Slichot is when we tune our voices for High Holy Days, preparing our instruments, our Shofarot for Yom Teruah, the Day of Calling just around the corner. Some years the voice of the shofar emerges clear, concise, and pure. Other times it comes out haltingly, seemingly unsure of what to say. This is a year when it has been hard to find our voices, to put words to all that has occurred, to make sense of what we have lived through. How do you respond to so much change, so quickly? We wonder what has happened to the world as we enter 5778, it seems so different than the one we entered into in 5777.
Our tradition understands that there is sometimes a disjunction between what we feel in our hearts, and what we most want to say on Rosh Hashanah. I think of the words in the Unetaneh Tokef prayer where we say, “U’Vshofar gadol yitkah, v’kol dm’mama yishmah,” “And so a great shofar will cry, and a still small voice will be heard.” What a contrast between the great shofar blast and the small, soft voice of God. How do we put these two sounds together in our heads? How do we make sense of the disjunction we feel in our souls?
Whether you are a rabbi or simply a Jew in the pew, finding a way through this disjunction can feel like an impossible task. We feel powerless and alone. Tonight I point you to three moments in Torah when even our Biblical heroes had trouble finding their voices. If Moses, Aaron, and Miriam occasionally struggled to speak, we too are given permission to struggle as well.
First, I would like to transport you back to the burning bush when Moses heard the still small voice of God and was asked by that voice to confront the scariest dictator of his time, a man called Pharoah. Is it any wonder that Moses tells God he has “aral sefatayim,” sealed lips? We often think of this as a reference to a stutter, but I think it goes much beyond a mere physical limitation. Aral Sefatayim means “uncircumcised lips.” Circumcision is the most basic sign of the covenant between God and the Jewish people. By calling his lips uncircumcised he is telling God that he is unable to speak for the Israelites, because he is not fully at home in their community. Having grown up in Pharaoh’s court and lived in exile in the land of Midian, he wonders how he could ever be at home with the Hebrew slaves. How can an outsider emerge from the wilderness as a complete unknown be able to represent our people?
And, so God offers a solution – his brother Aaron to speak for him. This gives Moses time to find his voice. Slowly but surely, one plague at a time, Moses does so, until he has not only gained our people’s trust, but his own as well.
Later in Torah, Moses has a chance to return his brother’s favor. Long after he has become the established leader for the community a terrible thing happens within the family. Aaron’s two eldest sons, Nadav and Abihu, are killed right in front of him. Suddenly Aaron, a person full of words, is struck dumb. As the Torah tells us, “Vayidom Aahron,” and, “Aaron was silent.” Overwhelmed by this terrible tragedy, Aaron, the former mouthpiece of Moses, finds that words have left him as well.
This time it is Moses who steps in, directing the people to remove his nephews’ bodies and assisting his brother in the same way he was assisted many years before. This allows Aaron the time he needs to grieve and repair after such a brutal tragedy.
Lastly, it is Miriam, the silent one, who never-the-less has her voice taken from her. Accused of speaking out against Moses, God’s anger flares against her. In Bamidbar chapter 12, God comes in a cloud of anger demanding that the three siblings go out to the Tent of Meeting, eviscerating Aaron and Miriam with the words, “why did you not fear to speak against My servant Moses?” With that Miriam is struck with tzaraat, her skin turning the color of snow.
Now it is both Moses and Aaron who must come to her rescue. Aaron begging his brother to pray on their sister’s behalf and Moses offering to God the famous words, “ana el na, refa na, la,” “please God heal her.” He prays, I believe, not only to restore Miriam to health, but to restore her voice as well.
Three moments from Torah when our Biblical heroes struggled to find their voice, either because of the fear of the weight of the task they had been handed them, or of the gravity of life, or because of silence was forced upon them. At each stumbling block the siblings learned they were not alone, that they had one another to help them restore their voice.
It may not be as easy these High Holy Days to find the words to reconcile what just happened in 5777. It may not be easy to blow our great shofar. It may not be easy to hear the still, small voice from within. And, yet, speak we must, knowing that at one time or another Moses, Aaron and Miriam also struggled, also felt relegated to silence. And just like they had each other for support, we have one another tonight.
So, later, at the end of our Slichot services, when the great blast of the shofar resounds in the sanctuary, let us feel the fragility of that cry. Let us also know that behind that blast, there will be a moment when the still, small voice of God will echo in here as well. It is there in that quiet, when no words will be necessary, and, if only briefly, everything will feel like it’s going to be okay. Shanah Tovah U’Metukah, a sweet and wonderful year ahead.
