ותצא אש מלפני ד' ותאכל אותם וימותו לפני ד'
A fire came forth from before Hashem and consumed them, and they died before Hashem. (10:2)
The Talmud enumerates a number of deficiencies in the elevated rectitude of such tzaddikim as Nadav and Avihu, which led to their untimely tragic passing. One of the comments which begs elucidation is that they would walk behind Moshe Rabbeinu and Aharon HaKohen, with the rest of the nation following them, and they would say, “When will those two elders pass away, and you and I will lead the generation?” Hashem responded, “We will see who will bury whom.” Are we to believe that they were so callous as to “wait” for their father’s and uncle’s deaths; so that they could ascend to the helm of leadership? Obviously, the true intent of their statement is cloaked in deep esoteric meaning.
The commentators, each in his own manner, offer explanations to illuminate their words. Horav Efraim Zalman Margolis, zl explains this based on the well-known Chazal, “Everyone is obligated to say, ‘When will my actions reach the level of my forbears, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov?’” The Patriarchs serve as the apex of spiritual achievement – a level to which we should all strive. While, understandably, no one will achieve their level of devotion, integrity and virtue, their lives nonetheless should serve as our lodestar. We should always look to the previous generations and use their way of life to motivate us to push ourselves to aim higher.
With this in mind, Rav Efraim suggests that they were intimating, “When will we reach their level? Will we be worthy of stepping into their shoes and leading the nation?” So why were they punished? They spoke decisively, as if to imply that Moshe and Aharon would surely precede them in death.
Horav Yitzchak Aharon Rappaport, zl (Maggid of Vilkomir), explains that their statement was one of worry. They were anxious that Moshe and Aharon would pass away and they, who would (probably) be their successors, would be unworthy of these positions. They “expected” that great men of such unparalleled, righteousness would receive a “pass” on aging. The Almighty would provide them with the physical strength and mental agility to guide the nation for years to come.
Perhaps we may add that while Nadav and Avihu might have been thinking practically – which in and of itself does not apply to such leaders as Moshe and Aharon – they did err in one area. Moshe and Aharon represented two different aspects of leadership. Aharon was the Kohen Gadol, the spiritual leader of the nation. Moshe was the Rabban Shel Kol Yisrael, our quintessential Rebbe. He was also the Melech, King, who guided the nation in accordance with Hashem’s instruction. While one or both of Aharon’s sons could expect to succeed him, Moshe was out of their parameter of succession. Hashem would choose his successor, just as he had chosen Moshe. Indeed, Moshe, too, would have liked for his sons to ascend to the leadership of the nation. Hashem did not agree, and, instead, He selected Yehoshua. We often make a decision based on personal bias and hope that our decision is correct. We have no room for error in such decisions; prejudice and calling in favors do not serve the benefit of a community. Hashem’s criteria are based upon a different scale. Neither Nadav nor Avihu were destined to assume Moshe’s position – so Hashem decided.
ויאמר משה אל אהרן הוא אשר דבר ד' לאמר בקרבי אקדש ועל פני כל העם אכבד וידם אהרן
Moshe said to Aharon: Of this did Hashem speak, saying: “I will be sanctified through those who are nearest Me; thus, I will be honored before the entire people.” And Aharon was silent. (10:3)
What happened to Nadav and Avihu and the circumstances under which their deaths occurred are beyond us. Chazal present various reasons for their untimely deaths, but these reasons apply only to someone who, like them, had reached the capstone of closeness with Hashem. The higher one is, the closer one gets, the more Hashem demands of him. Aharon HaKohen’s reaction (or non-reaction) is equally beyond us. Anyone who has himself – or known someone who has – sustained such a mind-numbing tragedy, either stands in awe of Aharon or questions him. His muted reaction is mind-boggling. As soon as the tragedy occurred, Moshe Rabbeinu told Aharon, “Hashem said that He would be sanctified through those nearest to Him. I thought He referred either to you or to me. I see now that your two sons are greater than we are.” When Aharon heard this, he was silent. The narrative implies that, after Aharon witnessed his sons’ deaths, he did not immediately accept Hashem’s decree with love. Rather, he just stood there until Moshe told him, b’Krovai Akadesh, “I will be sanctified through those nearest to Me.” Why did he not immediately accept Hashem’s decree? It is almost as if he waited for Moshe to instruct him concerning what he was supposed to do.
Horav Mordechai Zuckerman, zl (Rav of the Perushim in Givat Shaul), explains that Aharon certainly accepted Hashem’s decree immediately with love. He was waiting, however, for an “all clear” signal concerning the chillul Hashem, desecration of Hashem’s Name, which such a tragedy could provoke. Moshe told him that, on the contrary, it brought about an extraordinary kiddush, sanctification, of Hashem’s Name. When people see how demanding Hashem is of those who are closest to Him, they begin to fathom what justice would be like for those who are not close to Him. When Aharon heard this, he was silent, openly accepting the Heavenly decree.
Aharon’s reaction, his unusual muted response to the tragedy, grants us a window into understanding tragedy. Clearly, what we see as heartrending apparently is the result of our limited perspective. The various synonyms connected with tragedy are words we use to interpret human perspective, which, at best, is myopic. We neither know – nor can we understand – Hashem’s ways. We scream, we weep uncontrollably, we mourn incessantly, because we neither know how – nor are we prepared – to do anything else. We are not on Aharon’s level. We cannot be silent. We are human and human beings react to pain – especially emotional pain catalyzed by a grievous loss.
Let us look at the other side of the coin, the side to which Aharon was privy, a side that saw the deaths of Nadav and Avihu in a different light. We were not there. We can only believe, have faith, that much more was involved of which we are unaware. In his latest book on Kaddish (The Soul of Kaddish), Rabbi Yechiel Spero relates a story which occurred concerning Horav Menachem Yosef Heimlich, zl (Mishkoltzer Dayan, author of Minchas Yosef).
The Nazis wanted to transfer 100 head of cattle to an army base to feed their soldiers. They would never use their Aryan soldiers for such undignified labor. Instead, they selected a group of Jewish inmates of which Rav Heimlich was to be the leader, to shepherd these cows to the base. The heat was oppressive for both man and beast. No water was available for either of them. Ultimately, they would no longer need any water. The Jewish prisoners were skeletons walking, having slaved for the Nazis with hardly any food to sustain them. Furthermore, they had never shepherded cattle. They asked the Nazi commandant how he expected them to achieve such a difficult task. He replied that all they had to do was lead the first few cows; the rest would follow.
For two days, they trudged along. At one point, the Nazis gave them a few drops of water, and then it was back to business. Cows need water. They were given nothing. Why waste good water? At the end of the second day, they could not go on. Walking in the heat with nothing to drink takes its toll. To stop to rest means certain death. The men had no choice. The cows did not understand what was happening. They needed water. When they passed by a small brook, one of the lead cows broke rank and started for the brook.
Rav Menachem Yosef was in a quandary. On the one hand, the animal could not go on without water. On the other hand, if he allowed the animal to leave the herd to drink, he would likely be shot. When he saw how the cow gulped down the water, his compassion for the cow and his awareness that tzaar baalei chaim, insensitivity to an animal, is a transgression, he let the cow drink. Baruch Hashem, the other cows did not notice and kept on trudging forward. Suddenly, Rav Menachem Yosef heard a loud explosion and saw that the other animals had gone forward and unknowingly stepped into a minefield. Had this cow not strayed, had he followed along the path, he, too, would have become a casualty. He thought the cow was leading when, in fact, it was Hashem Who provided his salvation.
We see; we ask; we wonder. Only Hashem knows the answer. We must trust, maintain our faith and hope that one day soon, we, too, will know the answer.
An inspiring thought from the Imrei Emes comes to mind. When Moshe Rabbeinu related the incident in which he shattered the Luchos, he said, V’eshbereim le’eineichem, “And I broke them before your eyes” (Devarim 9:17). What is added with the word le’eineichem, before your eyes”? The Rebbe explained that the Torah records another instance of le’eineichem when Yosef imprisoned Shimon. (Bereishis 42:24) The Torah says, Va’yeesor oso le’eineihem, “He imprisoned him before their eyes.” Rashi comments that, when the brothers left, Yosef took Shimon out, and gave him food and water.
The Imrei Emes explains that, just as it was with Shimon, his imprisonment was only le’eineihem. Likewise, the Luchos were shattered only “before your eyes.” The Luchos appear broken, but, in reality, they are whole. Life throws us curves. Things happen; all are decrees from Hashem. To our human eyes with their limited vision something may appear broken, but, in reality, it is not.
Perhaps we can add to this. Chazal (Berachos 8b) teach that a scholar who has forgotten his Torah learning is compared to the shivrei Luchos, broken shards, of the Luchos. As the shivrei Luchos were placed in the Aron next to the whole Luchos, likewise we must show respect to the talmid chacham who is only a fraction of his original self. I think the Rebbe’s exposition applies equally to the talmid chacham who is in a state of brokenness. Prior to Moshe’s dropping the Luchos, the letters fell off, so that all that broke was the stone. The talmid chacham’s “letters” have flown. What we see is what is left of him. In another “place,” his letters are waiting to be emblazoned in their original setting.
