restrict the formal obligation to die rather than transgress a commandment solely to the cases of idolatry, sexual immorality, and murder. At a his-torical moment in which dying “in the name of God” (and not infrequently killing others in the process) has become all too commonplace, it is worthwhile to return to a short biblical narrative, which, when read closely, seems to subtly antici-pate the rabbinic rejection of martyrdom as a su-preme religious value.

Chapter 9 of Leviticus depicts a national celebra-tion of the "rst sacri"ces in the desert Tabernacle, which climaxes with a spectacular expression of divine approval: “Fire came forth from before the Lord and consumed the burnt o#ering . . . And all the people saw, and shouted, and fell on their faces,” (Lev. 9:24). Jubilation, however, immediately turns into anguish when, in the next verse, Aaron’s sons initiate their own sacri"ces:

Now Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu each took his "re pan, put "re in it, and laid incense upon it; and they o#ered before the Lord alien "re, which He had not enjoined upon them. And "re came forth from the Lord, and consumed them; thus they died before the Lord,” (Lev. 10:1-2).

What does this literary repetition of the phrase “there came forth " re from before the Lord, and con-came forth "re from before the Lord, and con-sumed” mean? In the case of animal sacri"ces, the phrase generally means that a divine need has been satiated. Does the repetition signal, then, that in both the cases a divine need was satiated? Are these deaths the spiritual equivalents of animal sacri"ces that are totally dedicated to God—the culmination of lives lived wholly in the service of the Lord?

!e narrative attributes Nadav and Avihu’s deaths to their personal celebration of the Taber-nacle’s dedication with an “alien "re.” However, the many rabbinic suggestions as to the motivation and background of their mysterious crime—ranging from political rebellion to disrespect, drunkenness, and bachelorhood—simply accentuate the inscrut-able injustice of their deaths.

To understand the full import of this biblical episode, I think that we must pay close attention to the interplay between Moses and Aaron, Nadav and Avihu’s uncle and father respectively:

!en Moses said to Aaron, “!is is what God spoke of when He said ‘I sanctify Myself

through those near to me, and I am glori"ed before all the people.’ And Aaron was silent,” (Lev.10:3).

Rashi, the most renowned and popular of all medieval (and subsequent) biblical commentators,

views this exchange as one in which Moses provides theological consolation and Aaron’s silence express-es resignation.

As with many of Rashi’s readings, there is a tex-tual problem that stimulates his comment. In this case it is the apparent baselessness of Moses’ claim to have been privy to God’s words: “Where,” Rashi asks, “did He speak this?” His ingenious answer is to point to an apparently unrelated verse. Rashi writes:

“And there I will meet with the Israelites; and it [the Tent] shall be sancti"ed by My glory”

(Ex. 29:43). Do not read it “by My glory,” but rather “by My glori!ed ones.” !us Moses said to Aaron, “Aaron, my brother, I knew that the House would be sancti"ed by those

intimate with God, and I believed it would me or you, but now I see that they [Aaron’s sons] are greater than both of us.” And Aaron was rewarded for his silence. What was the reward he received? God addressed him con"dentially.

!us, Rashi answers his question by locating the source of Moses’ apparent quotation in the Book of Exodus when, to all appearances, God merely assured Moses that He would sanctify the Tent of Meeting with His glory or presence. In this interpre-tation, however, what God said in Exodus was that the Tent will eventually be sancti"ed by the death of martyrs. So Moses comforts Aaron with the assur-ance that God values martyrdom above all else, and that Nadav and Avihu are “greater than you and I.” Aaron’s silence indicates his deference to what we might call Moses’ theology of martyrdom.

Rashi underlines this approach in his interpreta-tion of the second half of Moses’ citation, “and I am glori"ed before all the people.” Rashi writes, “When God punishes the righteous He becomes feared,

The First Debate Over Religious MartyrdomBY JAMES A. DIAMOND

READINGS

Rashi’s comment is a reaction to the apparent baselessness of Moses’ claim to have been privy to God’s words—“Where,” Rashi asks, “did He speak this?”

“Consecration of Aaron and His Sons,” from the Holman Bible, 1890.

38 JEWISH REVIEW OF BOOKS • Summer 2013

exalted, and acclaimed.” Whereas the preceding phrase of Moses’ apparent quotation speaks of the intrinsic value of martyrdom as a sancti"cation of God, this second phrase supplements it by speaking of the public e#ect of martyrdom. Dying for God is also a public relations coup for the divine cause. For Rashi, then, the death of Aaron’s sons advanced the cause of God and religion, providing a paradigm of both God’s need for martyrs and the human need for martyrdom.

Rashi’s interpretation, however, is both philo-logically and contextually problematic. One

can scour the entire Exodus narrative in vain for any hint of this sentiment, let alone a direct en-dorsement of martyrdom. !e extent of Rashi’s midrashic contortions, wrenching its source out of both its narrative and grammatical contexts, high-lights his frustration with the lack of any source for Moses’ bold assertion. Moreover, the root of the Hebrew word used to describe Aaron’s reaction, which is commonly rendered as “silence,” o$en connotes a response that is silent but far from ac-quiescent or accommodating.

For example, the word is used in the song at the splitting of the Red Sea to capture the overpower-ing dread that petri"es the Egyptians: “Terror and dread descend upon them, through the might of Your arm they are still as stone,” (Ex. 15:16). !e prophet Amos employs it as a principled reaction to the moral chaos of a systemically corrupt soci-ety: “At such a time, the prudent man keeps silent, for it is an evil time” (Amos 5:13). !e prudent observer described by the prophet is certainly not in agreement with what he witnesses. Read in this context, Aaron’s silence is more likely an expression of astonishment at his brother’s insipid attempt at comfort. !is is, in fact, how the Septuagint under-stands the verse, translating it as “his heart was pricked” or “shocked.”

Rashi’s view did not go unchallenged. His own grandson, Rashbam, notorious for disavowing his grandfather’s midrashic approach in favor of the peshat, or literal sense, categorically rejects this in-terpretation of Moses’ “comfort.” According to him, Moses’ response has nothing to do with the virtue of martyrdom. Rather, when Moses said, “!is is what God spoke of when He said ‘I sanctify Myself through those near to me, and I am glori"ed before all the people,’” he was alluding to the priestly laws of mourning, which call for the High Priest to refrain from overt expressions of bereavement because of his position as a representative of God.

According to Rashbam, then, Moses was mak-ing a halakhic statement about how Aaron should behave, not a theological one about what Aaron should believe about the death of his sons: “Do not mourn, do not cry and do not refrain from [priest-ly] service.” !e description of Aaron’s response, “and Aaron was silent,” then goes on to describe his priestly restraint from public grief in accord with Moses’ instruction.

Another of the great medieval commentators, the 13th-century kabbalist, Talmudist, and biblical commentator Moses ben Nachman, or Ramban, who was Rashi’s equal in stature if not in popu-larity, o#ers an entirely di#erent perspective. As is o$en the case in his commentary, Ramban o#ers a trenchant critique of Rashi’s interpretation. In par-ticular he targets Rashi’s implausible location of the

divine source for Moses’ statement in another bib-lical book. Moreover, unlike both Rashi and Rash-bam, he reads the exchange between Moses and his brother as one of opposition, not agreement.

Ramban points out that the biblical phrase “God

spoke” can bear a "gurative sense in addition to its lit-eral one. It can mean “His decrees, His thought, and the manner of His ways.” In other words, Moses did not quote God’s words verbatim to Aaron, but rath-er o#ered his own understanding of the manner in which God governs the world. Just as Rashbam views Moses in his capacity as a posek or halakhic decisor, Ramban views him as a theologian. In both cases

Moses does not cite but interprets. !is, of course, radically changes the whole tenor of the exchange. As in Rashi, Moses is still articulating a theology of martyrdom, but Ramban allows the poignancy of Aaron’s silence to emerge as an anguished dissent. Comfort is transformed into confrontation.

Reading the Pentateuch as a coherent uni-"ed composition in its "nal redacted form, as

Rashi, Rashbam, and Ramban surely did, reveals a complicated and very human portrait of Moses from his birth in Exodus to his death at the end of Deuteronomy. Within this narrative, I would argue, Moses’ self-assured advocacy of a theology of martyrdom is a betrayal of his own beginnings, indeed everything that quali"ed him to be the pro-phetic leader and liberator of his people.

Moses’ career was launched by a willingness to die for others rather than God. His premiere act was a violent protest against su#ering and oppression

that must have stemmed from a deeply felt empathy for the other: “When Moses had grown up, he went out to his brothers and witnessed their su#ering,” (Ex. 2:11). !at su#ering is captured in the stark brutality of the description at the end of the verse of “an Egyptian man beating a Hebrew man, one of his brothers.” At this stage of Moses’ career, there is an exquisite ambiguity in the term “his broth-ers” which can refer to the Hebrews, his biological brothers, or the Egyptians, his socio-cultural broth-ers. !e next verse discloses the moral breach that Moses must negotiate in its reiteration of the term “man,” this time without any ethnic association—“He turned this way and that, and seeing no man about, he struck down the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.”

!e biblical description here delicately points to the precise nature of the dilemma Moses con-fronted. !e community into which Moses ventures is populated by human beings de"ned in terms of their ethnic or national identities rather than their

shared humanity. Moses sees no one who is simply a “man” who could resolve the crisis, and thus ex-presses his own humanity in a supreme act of resis-tance to su#ering and injustice. Moses sacri"ces his promising future among the very upper echelons of the ruling class and risks death, not for the sake of God or religion, but for the sake of another human being.

Any sense that Moses’ act can be attributed to tribal allegiance rather than moral outrage is quick-ly dispelled by his very next intervention: “When he went out the next day, he found two Hebrews "ghting, so he said to the o#ender, ‘Why do you strike your fellow?’” (Ex. 2:13) Finally, in a third act against injustice that o$en goes unnoticed, though it is described only a few verses later, Mo-ses challenges male tyranny over women: “And the shepherds came and drove them away; but Moses stood up and helped them, and watered their %ock,” (Ex. 2:17). !ese three decisive, revolutionary acts

Ramban’s comment allows the poignancy of Aaron’s silence to emerge.

“!e Death of Nadav and Avihu” by James Tissot, ca. 1896.

Summer 2013 • JEWISH REVIEW OF BOOKS 39

introduce us to an iconoclastic Moses who is will-ing to sacri"ce himself for other human beings. It is precisely this willingness, not his dedication to God, that inspires God’s choice of him to be the national liberator and recipient of revelation. God’s choice of Moses is a consequence, not a cause, of these courageous acts.

From that point forward, however, in the biblical narrative, Moses’ increasing closeness to God o$en seems to threaten to displace his initial human (one might even say humanist) ideals. !is reaches its nadir in the misguided “comfort” he o#ers to Aar-on. At this stage of Moses’ religious development, his sensitivity to others, even a person as close as a brother, is completely overwhelmed by religious zeal. Inspired by Ramban’s critique of Rashi, I in-terpret Aaron’s silence as repudiation, not acqui-escence. !e exchange described in Leviticus 10:3 is really a struggle for the theological direction of Judaism. Will it be animated by a spirit of compas-sion for others so that life can endure or by a mar-tyrdom that upholds the honor of God?

In the a$ermath of their exchange, Moses in-structs Aaron and his remaining two sons, El-

eazar and Itamar, in the legal minutiae of sacri"-cial rites. No other ritual signi"es pure devotion to God more than animal sacri"ce. It appears that Moses’ passion for God has become so intense that it has overwhelmed his compassion for others. In the very shadow of Aaron’s inconsolable loss, he rages at their failure to comply with those regula-tions. !e repeated biblical description of Eleazar and Itamar as “Aaron’s remaining sons” here (Lev. 10:12, 16) seems to convey Moses’ intimation that these two might very well share the same fate as their brothers.

Moses has become so preoccupied with ritual that he has lost touch with human relationships. Aaron, pushed beyond the limits, "nally breaks his silence with a rhetorical question that shocks Moses out of his religious stupor:

And Aaron spoke to Moses “See, this day they brought their sin o#ering and their burnt o#ering before the Lord, and such things have befallen me! Had I eaten sin o#ering today, would it have been good in God’s eyes?” And when Moses heard this, it was good in his eyes, (Lev. 10:19-20).

As Rashbam points out here, Aaron is appris-ing Moses of the impropriety of setting the prece-dent for all future o#erings with a celebration that has been hideously marred by tragedy. !e future of Jewish worship and theology must be shaped by human needs and human responses, by care and compassion for others, not otherworldly devotion.

Moses initially spoke in the name of God, cer-tain that his theology of martyrdom was divinely endorsed, so Aaron now pointedly asks whether his stubborn insistence on the implications of that

theology would be “good in God’s eyes.” Aaron’s cri-tique "nally silences Moses, jolting him out of his zealousness for the divine and returning him to his original care for others: “Moses heard and it was good in his eyes,” (Leviticus 10:20). !e change in whose perspective “goodness” is determined cap-tures this return to Moses’ humanist beginnings.

!e caustic rebuke to consider what is good “in God’s eyes” causes Moses to turn to what is good “in his eyes,” that is what is humanly good. Ironic-ally, Rashi’s comment to this verse actually captures Moses’ reversal: “He confessed and was not embar-rassed to say he did not hear.” !e arrogance of his initial claim of hearing God speak is transformed into the humility of a public admission of not hear-ing. Aaron’s human “speaking” overcomes the div-ine word that had so occluded Moses’ previous sensitivity to human need.

Although in my reading this biblical debate is re-solved in favor of Aaron and against religious mar-tyrdom, the matter was by no means settled for all time. !e two theological stances remain in tension. !e ancient philosopher Philo viewed Aaron’s sons’ deaths as “perfect burnt o#erings,” while the medi-eval Zohar, the canonical text of Kabbalah, cites them as endorsing the notion that the deaths of the

righteous constitute a form of atonement.Unfortunately, the tragic course of Jewish his-

tory transformed the conception of martyrdom and elevated it to a positive religious value. Such was the case at the siege of Masada in ancient times and later, in the First Crusades, when fathers killed their children rather than leaving them vulnerable to marauding crusaders and eventual baptism before killing themselves to “sanctify the Name.” (Rashi, who lived through these events, may have had them in mind in his interpretation of Moses and Aaron’s exchange.)

However, this valorization of martyrdom was always inconsistent with mainstream Jewish theology, as is evident from the tortuous halakhic rationalizations that followed, as historian Haym Soloveitchik has shown. R. Na$ali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, the dean of the famous yeshiva in Volozhin and one of the most prominent rabbinic personal-ities of the 19th century, once declared his prefer-ence for “worshipping God by ful"lling the com-mandments while I am still alive,” over dying for God. !e name of God is sancti"ed when life is preserved, not when it is proclaimed great an in-stant before life is obliterated.

James A. Diamond holds the Joseph & Wolf Lebovic Chair of Jewish Studies at the University of Waterloo and is currently a fellow at the NYU Tikvah Center for Law & Jewish Civilization. He has authored a number of books on medieval Jewish thought. His forthcoming book is From Maimonides to Ka&a: Reshaping the Jewish Canon (Cambridge University Press).

$12

SPRING 2013

VOLUME 20, NUMBER 2

Reviews byAlfoneh, Dann, Maddy-Weitzman,Phelps, and Schwartz

Denying Islam’sRole in TerrorIsrael in the World

Daniel PipesWhy the Denial?

Teri BlumenfeldProblems in the FBI

David J. RusinProblems inthe U.S. Military

Efraim Inbar Decreasing Isolation P.R. Kumaraswamy Warming Relations with India

Naser al-Tamimi Obstacles to NuclearizationYoel GuzanskyCan It Buy the Bomb?

Riyadh’s Atomic Ambitions

Eyal ZisserNo End in Sight for SyriaDawn PerlmutterThe Politics of Muslim MagicHilal KhashanHezbollah’s Goals

Aaron’s critique !nally silences Moses, jolting him out of his zealousness for the divine and returning him to his original care for others.