Moshe said to Aharon and to his sons Elazar and Isamar, “Do not leave your heads unshorn and do not rend your garments that you do not die and He become wrathful with the entire assembly, and your brothers, the entire House of Israel shall cry for the fire that Hashem ignited. (10:6)
Rashi explains: Do not leave your heads unshorn – do not grow hair. From here we learn that a mourner is not allowed to have a haircut. But you, do not disturb the rejoicing of the Omnipresent. That you not die – but if you do so, you will die. And your brothers, the entire House of Israel – from here we learn that the distress of talmidei chachamim is placed upon everybody to mourn it.
One who contemplates Rashi’s words sees that the Creator Baruch Hu commanded here two directives that seem to contradict one another. On the one hand, the entire House of Israel was commanded to mourn the fire that the Hashem ignited, and to grieve the death of talmidei chachamim. On the other hand, Aharon and his sons — who were the closest relatives to the deceased — were commanded not to mourn at all, for doing so would mix into the joy of the Omnipresent, since this was the day when Hashem caused His Shechina to dwell among Israel. It was a great joy before Him Yisbarach. And if they were to mourn on that day, it would provoke great accusation (in Heaven), and then the wrath would not be only upon them, but upon the entire congregation, Hashem would be angry.
This matter requires explanation! If the death of the righteous demands public mourning to the extent that it should even suspend the great joy of ‘Chanukas Hamizbeach’, then why should the kohanim not also participate in this obligation? And if the mourning is not fitting to override this great joy, then why should all of Israel not be obligated to share in that joy?
And to reconcile this in the way of mussar (ethical teaching), we must preface a fundamental principle in serving the Creator: when a person desires to act piously beyond his usual practice, he must first reflect whether this is indeed the will of HaKadosh Baruch Hu. For sometimes, this desire comes specifically from the yetzer hara — that is, the yetzer knows that this “piety” will delay a person from fulfilling what is actually obligatory, and so it entices him toward it. Therefore, a person must reflect on what the consequences of this act of piety will be, and if he sees that in the end, it will prevent the fulfillment of Hashem’s true will, he must understand that this desire originated from an undesirable source.
Based on this principle, the posuk alludes to the matter of mourning for Nadav and Avihu. For this mourning was not intended as a lament over the calamity that befell these two righteous men — for from their perspective, it was not a calamity at all. Their death had already been determined in advance when HaKadosh Baruch Hu said (Shemos 29:43): ‘בכבודי ונקדש‘ - ‘And I will be sanctified through My honor” (see Rashi above on posuk 3). On the contrary, through this they fulfilled their mission in the world and sanctified the Name of Heaven in the world, and they had completed their rectification. Their souls became bound in the bundle of life, and from then on they merited to enjoy the radiance of the Divine Presence in the World of Complete Good. However, the mourning was meant to express the great loss to the people of Israel — that two righteous men had departed from among them, men who had protected them and illuminated them with the radiance of their spirit.
And there was no one who understood this loss more deeply than Aharon and his remaining sons. They understood very well just how much Israel had lost with the departure of these righteous men. Therefore, they greatly desired to mourn them. And even though they themselves were not in such great need of the merit of these righteous ones — for they too were exalted tzaddikim and merited spiritual light on their own merit — nevertheless, they deeply grieved over the loss that had befallen the collective of Israel.
In contrast, the nation of Israel as a whole, although they recognized that this was a significant loss, did not merit to perceive its full magnitude. They did not yet grasp what kind of spiritual influence had been present and was now gone. Therefore, they were permitted to postpone their mourning until after that day — the day that was a joy before Yisbarach Shemo.
And this is the message in Moshe‘s directive — that each person must examine whether his desire aligns with the will of the Omnipresent. And thus it emerges that Aharon and his sons, who longed to mourn their relatives, were required instead to continue in the joy of the Creator. For them, it was not such a great personal loss, and if they too were to mourn, it would be a blemish upon the Shechina, as they would be pushing aside its joy because of mourning. However, the people of Israel, who had experienced a great loss, were fitting and obligated to lament. They needed to set aside their desire to partake in the joy of their Creator, for it was not the proper time for them to rejoice. And this would not be a blemish to the Shechina — on the contrary, it would be an honor to the Shechina, as they were mourning the diminished revelation of the light of the Shechina that resulted from the departure of the righteous.
Here is a true story that illustrates our point well: It took place with one of the great kabbalists who lived before the days of the Arizal, the holy Rebbe Shimon Lavi, author of the sefer Kesem Paz and composer of the famous song Bar Yochai.
This righteous man lived in the Diaspora, and in his later years, he deeply yearned to merit stepping upon the dust of the Holy Land and to spend his final years there immersed in Torah and Divine service — a longing shared by many righteous men of that time and generations thereafter. After making extensive preparations, he began his journey. And behold, during his travels he happened to stop at a certain place and noticed that the Jews living there were ignorant and completely devoid of spiritual content. They didn’t even know how to pray, for they could not read or write. When he saw this, he understood that it was not the will of Heaven for him to continue on his journey and abandon an entire Jewish community in such a lowly state. He immediately decided to settle among them in order to teach them the ways of life and restore their spiritual stature. He even left behind his deep and hidden avodah (divine service) before his Creator, descended from the spiritual heights, and began to teach them the most basic things — letters, vowel points, and the laws of the Torah — just like a simple children’s teacher, literally. And this became his mission from that day until the end of his life. In that same place, he was eventually laid to rest in honor.
This was an immense sacrifice for him, as he had attained lofty levels in Torah and Divine service, and nothing held back his yearning to ascend to the Holy Land and bask there in the radiance of the Shechina — even though such a journey in those days truly required mesirus nefesh (self-sacrifice). Yet, once he understood that the will of HaKadosh Baruch Hu was for him to become a spiritual father to that community, he subdued his great love and burning yearning and served them as an “angel of salvation.”
This, then, is a foundational principle in the service of Hashem: to know what Hashem, your G-d demands of you. And even if you are stirred with a powerful desire to serve the Creator on a lofty level, you must examine whether it is truly pleasing in the eyes of Hashem — or perhaps His will is different from yours, and He desires a different kind of service altogether.
