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 HAS NOT GOD SPOKEN THROUGH US

AS WELL?*

The night before their sons were killed, Elisheva went to sleep early and Aaron sat outside under the stars and watched the fire die down. He thought back to when their son Nadab was little and dragged a blanket out of the tent and tried, in his best four year old way, to spread it out on the ground—he’d pull one corner out and the opposite corner would fold in and he called out, “Daddy, give me a ride,” then ran over and pulled on his leg until he reached down and picked him up, holding him high then pulling him down and hugging him, “Do you want a ride on a goat or a ram?” Aaron remembered him announcing, “A ram!” He recalled with a smile how he got down on all fours and as Nadab climbed on his back he reached around with his right hand to give the boy a boost. He still remembered the feel of Nadab’s small body as he helped him up. Aaron recalled crawling in a circle giving his son a ride and bouncing his back up and down making, “Ba, ba, ba” sheep sounds, while Nadab laughed and laughed. Aaron’s nostalgic smile left his face and was replaced by tight lipped anger as he recalled how Moses came by, a small entourage including Joshua following him. Aaron could still see how Moses stopped, raised his head high, arched his right eyebrow, looked at Aaron imperiously and in a loud and stern voice, pointed his finger, “Aaron, please! Remember your dignity. Have you forgotten that you are the High Priest?” Aaron recalled looking up, his face red, reaching behind him and helping Nadab off. The boy cried out, “What’s wrong? Why is Uncle Moses angry?” Aaron remembered standing up, glaring at Moses, for a full minute, his mouth tense and his eyes narrow,  then muttered, ”Of course,” turned away, took Nadab by the hand and pulled him into the tent with him, leaving the blanket behind.

He pushed that memory away but more painful memories willed themselves out of the dark places of his mind. He thought of his days back in Egypt hearing stories about his younger brother, Moses, and how well he was doing and what a life he had at Pharaoh’s palace. He recalled Moses’ yearly visits to see his parents who greeted him not just as a son but more as a visiting king. He could still picture them bustling around to make him comfortable, asking him if they could get him anything even though they had nothing but some water and a little stale bread and how he seemed to enjoy the adulation and paraded around like he really was royalty, speaking Egyptian because he barely knew Hebrew. And how he, Aaron, who really provided for his elderly parents, was treated like a servant being ordered to fetch a pillow, bring more water, fan his brother to keep him cool—the hair on the back of his neck bristled at the recollection. He recalled how, when Moses disappeared for a time, there were all sorts of rumors: “he was dead,” or “he had secret plans to free them all,” but Aaron suspected that Moses no longer wanted to be associated with his slave family. Aaron looked into the fire and felt his own anger spread up from his chest into his face; he felt his teeth clinch at the mere memory of those days. He shook his head wondering how God could have chosen such a pampered, arrogant leader?

Aaron looked around at the barren wilderness barely visible in the wan moonlight and thought how strange it was to him. All he’d known was the broad delta of the Nile , with its banks made green by the flood of the river. Now he and his family were trudging over an arid, rocky terrain, with deep wadis and rocky brown and gray mountains. Here and there were tufts of grass for the sheep and goats. It was strange to all of them and to Aaron more than others since he’d been a stone cutter and had little experience with animals. It was Elisheva, thank God for her, he thought, who had taken care of her father’s animals and taught him how to keep the flock together, when to move them and when to let them graze and about milking and slaughtering.

Aaron thought about how he and Elisheva had taught the boys to care for the goats and sheep and how they wanted to be on their own and how he and Elisheva had refused, fearing that they would get lost, be confronted by a mountain lion, or they’d fall down one of the steep slopes of the wadis. Aaron pictured how just a few months ago when Nadab turned ten, came and begged to tend the animals on his own and how he had relented but ended up getting another older shepherd to keep an eye on them. Aaron smiled at the thought of how, when the boys returned that night, Nadab was bubbling with enthusiasm, and walked quickly up to him, “We found new grasses for the sheep and then watered them at a spring.” He recalled hugging him and Abihu, savoring the feeling of each of the boys’ bodies against his chest, telling them, “I knew you’d be fine,” and smiling to himself about how they even smelled liked sheep and goats.

He pictured how the boys took turns drinking from a skin of water then when they sat down, Abihu hesitated but finally said, “It was strange, there was another shepherd with a very small flock who seemed to be following us.”

Aaron recalled shrugging and struggling to keep a straight face.

Abihu asked, “Did you have him follow us?”

“Why would I do that?” Aaron remembered looking away trying to be casual.

Abihu raised his eyebrows with an expression which said that he knew they’d been followed, then turned to Nadab and mumbled something in Egyptian. They both laughed. Aaron had chided them, “That is the language of the oppressor, remember, speak Hebrew. We are free.” Then he smiled, opened his arms, “Come here,” and the boys came to him. He put a hand on their heads and blessed them in Hebrew, “Yivarechacha…May God bless and keep you…” then kissed each of them on the forehead, tasting the salt of their sweat on his lips, then hugged each of them quickly again.

The fire was now almost out and he felt chilled so he went inside the tent and went to sleep.

The next day, Aaron stood in the Tent of Meeting, stone still, dazed, staring at the thin bodies of Nadab and Abihu sprawled on the ground in front of the incense altar, their clothes scorched by God’s fire. His face was rigid, his mouth open in horror as if to ask why or to scream. His hands were open in front of him as if he was about to reach for them. He vaguely heard Moses say, “They sinned by bringing an alien fire to the incense altar, so God has punished them.” Aaron remained fixed where he stood, feeling numb like the numbness of the first blow of a rock or sword before the pain and agony begins; he looked and saw but could not grasp what he was seeing. He heard Moses, as if through a fog, admonish him that as a priest he was forbidden to mourn and bury his sons. He wondered how they could need burying but he could not speak; it was as if he had been hit in the stomach knocking all the air out of him so that he could not even breathe. He stood as silent and as still as a pile of stones heaped up on a grave. Then he willed his feet to move feeling his sandals scraping the rough ground and shuffled away a few feet, but then he felt his numbness turn into an explosion. He felt like he had torn away ropes which were holding him down and ran toward his sons mouth open but no sound coming out, feeling his knees buckle under him and he fell screaming,  got up quickly, then yelled, “I want my sons!!” and ran toward them. Moses called out, “Stop him! It is forbidden!” Several men came over to hold Aaron, preventing him from going to his sons but Aaron kicked and twisted, thrashing at the men holding him and wailing, “I want my boys, let me go, I just want to touch them one more time!”  then sobbing, “I want to hold them just one more time…” Moses stood erect, held out his arm, pointed and ordered, “It is not permitted.” Aaron knew that as a priest he could not have contact with the dead but he still dragged his feet on the ground and managing to free his left hand kept hitting the men holding him. And, when he heard Moses order that the burned bodies of his sons be wrapped in the tunics and buried outside the camp, and that Aaron must be kept in the Tent of Meeting until they were buried, he screamed, “I want to bury my sons. I am their father! I am their father!” and flailed his arms and kicked out at the guards, who held his arms firmly and apologized if they were hurting him. He was after all the High Priest. Aaron sobbed great hiccupping sobs and when the guards let him sit down he sat facing the entrance weeping and pouring hands full of ashes from the altar over his head so that his face was streaked black and gray from ashes and tears.

After the burial they let him go and Aaron stumbled out of the Tent of Meeting and ran frantically outside the camp to look for the graves. He ran, back and forth in different directions as if he wanted to search in every direction at once, scraping his hands and legs on the rock and low brambles, then tripped over a rock and cut his forehead so that blood trickled down the side of his face. He got up, ignored the blood and now limping finally saw a group of men guarding two graves mounded with stones. Aaron limped  directly toward them as fast as he could, arms outstretched yelling, “My sons…my sons…”   The guards came forward took hold of him and carried him back to his tent.

Elisheva heard all the commotion, came out of the tent and ran over to the guards who put him down when they saw her. Aaron who had stopped weeping stood and stared off with the vacant look of a man who had lost everything that mattered, but when he saw Elisheva he began to sob again,  covering his face with his hands and fell to his knees. She kneeled down next to him, her eyes wide with fear, and asked what happened. He looked at her, his face streaked with dirt and tears and blood, held out his arms to her, looked at her wild eyed and sobbed so hard that he could not speak. A circle of people had formed and several women had their hands over their mouths, wiping their eyes while most of the men averted their eyes as if this was a private matter they should not be witnessing. Finally he gulped back his tears and blurted out, “Killed. Dead. Both of them.” Elisheva shrieked, “Nadab! Abihu! Noooo!” and tore her clothes. Even after the crowd dispersed Aaron and Elisheva sat huddled, weeping alone for some time then managed into their tent, holding on to one another, dragging one another. They sat crumpled on the floor like a mound of old rags alternately weeping, wailing, “My boys, my wonderful boys.”  Aaron tried to hold her to comfort her but she sat up, her hair wild, her arms open, and screamed, “Nadab, Abihu where are you, come to me, I’ll make your favorite food, come back to me!” Elisheva seemed to collapse and Aaron rubbed her back, “Shshshsh, shshsh, shshsh,” and, “Elisheva, Elisheva,” again and again. They were quiet for a time and finally Elisheva whispered, “Tell me…everything…what happened,” and in a hollow monotone Aaron told her everything that happened to their sons, what Moses said to him and how he wasn’t allowed to bury them. Elisheva sat stone still. Aaron reached out to soothe her, but she slapped him on the arms and chest, “You and your priesthood,” she screamed, then collapsed on the blanket weeping, her body shaking with deep sobs. Aaron, hardly able to speak, kneeled down next to her as she lay in a dark corner of the tent. He slowly extended his hand to touch her, to stroke her hair. Elisheva turned around, grabbed his robe and pulled herself up, her eyes wild, “Go! Go to Moses who has not even a kind word, Moses who spits in your face, Moses who has a heart like a rock; he is a worm; he is lower than goat’s dung, worse than a fly on sheep droppings! Go! she screamed, “Go make him explain!” Then she turned and buried herself in her blankets and moaned.

Aaron closed his eyes, took a breath, turned and shuffled out not knowing where to go. He wandered alone to the other side of a hill were he could look over the brown valley of the wilderness. The outcroppings in the distance shined deep gold in the lowering sun. He sat on a rock, picked up a handful of pebbles and then let them fall one by one with a faint dull klunk on the ground before him. His grief held him down on the rock like he was part of it.

As the sun sunk behind him he hugged himself partly to keep warm in the chill and partly in an effort to hold together his body—he felt like it was coming apart. Soon the stars appeared and he sat looking up at them thinking of Elisheva’s words. An owl hooted. A half moon rose. He leaned over, his elbows on his knees, his head between his hands. Elisheva was right, he thought, I must confront him.  He shivered in the cold air. He picked up a stone and threw it, then listened as it bounced off rocks below. He looked down at his priest’s tunic now torn and streaked with ashes and blood and recalled the way Moses instructed him about the Temple ritual, pointing his finger at him and talking down to him and how he kept saying, “Listen to me,” and asking with raised eyebrows, “Do you understand?” He’d wanted to tell Moses to stop talking to him like he was a child but he was afraid Moses would get angry and yell at him. Aaron felt a wave of shame when he recalled that he just bit his lip and remained silent. He buried his face in his lap trying to disappear, as if that could cover those humiliations.

Aaron had no idea how long he had been sitting on that rock when he heard the crunch of sandals on the stones behind him and Miriam’s voice call his name. He slowly turned around. He could just make out his heavy-bodied older sister, laboring up the hill under the dim moon light. He watched silently as she approached carrying a skin of water and some food. “Good, I thought I’d find you here,” she said breathing heavily and wiping her face with her sleeve. He watched her put the food and water on the rock, then as she sat down, she turned to him, “The boys,” her lips and chin quivered, “they were…” she wept then opened her arms and hugged him; the two of them cried; Aaron’s body shook. After a time, Miriam sat up, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, “Remember when they were little, and they only wanted to stay with me? They’d come over to my tent and tell me they liked my food better than their mother’s, but I shouldn’t tell her because they didn’t want to hurt her feelings. And then I’d ask, ‘What chores are you trying to get out of?’ and then Nabab and Abihu would look at one another with a guilty look as if to say ‘We’ve been caught,’ and we’d all laugh and I’d give them a treat and send them home. They were such sweet boys…” she shook her head then covered her face and sobbed. Aaron put his arm around her shoulders and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.  They sat in silence for a long time then Miriam sighed and turned toward him, “There are no limits to Moses’ arrogance; I sometimes wonder why God chose him to be our leader...” Miriam watched Aaron for his reaction. He was silent. She continued, “You are the High Priest after all…” Aaron looked at her,  shrugged and opened his hands in a gesture of not realizing what she was getting at and too overwhelmed to try to understand.

“Aaron,” she looked directly at him, her lips pressed tightly together with determination, “We have to do something; he doesn’t listen to anyone any more.”

The sound of someone yelling drifted over from the camp.

“What can I do about it?” he pointed to himself, raising his eyebrows. A small animal rustled in a low bush.

“What can you do about it? You are the High Priest. I’m,” she pointed to herself, “just his lowly big-mouth sister who saved him when he was a baby but he’d rather forget about that—I don’t think,” she shook her head, ”he likes the idea that he was saved by a girl; but you have a position and you can use it damn it.” She slapped her leg for emphasis then grabbed his arm and looked at him intently.  

He let out a sigh. He was in no shape to do much of anything. The sound of bleating sheep drifted over from the camp.

“Look here,” she pulled on his sleeve. He glanced at her and then looked away, “ever since he came back to lead us out of Egypt you have been intimidated by him. He had all those fancy Egyptian manners and claimed that God spoke only to him!” She gripped Aaron’s arm tighter, “It isn’t just you, he intimidated all of us! We all went along.” She had an intense look on her otherwise soft face. “He’s manipulated all of us, don’t you see that?” she demanded.

Aaron was quiet. He looked down at the ground and rubbed his sandal into the rough ground and said quietly, “Not now Miriam, not now.” Miriam kissed him and pulled the blanket around him, “I’ll leave you alone, but think about what I’ve said. And, eat something, you are getting so thin you will soon disappear.”

“Disappear” is exactly what he wanted to do. He sat up looking out into the darkness. Moses’ Egyptian accented Hebrew echoed in his head bringing back memories of the way the Egyptian guards pointed and barked at him. Aaron shuddered. A wolf howled. Then he stood up and turned around toward the camp where he could hear the sounds of the flocks stamping their feet and moving nervously in the night chill. It is true, he thought—I’ve become—he sighed, Miriam was right, he hesitantly admitted—as subservient to Moses as I had been to the Egyptians. He gave a single bitter laugh and sat down. The breeze brought the smell of cooking fires still smoldering. He rested his hands limply on his knees, looked blankly out into the dark and empty wadi and sighed. Would it make any difference if I confronted Moses? How could it? He wouldn’t apologize. Would Elisheva and I even believe him if he did? He toyed with a stone under his foot without paying any attention to what he was doing. He placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up and felt unsteady on his feet. He’d tell Elisheva that he couldn’t and wouldn’t but he had an uneasy feeling he tried to ignore but which kept nagging at him, it was the feeling that he would forever be deeply ashamed if he didn’t act; and yet, what would be the purpose of confronting Moses? He didn’t know.  He turned toward his tent, took a few steps and stopped. He stood there in the dark shivering with anxiety. He turned back and paced, trying to calm himself by taking deep breaths, gulps of air. When he saw the sky across from him slowly turn from black to dark blue he was surprised—had he really been there all night? He shivered in the chill of first light, the purple of the mountains in the distance now barely visible. Now for the very first time he allowed himself to picture both the burned and crumpled bodies of his sons lying in front of the incense altar, together with the smug, self righteous look of Moses with his arched right eyebrow.  Aaron’s body shook with rage until he screamed out “No!!” which echoed, “…oh…oh...oh” through the canyon of the wadi. He looked out into the empty space of the wadi below him and beyond the uneven hills and sharp rocks and pictured the faces of his sons. He wept and seethed at God and then at Moses, Moses standing straight, even stiffly, coolly telling him, “This is what the Lord meant when He said: Through those near to Me I show Myself holy…” while his precious, wonderful, kind boys, Nadab and Abihu, who only wanted to do the right thing lay burned before him. Aaron felt the heat in his face, the blood rushing up in anger. He looked out toward the east and saw it getting lighter, the sun just now showing itself above the horizon. He turned and walked resolutely to Moses’ tent. By now that ferocious ball was rising rapidly, angry red and orange out of the east, scorching everything in its path.

Aaron brushed by the guard at the entrance and strode into his brother’s tent. Moses was sitting on a blue cushion at the opposite end conferring with Joshua. Aaron could see their faces lit up by the a few small oil lamps placed in front of them. Instead of waiting at the entrance until they were done, Aaron strode right up to them and demanded, “Moses, I want to speak with you,” he knew that he had to act quickly because if his anger dissipated he would not be able to go through with it.

“All right, I’ll be free in a moment,” he mumbled without looking up and continued to talk to Joshua.

“No! Now!” Aaron demanded, and crossed his arms.

“Please, just give me a minute!” Moses sounded annoyed and waved him away.

“And I told you, now!” Aaron raised his voice, surprised but pleased that he was able to remain strong. He purposely pictured his boys to fuel his anger to give himself courage. Aaron kicked over one of the oil lamps spilling oil on the ground and sending the pottery lamp skidding over the floor.

Moses, still seated, looked over at the lamp, “What did you…” then saw Aaron’s soot and blood-stained face, his eyes wild and his teeth clinched in   anger. He motioned for Joshua to leave them.

“Oh my God. What happened to you?”    

Aaron planted his feet directly opposite Moses, “Have you forgotten that my sons are dead, killed, and that you insulted me with some lecture about God and that I can’t even bury them!” He shouted, “That’s what’s wrong!” His voice shook. Moses, trying to calm his brother, nodded that he understood and gestured toward the cushion next to him inviting Aaron to sit down. “I’m sorry. I was distracted. Please,” he pointed again to the cushion, “I didn’t mean…I would never…” Aaron ignored the invitation and continued to stand, his arms crossed, his eyes still narrowed, his lips tight. Moses called out, “Tzipporah, Aaron is here, please bring him something to eat.” Aaron seethed, “This isn’t a social visit. I’m not here to eat.” Moses straightened his back and looked intently. Aaron had seen that expression many times: Moses was preparing for battle. Aaron, shaking with rage, pointed his finger and repeated, “How dare you, how dare you stand in the sanctuary, my sons dead before me,” his voice wavered, he took a breath and went on, “and tell me that God,” he changed his voice to mimic Moses, ” ‘showing Himself to be holy,’ was merely asserting His authority…” and then screamed, “How could you say such a thing to me? And not a word of comfort about my sons.” Aaron’s mouth quivered, his outstretched finger shook, his face red.

Just then, Moses’ sons burst in. They were tall, well built men, older than Aaron’s sons, but before they could speak, Moses, held out his hand indicating that they should stop, gestured toward the door, and said firmly, “Not now!” then turned back toward Aaron. They glanced at one another then looked down. Neither spoke for a few minutes, then finally Moses gestured toward a cushion, “Please sit down.” Aaron remained standing glaring at Moses who continued, “I would never intend to hurt you, don’t you know that? What’s come over you?” He tried to soften and sweeten his voice. “This isn’t like you.”

“What’s come over me?” He shook his finger, “My sons are dead. Don’t you understand? They are dead!” His lip quivered slightly as if he might weep. “And you are cruel, you stood there with that imperious look on your face lecturing me about what God had done and not a word, not a sign…” he took a breath, “that’s what’s come over me!”

Moses got up and took a step toward Aaron, extended his right arm as if to touch Aaron’s shoulder but Aaron stepped back. “You have it all wrong.” Moses smiled. “Do you really think I don’t care? Of course I care, but what I said to you was, well, it was a favor.” Moses softened his voice trying to sound full of concern.

Aaron, who would usually be taken in by such a tone of caring, interrupted him and spat out, “A favor?!” His eyes narrowed and he hissed, “How dare you!” then turned around and started for the entrance.

Moses went after him, grabbed him by the arm, but Aaron yanked himself free. Moses followed Aaron saying, “I can’t believe you. I was giving you a warning. What was done was done. I wanted to make sure that neither you nor anyone else would be punished.” Aaron kept walking without looking at Moses who continued, “Don’t you realize that I wanted to help you?” and when Aaron didn’t stop he called after him, “You,” his face red, his voice angry, “are the High Priest, and whether you like it or not, you were responsible for your sons. It was your responsibility to teach them what was permitted and forbidden in the sanctuary.”

Aaron swung around, “You dare lecture me?!” He pointed his finger at Moses and shouted, “I know what my responsibilities are,” then hissed through his teeth, “You don’t have to tell me my responsibilities.” Moses grabbed him to shake him, “How do I make you understand…” Aaron fell back into the ashes of yesterday’s fire, and landed on a bowl which let out a loud cracking sound as it broke.

Moses reached out his hand, “I didn’t mean…” Aaron waved him off, closed his eyes and shook his head sadly.  He slowly got up and limped out rubbing his leg then walked toward Miriam’s tent. Moses stood with his hands open and outstretched, watching him, his mouth poised to speak but nothing came out.

Aaron marched into Miriam’s tent, his face red, his mouth set hard, his eyes narrow, breathing hard. As soon as she saw him she stood up, took a step toward him and said, “I see you spoke to Moses.” And then as he came closer, she peered at him and pointed at his robes with a puzzled look, “What happened? she asked, “Tell me everything!” she demanded, reaching out to brush the ashes off his robe. He pushed her hand away.

“He seems to think he did me a favor!” he spat out, his face still red.

 “Here,” she pointed to some pillows, “sit down, I’ll give you something to eat and you can tell me about it.”

Aaron ignored the invitation to sit and paced still limping, his hands punching the air for emphasis as he told Miriam, who stood with her arms folded across her chest, what happened. “Is that everything?” Miriam asked looking at his robe. “Of course, damn it! What else?”

She pointed, “How did you get ashes all over your robe and why are you limping?

“You are impossible,” he sounded exasperated, shot her an annoyed glance then looked away, “I, I just tripped in the dark,” he said more softly.

She held up her hands, “Okay, okay…” backing off, knowing there was more to the story. She sat down and Aaron followed her. Aaron was calmer now. His mouth had softened, his face had returned to its usual sun-tanned color. Miriam had an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling of the tent. It cast a low, soft light on the two of them seated on pillows. Miriam began, “I really think that Moses fancies himself as God,” Aaron looked intently at Miriam and listened carefully as she continued, “and I’m not the only one who thinks so; I’ve heard people talking; they wish we had someone else leading us.” 

Aaron looked down, seeming to study his hands but mulling over what she said. Miriam watched him carefully then said softly, “What do you think?”

Aaron looked up at her, cleared his throat, and said softly but firmly, “That is a very serious matter. Let me think about it.”

Miriam smiled, “Good, let’s talk tomorrow, but for now, you need to get cleaned up and rest. We’ll talk later.”

As Aaron limped out of her tent, the sun was strong, scorching everything around him.

Epilogue

A few days later Aaron and Miriam sent all those who had complained about Moses into the camp announcing that Aaron wished to speak to them, hinting that the time of hardship was over, whispering in the ears of the men that Moses’ harsh rule was about to end, proclaiming that Aaron and Miriam had good news for them. Men, women, whole families, the elderly who could barely walk, little children carried on their fathers’ shoulders, women nursing babies all flowed to the large open space in front of the Tabernacle. The children played tag and ran laughing among the adults some of whom smiled in expectation of better things while others looked anxious and wary, unsure of what they were about to hear.

When a large crowd had gathered Aaron, dressed in his resplendent white robes of the High priest and wearing the gold breast plate, came out of his tent. The crowd cheered and people pressed closer to see him more clearly, opening a way for him to walk through. He made his way to a small hill in front of the crowd which whistled and called his name. A man in front of him smiled broadly showing missing teeth; a man in a torn tunic lifted his little girl so she could see. Miriam stood near him. After a few moments, Aaron raised his hand and the crowd became silent. He cleared his throat and proclaimed loudly in his deep and resonant voice, “Has the Lord spoken only through Moses? Has He not spoken through us as well?”  Most of the crowd cheered, clapped, whistled while a few men in the back wearing gray robes, shook their head from side to side and grumbled to one another, pointing toward Aaron and Miriam. Aaron ignored them and  spoke to the crowd of their hardships, the lack of water, the lack of food, the incessant wandering without reaching their homeland, pausing after each difficulty while the people nodded in approval, talked excitedly, smiled and laughed. Again and again he repeated the words, “Has the Lord spoken only through Moses? Has He not spoken through us as well?” each time eliciting cheers. Finally, amidst rhythmic clapping, Miriam led the women in dancing, so spirited that they almost disappeared amidst the billows of dust raised by their feet. Elisheva stood smiling, with tears in her eyes.

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*For the Biblical background of the story see Leviticus 10 and Number 12.