This week’s Torah portion, Acharei, begins with the words, “And G-d spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron.” Nadav and Avihu, both of whom were truly righteous men, were consumed by a great fire. Why did they deserve such a harsh punishment?
The Midrash offers some reasons why Nadav and Avihu died: They entered the Holy of Holies without permission; they performed their service without wearing the required priestly garments; they were not married and thus had no offspring. But what was so terrible about these infractions that it brought about their premature deaths?
Chasidic philosophy explains that Aaron’s sons died precisely because of their high spiritual stature. Nadav and Avihu possessed an overwhelming love of G-d, which ultimately blinded them to their true purpose. Their deaths were caused by their good intentions which ran counter to G-d’s intent in creating the world. Their souls so longed to be one with G-d that they could no longer remain in their physical bodies, and the two men died.
On the one hand, this attests to Nadav and Avihu’s high spiritual accomplishments. But on the other hand, their behavior was considered sinful because man was not created solely to fulfill his spiritual yearnings. G-d gave us the responsibility to refine the world, enabling physical matter to become a receptacle for holiness. Nadav and Avihu’s excess in the realm of the spiritual, to the exclusion of the physical, was their downfall.
This is why the verse reads, “...when they had come near before G-d, and they died.” Their death was not the result of their actions, but rather, the essence of their sin. Aaron’s sons drew so close to G-d that physical existence was impossible. Entering the Holy of Holies without permission was symbolic of ascending too high; performing the service while being improperly clothed shows an unwillingness to “clothe” oneself in mitzvot, which are called the garments of the soul. Nadav and Avihu wanted to take the “short cut” to G-d, without having to trouble themselves with the obstacles posed by the physical world.
Likewise, the fact that neither Nadav nor Avihu married and had children showed their refusal to lead a natural, physical existence. This is not what G-d wants from us.
We learn a valuable lesson from their death: Although there are certain times when we feel a strong desire for G-dliness and we experience a great spiritual uplift, we must carry those feelings into our daily lives and translate them into tangible actions. This is the purpose for which we have been created--to transform our physical surroundings into a dwelling place for the Divine Presence.
Adapted from the works of the Lubavitcher Rebbe.
By Rabbi Baruch Epstein
Our family all gathered for a hike. Loaded up with sunscreen and water bottles we headed out on the mountain trail. After 15 minutes of walking my 5-year-old granddaughter posed the ultimate hiking philosophical query: “where are we going?” this prompted her 3 year old sister to inquire: “are there toys there?”
Where are we going? After 210 years of Egyptian slavery, anywhere must be an upgrade over where we are; doesn’t it? Moshe did not distribute an itinerary and there was no treasure map to follow, the gates were open and we are on our way, and now seems like the right time to ask “where are we going?”
Where are we going? Up at dawn, hit the gym, go to work, and what is the point of it all; “are there toys there?”
Pesach is more than a reenactment of a story from long ago. More than dressing up in period costumes and eating odd foods while paying homage to an ancient event from some other place. It is a personal journey – an exodus from our own insurmountable straits, the inescapable ruts we feel trapped in. When we have concluded the exodus part it is time to say “ok, now what?”
To move forward let’s look back. It all began with the introductory list of 15 tasks. You recognize them, make kiddush, wash your hands, dip the vegetable in salt water, tell the story and eat the matzo. Follow these guidelines and you arrive at the target, graduate from slave to free man. Step #15 is tricky; it’s called nirtzah – and it means the seder is accepted by Hashem – but what are we supposed to do? What is the action item?
The task? The final phrase of the hagada is Lishana Habaa biYerushalayim – (by) Next Year in Jerusalem – and there you have it – the answer to where are we going?
It starts off with raw enthusiasm – we are getting out of here – leaving Egypt, like the five-year-old gripping her mother’s hand, we have ultimate trust, total acceptance that the adults know what they are doing.
As the reality of this great escape seeps in we stop looking over our shoulder at where we were and start looking ahead as to where we are going. That part is a bit unclear, and so we follow the hagada, we check off the steps and after all of that we are there – we know our destination – Jerusalem, and we are not waiting until next year; we are certain we will be there before next year.
With the celebration of Pesach in the rear-view mirror and our eyes laser locked on the destination we follow the trail, hold steadfast to Moshe Rabeinu and off we go to the Promised Land.
Freedom is much more than the freedom from oppression, the ‘don’t tell me what do’ kind of freedom. Freedom is the opportunity to make life a journey to a destination. Genuine liberty comes through the clarity of knowing Hashem’s Guiding Hand is holding ours and taking us to the Promised Land, and yes there are some great toys there.
There is a lot of hiking to do, and hey freedom don’t come free.
