When the Founding Fathers of the United States granted presidents the power to nominate potential Supreme Court Justices, they likely realized that such nominations would not be evenly distributed among presidents. A president can serve a four-year term or even eight years without this opportunity, and another can have multiple opportunities in his first term. Timing is everything.
While it may work to form the Supreme Court, imagine if courts themselves used such uneven distributions in their punishments. Shoplifters must serve a jail sentence until January 1st, regardless of the day they committed their crime. Some would sit in jail for a day, others for close to a year. A murderer is put in prison until the death or retirement of the judge. He could remain there for decades or as little as a day.
While these all seem absurd, we find such a punishment handed out in our parsha for one who kills unintentionally. Accidental murder warrants exile to a city of refuge. How long must the murderer remain in exile? Surprisingly, he is not given a five, ten, or twenty-year sentence; he must remain at the city of refuge until the death of the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest. Suppose for example that the Kohen Gadol would pass away today. A man sentenced decades ago would finally achieve freedom, and the man sentenced yesterday would go free at the same time. Two people committing the same act receive decidedly different, seemingly arbitrary and perhaps irrational penalties.
The Rambam provides an approach to explain this peculiarity. The city of refuge is exactly that: a refuge. After an unintentional murder, the Torah gives the victim’s relative the ability to avenge the death of his brother, to kill the murderer. Thereby, the murderer has the option of seeking shelter in that safety net protected from the avenger, in the city of refuge.
Why is it that the death of the Kohen Gadol sets him free? The Rambam (Moreh Nevuchim 3:40), explains the basis for this peculiarity:
ואמנם היות ‘רוצח בשגגה’ ‘גולה’ הוא להשקיט נפש ‘גואל הדם’ עד שלא יראה מי שבאה תקלה הזאת על ידו. ותלה חזרתו במות האיש אשר הוא הנכבד שבבני אדם והאהוב לכל ‘ישראל’ שבזה תנוח דעת הגואל אשר נהרג קרובו – שזה ענין טבעי לאדם כל מי שתקרהו צרה כשתבוא גם כן לזולתו כיוצא בה או גדולה ממנה ימצא נחמה בזה על מקרהו – ואין במקרי מות בני אדם אצלינו יותר גדול ממיתת ‘כהן גדול’:
A person who killed another person unknowingly must go into exile (Exod. 12:13: Num. 35:11-28); because the anger of “the avenger of the blood” (Num. 35:19) cools down while the cause of the mischief is out of sight. The chance of returning from the exile depends on the death of [the high-priest], the most honoured of men, and the friend of all Israel. By his death the relative of the slain person becomes reconciled (ibid. ver. 25); for it is a natural phenomenon that we find consolation in our misfortune when the same misfortune or a greater one has befallen another person. Amongst us no death causes more grief than that of the high-priest.
The murderer goes free due to the presumption that the anger of the victim’s family will subside following the death of the Kohen Gadol. The Rambam continues and explains that no death causes greater grief for the community than the death of its most honorable and beloved member, the Kohen Gadol. Any resentment or bitterness towards the murderer is forgotten as the community unites in mourning. The avenger’s grudge gives way to grief, and with it comes forgiveness.
A Nation uniting in the face of tragedy is not a novel idea: we felt it as Americans after September 11th, and we feel it as Jews unfortunately too often after tragedies in Israel. But these words of the Rambam struck me due to a verse earlier in our parsha.
Who is the first and most famous Kohen Gadol in our history? Aharon Hakohen. Aharon served as the model Kohen Gadol, and we are told in Pirkei Avot to be amongst the student of Aharon: Ohev shalom vrodef shalom- love and pursue peace. I believe the Rambam is borrowing this Pirkei Avot prototype when he describes the honorable and beloved persona of any future Kohen Gadol.
In the second half of our double parsha, as the Torah enumerates the journeys and encampments of the Jewish people, the Torah repeats an event which occurred a few parshiot ago: the death of the Kohen Gadol, Aharon. The Rambam’s comments highlight the communal sorrow that must have been felt at his passing. But the Torah here shares an additional piece of information, one that we are not privy to by the death of other great people in chumash, not Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, and not even Moshe or Miriam: We are explicitly told the date of Aharon’s death, his yahrzeit:
| לח וַיַּעַל אַהֲרֹן הַכֹּהֵן אֶל-הֹר הָהָר, עַל-פִּי ה’–וַיָּמָת שָׁם: בִּשְׁנַת הָאַרְבָּעִים, לְצֵאת בְּנֵי-יִשְׂרָאֵל מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם, בַּחֹדֶשׁ הַחֲמִישִׁי, בְּאֶחָד לַחֹדֶשׁ. | 38 And Aaron the priest went up into mount Hor at the commandment of the L-RD, and died there, in the fortieth year after the children of Israel were come out of the land of Egypt, in the fifth month, on the first day of the month. |
Bachodesh hachamishi bechad lachodesh: the first day of the fifth month.
Nissan, iyar, sivan, tamuz, AV. Aharon’s yahrzeit was yesterday the first of Av, coinciding with the beginning of our nine days of sorrow mourning the loss of the Beit Hamikdash.
All of us find it difficult to connect to a tragedy that occurred millennia ago, but perhaps we can find the ability to tap into this facet of the tragedy. The avenger in our parsha is expected to forgive his brother’s killer to facilitate unity, to allow the community to come together in the face of tragedy.
Any ill will or animosity we carry in our lives hopefully pales in comparison to the resentment this avenger carried. Coinciding with the yarzheit of the ultimate lover and pursuer of peace, we amplify the mourning of the Beit Hamikdash which was destroyed because of sinat chinam, baseless hatred towards one another. Let us find within us the strength to use this period of mourning as an opportunity to forgive and unite as a people.
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