(כג) וַיָּבֹ֨א מֹשֶׁ֤ה וְאַהֲרֹן֙ אֶל־אֹ֣הֶל מוֹעֵ֔ד וַיֵּ֣צְא֔וּ וַֽיְבָרְכ֖וּ אֶת־הָעָ֑ם וַיֵּרָ֥א כְבוֹד־יי אֶל־כׇּל־הָעָֽם׃ (כד) וַתֵּ֤צֵא אֵשׁ֙ מִלִּפְנֵ֣י יי וַתֹּ֙אכַל֙ עַל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֔חַ אֶת־הָעֹלָ֖ה וְאֶת־הַחֲלָבִ֑ים וַיַּ֤רְא כׇּל־הָעָם֙ וַיָּרֹ֔נּוּ וַֽיִּפְּל֖וּ עַל־פְּנֵיהֶֽם׃
(23) Moses and Aaron then went inside the Tent of Meeting. When they came out, they blessed the people; and the Presence of יי appeared to all the people. (24) Fire came forth from before יי and consumed the burnt offering and the fat parts on the altar. And all the people saw, and shouted, and fell on their faces.
Avivah Zornberg (from The Hidden Order of Intimacy)
It seems clear that the fire is identified with the revelation of glory. In consuming the sacrifices, the fire emerging from the Holy of Holies testifies to God's acceptance and favor, the grace of His presence. The people's reaction is vayaronu-"and they sang in exultation." Never before or after this moment do we read of this quality of song in a narrative context. So powerful is their experience that it apparently prostrates them (they collapse on the ground).
It seems clear that the fire is identified with the revelation of glory. In consuming the sacrifices, the fire emerging from the Holy of Holies testifies to God's acceptance and favor, the grace of His presence. The people's reaction is vayaronu-"and they sang in exultation." Never before or after this moment do we read of this quality of song in a narrative context. So powerful is their experience that it apparently prostrates them (they collapse on the ground).
Rabbi Shefa Gold, Torah Journeys
Just before the priests are to be installed, Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu offer “strange fire” before God and die in the process.
Just before the priests are to be installed, Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu offer “strange fire” before God and die in the process.
וַיִּקְח֣וּ בְנֵֽי־אַ֠הֲרֹ֠ן נָדָ֨ב וַאֲבִיה֜וּא אִ֣ישׁ מַחְתָּת֗וֹ וַיִּתְּנ֤וּ בָהֵן֙ אֵ֔שׁ וַיָּשִׂ֥ימוּ עָלֶ֖יהָ קְטֹ֑רֶת וַיַּקְרִ֜יבוּ לִפְנֵ֤י יי אֵ֣שׁ זָרָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֧ר לֹ֦א צִוָּ֖ה אֹתָֽם׃ וַתֵּ֥צֵא אֵ֛שׁ מִלִּפְנֵ֥י יי וַתֹּ֣אכַל אוֹתָ֑ם וַיָּמֻ֖תוּ לִפְנֵ֥י יי׃ וַיֹּ֨אמֶר מֹשֶׁ֜ה אֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֗ן הוּא֩ אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֨ר יי ׀ לֵאמֹר֙ בִּקְרֹבַ֣י אֶקָּדֵ֔שׁ וְעַל־פְּנֵ֥י כׇל־הָעָ֖ם אֶכָּבֵ֑ד וַיִּדֹּ֖ם אַהֲרֹֽן׃
Now Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before יי alien fire, which had not been enjoined upon them. And fire came forth from יי and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of יי. Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what יי meant by saying:
Through those who are near Me, I will be sanctified; upon the face of all the people, I will be glorified.”
And Aaron was silent.
RA & USCJ, Etz Hayim: Torah and Commentary, p. 634
Aaron was silent The Torah usually does not call attention to someone's not speaking. What, then, is the unusual significance of Aaron's silence? That he accepted God's decree without protest? That his anguish was too great for him to put into words? That he was tempted to burst out in anger at the unfairness of what had happened to his family but was able to restrain himself? Perhaps the text is suggesting that there are more possibilities - and more power - in silence than in any words.
Aaron was silent The Torah usually does not call attention to someone's not speaking. What, then, is the unusual significance of Aaron's silence? That he accepted God's decree without protest? That his anguish was too great for him to put into words? That he was tempted to burst out in anger at the unfairness of what had happened to his family but was able to restrain himself? Perhaps the text is suggesting that there are more possibilities - and more power - in silence than in any words.
Rabbi David Kasher, ParshaNut, pp. 215-216, Kindle edition
The fire that killed Aaron’s sons seemed to come from God, and to represent God’s unmerciful will. But how does one find God in that? How can you possibly see God when your children lay dead before you? How dare Moses – how dare any of us – try to find some divine justification for such a tragedy? No. Aaron would not hear it. Could not hear it. He was in his silence. Yet maybe it was there, in the silence, that he found God again. Maybe, like Elijah, God spoke to Aaron through the sound of silence – and Aaron spoke back in silence. For it is difficult to see God in all the terrible tragedies of this world. But we may discover God in our response to them. Not in the fire, but in the silence.
The fire that killed Aaron’s sons seemed to come from God, and to represent God’s unmerciful will. But how does one find God in that? How can you possibly see God when your children lay dead before you? How dare Moses – how dare any of us – try to find some divine justification for such a tragedy? No. Aaron would not hear it. Could not hear it. He was in his silence. Yet maybe it was there, in the silence, that he found God again. Maybe, like Elijah, God spoke to Aaron through the sound of silence – and Aaron spoke back in silence. For it is difficult to see God in all the terrible tragedies of this world. But we may discover God in our response to them. Not in the fire, but in the silence.
ותצא אש מלפני יי - מבית קודש הקדשים דרך מזבח הזהב להקטיר קטורת, שהוא קודם להקטרת תמיד, כדאמר במסכת יומא. ושם מצא בני אהרן אצל מזבח הזהב ושרפם ואח"כ יצא ובא לו על המזבח ותאכל על המזבח את העולה ואת השלמים.
'ותצא אש מלפני ה, this fire emanated from the Holy of Holies, traveled via the golden altar in order to burn up the incense which was always offered before the daily communal burnt offering, as described in Yoma 33. This is also where the fire encountered the sons of Aaron beside the altar, and subsequently this fire moved to the altar in the courtyard of the Tabernacle and consumed the sacrificial meat consisting of both burnt offerings and peace-offerings.
ותצא אש מלפני יי - להקטיר קטורת לפנים תחלה ופגעה [ב]בני אהרן שם ומתו, ואח"כ יצאה משם ובאה אל מזבח החיצון ותאכל את העולה.
At the time the heavenly fire emanated in order to consume the sacrificial meat on the altar in the courtyard of the Tabernacle, it consumed the two sons of Aaron on its way. This fire had meant to consume only the incense, but seeing that the sons of Aaron had been in its way, it consumed them also, and they died as a result.
Avivah Zornberg
As for the "strange fire," Rashbam offers a further unusual reading. This fire would have been appropriate on any other day-it was "private fire" (esh min ha-hediot), which means domestic or regular fire from their own ovens. On this specific day, however, Moses had not commanded the routine procedure, since he was praying, precisely, for divine fire. On this day, they should have waited for the miracle, so that God's name would be sanctified when everyone realized that fire had come down from heaven."
The two priests cannot tolerate the tension of waiting; they thus lose the opportunity for sanctifying God's name. Going about their priestly business, they are caught in the trajectory of divine fire, moving between altars.
As for the "strange fire," Rashbam offers a further unusual reading. This fire would have been appropriate on any other day-it was "private fire" (esh min ha-hediot), which means domestic or regular fire from their own ovens. On this specific day, however, Moses had not commanded the routine procedure, since he was praying, precisely, for divine fire. On this day, they should have waited for the miracle, so that God's name would be sanctified when everyone realized that fire had come down from heaven."
The two priests cannot tolerate the tension of waiting; they thus lose the opportunity for sanctifying God's name. Going about their priestly business, they are caught in the trajectory of divine fire, moving between altars.
Mekhilta de' Rabbi Ishmael, cited in RA & USCJ: Etz Hayim: Torah and Commentary, p. 633
One explanation is that they brought the instruments for making a fire into the tent, not realizing that on this special occasion God was going to send fire miraculously from heaven. Because they were too close to that fire, they were killed. Their sin, if any, was a lack of faith, trying to help God in a situation in which God did not need their help.
One explanation is that they brought the instruments for making a fire into the tent, not realizing that on this special occasion God was going to send fire miraculously from heaven. Because they were too close to that fire, they were killed. Their sin, if any, was a lack of faith, trying to help God in a situation in which God did not need their help.
Prof. Yonatan Grossman (from The Eighth Day and the Sin of Nadav and Avihu)
Whenever there is an act of Divine Revelation (usually through fire), there is a need for a cover to prevent man from experiencing direct contact with the Presence of God...It seems to me that here too this was the role of the incense. Nadav and Avihu are worried that there will be direct contact between man and God. If the Divine Presence is being revealed and fire is falling down from the heavens onto the altar, the incense has to be quickly offered up in order to block such a revelation....The eighth day is a continuation of the revelation at Mt. Sinai, but Nadav and Avihu do not know this. They reason that only the spiritual elite are privileged on this day to Divine revelation, and the masses are not entitled to such direct contact with God.
However, on this special day, the rules of covering and uncovering do not apply. Just as the nation was allowed to see God's presence at Mt. Sinai (and perhaps as we stated Nadav and Avihu did not know this was the case at Sinai), so too on the eighth day all of the nation is allowed to see the revelation of the Divine Presence. The same fire of God that descends and consumes the sacrifices on the altar, continues to consume the priests that are trying to cover up and screen this fire from the nation.
What is it the Lord meant? "Through those near to Me I show myself holy and gain glory before all the people." Granted that through those close to me, says God, I am made holy. The priests who have the honor of being close to God do indeed make Him holy, however, "and gain glory before all the people," meaning that God also gains glory in this case through the people. Throughout the whole parasha, the language of glory appears as the revelation of the glory of God, and here too, before all the people (and not only before those who are close to God), the glory of God will be revealed.
Nadav and Avihu come to worship God in the Mishkan with an elitist perspective that gives the priests a special status and does not allow the simple Jew to draw near to the Presence of God. God requests that his Divine Presence be bestowed in a different manner - before all of the nation - the great as well as the small, priests and Israelites together - I will gain glory.
Whenever there is an act of Divine Revelation (usually through fire), there is a need for a cover to prevent man from experiencing direct contact with the Presence of God...It seems to me that here too this was the role of the incense. Nadav and Avihu are worried that there will be direct contact between man and God. If the Divine Presence is being revealed and fire is falling down from the heavens onto the altar, the incense has to be quickly offered up in order to block such a revelation....The eighth day is a continuation of the revelation at Mt. Sinai, but Nadav and Avihu do not know this. They reason that only the spiritual elite are privileged on this day to Divine revelation, and the masses are not entitled to such direct contact with God.
However, on this special day, the rules of covering and uncovering do not apply. Just as the nation was allowed to see God's presence at Mt. Sinai (and perhaps as we stated Nadav and Avihu did not know this was the case at Sinai), so too on the eighth day all of the nation is allowed to see the revelation of the Divine Presence. The same fire of God that descends and consumes the sacrifices on the altar, continues to consume the priests that are trying to cover up and screen this fire from the nation.
What is it the Lord meant? "Through those near to Me I show myself holy and gain glory before all the people." Granted that through those close to me, says God, I am made holy. The priests who have the honor of being close to God do indeed make Him holy, however, "and gain glory before all the people," meaning that God also gains glory in this case through the people. Throughout the whole parasha, the language of glory appears as the revelation of the glory of God, and here too, before all the people (and not only before those who are close to God), the glory of God will be revealed.
Nadav and Avihu come to worship God in the Mishkan with an elitist perspective that gives the priests a special status and does not allow the simple Jew to draw near to the Presence of God. God requests that his Divine Presence be bestowed in a different manner - before all of the nation - the great as well as the small, priests and Israelites together - I will gain glory.
Neil F. Blumofe, Scuba Diving After Tragedy in Torah Without End, p.52-53
We stand in the haunting silence after the death of the two boys. This is Aaron's silence; the silence of a grieving father. (Leviticus 10:3) The silence of the abyss. It is the opposite of the still small voice, which invites us to exit from within Elijah's cave, directing us towards discernment and curiosity out in the world. (I Kings 19:13) Here, there is no voice.
Nadav and Avihu took up incense, hoping to make a connection to everything. As it teaches in the Zohar: what is ketoret? It is the ketira [connection, bond] of everything (Bemidbar 151b).
They tried to erase the boundaries between the human creation and the Divine. They hoped to stand in the light of God in the moment, without wearing protective garments. The Mei HaShiloach explains: the boys wanted to bring themselves close to God, looking into the hidden depths, and they wanted to stand on the refined, undressed truth of the conduct of the holy God. (Mei HaShiloach, Volume 1, Shemini)
They were warned. This stepping forward was not commanded. They went too deep without wearing protective gear. They needed a garment to mediate their discoveries before the supernal light. They were to have offered their connection to all, wearing the me'il- the coat made entirely of sky-blue wool (tekhelet). This represents intense yirat shamayim. Without this awe, the power of everything flowed too strongly and faltered their hearts. The me'il balances us in our quest to listen. We are not to listen without preparation.
There is valor in taking chances to make connections. Yet we must be prepared and wear the refinements that will bring us back safely. The world is alive in the places we cannot readily see. We must properly affix our regulator, made of tekhelet, before our dive-to safely slip into the me'il as we journey into the highest realms. We take up our censers (vessels in which incense is burned before an altar), protected, and we follow Rabbi Akiva safely into and out of the realm of paradise. (BT Hagiga 14b).
We stand in the haunting silence after the death of the two boys. This is Aaron's silence; the silence of a grieving father. (Leviticus 10:3) The silence of the abyss. It is the opposite of the still small voice, which invites us to exit from within Elijah's cave, directing us towards discernment and curiosity out in the world. (I Kings 19:13) Here, there is no voice.
Nadav and Avihu took up incense, hoping to make a connection to everything. As it teaches in the Zohar: what is ketoret? It is the ketira [connection, bond] of everything (Bemidbar 151b).
They tried to erase the boundaries between the human creation and the Divine. They hoped to stand in the light of God in the moment, without wearing protective garments. The Mei HaShiloach explains: the boys wanted to bring themselves close to God, looking into the hidden depths, and they wanted to stand on the refined, undressed truth of the conduct of the holy God. (Mei HaShiloach, Volume 1, Shemini)
They were warned. This stepping forward was not commanded. They went too deep without wearing protective gear. They needed a garment to mediate their discoveries before the supernal light. They were to have offered their connection to all, wearing the me'il- the coat made entirely of sky-blue wool (tekhelet). This represents intense yirat shamayim. Without this awe, the power of everything flowed too strongly and faltered their hearts. The me'il balances us in our quest to listen. We are not to listen without preparation.
There is valor in taking chances to make connections. Yet we must be prepared and wear the refinements that will bring us back safely. The world is alive in the places we cannot readily see. We must properly affix our regulator, made of tekhelet, before our dive-to safely slip into the me'il as we journey into the highest realms. We take up our censers (vessels in which incense is burned before an altar), protected, and we follow Rabbi Akiva safely into and out of the realm of paradise. (BT Hagiga 14b).
וְהָעֲבוֹדָה דִקְטֹרֶת שֶׁעַל מִזְבֵּחַ הַפְּנִימִי הִיא הִתְקַשְּׁרוּת הָאָדָם עִם הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא עַל יְדֵי גִלּוּי פְּנִימִיּוּת נַפְשׁוֹ (הַקְּשׁוּרָה עִם הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא) – וְגִלּוּי זֶה פּוֹעֵל בְּדֶרֶךְ מִמֵּילָא בִּלְבוּשֵׁי מַחֲשָׁבָה דִּבּוּר וּמַעֲשֶׂה שֶׁלּוֹ שֶׁיִּהְיוּ כִּדְבָעֵי, לְפִי רְצוֹן יי.
עִנְיָן זֶה נִרְמָז גַּם בְּהַחִלּוּק שֶׁבֵּין לְשׁוֹן "קָרְבָּנוֹת" וּלְשׁוֹן "קְטֹרֶת": קָרְבָּן הוּא מִלְּשׁוֹן קֵרוּב, שֶׁעַל יְדֵי הַקָּרְבָּנוֹת מִתְקָרֵב הָאָדָם לְהַשֵּׁם, וְאֶפְשָׁר שֶׁלַּמְרוֹת שֶׁמִּתְקָרֵב לַיי הֲרֵי הוּא נִשְׁאָר עֲדַיִן דָּבָר בִּפְנֵי עַצְוֹו שֶׁקָּרוֹב לַיי; וְאִלּוּ קְטֹרֶת הוּא לְשׁוֹן קִשּׁוּר וְחִבּוּר (עַל דֶּרֶךְ מַה שֶּׁכָּתוּב "וְנַפְשׁוֹ קְשׁוּרָה בְנַפְשׁוֹ", וְכֵן בִּיהוֹנָתָן וְדָוִד נֶאֱמַר "וְנֶפֶשׁ יְהוֹנָתָן נִקְשְׁרָה בְּנֶפֶשׁ דָּוִד וַיֶּאֱהָבֵהוּ יְהוֹנָתָן כְּנַפְשׁוֹ") – כִּי תֹּכֶן עִנְיַן הַקְּטֹרֶת הוּא לֹא רַק שֶׁהָאָדָם מִתְקָרֵב לַיי (עַל יְדֵי עֲבוֹדָתוֹ בְּמַחֲשָׁבָה דִּבּוּר וּמַעֲשֶׂה), כִּי אִם שֶׁמִּתְקַשֵּׁר וּמִתְחַבֵּר לַיי.
Lubavitcher Rebbe (Likkutei Sichos, Insights into the Weekly Parshah, Volume 32, Acharei 4)
Loving G-d with Unrestrained
Fire: Sacrifices and Incense
The service of offering incense on the Inner Altar reflects the inner connection of a person with G‑d achieved by revealing the inner dimensions of his soul that are inherently bonded with G‑d. The revelation of this inner connection will naturally lead a person to ensure that his soul’s garments of thought, speech, and action will be as desired, aligned with G‑d’s will.
This is also reflected in the difference between the meaning of the very words korbanos, “sacrifices,” and ketores, “incense.” The
word korban shares the same root letters as the word kayruv, “closeness” (Zohar, Vol. III), i.e., a person draws close to God by bringing sacrifices. Nevertheless, it is possible that even though he has drawn close to God, he will remain a separate entity, albeit one who is close to God.
By contrast, ketores [incense] has the root letters of קֶטֶר, the Aramaic word for connection and bond (Zohar, Vol. III, p. 11b, 37b), as reflected by the verse, “His soul is bonded with his soul (Gn. 43:30).” Similarly, with regard to the relationship between Yonason and David, it is said,“The soul of Yonason became bonded with the soul of David, and Yonason loved him as [one loves] his own soul (I Shmuel 18:1).” In the same vein, the intent of the incense offering is not only that a person draw close to God through his Divine service of thought, speech, and action, but that he bond and attach himself to God.*
*The paradigm for such a bond was expressed by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai who said (Zohar, Vol. III, p. 288a), “With one bond, I am attached to Him.”
Or HaChaim on Leviticus 16:1
(15)...due to their love for G'd these people came too near the celestial source of light which has a deadly effect on man. This is the mystical dimension of what is commonly known as "death by Divine kiss," the kind of death experienced by both Aaron and Moses eventually. The deaths of Nadav and Avihu were similar to the death of all other completely righteous men. The only difference was that in the case of the deaths of people such as Moses and Aaron G'd's "kiss of death" approaches them, whereas in this case Nadav and Avihu approached "the kiss of death."...
(16)...though these righteous people felt that they were approaching an area which would result in this "kiss of death" they did not flinch and kept getting closer. They attained a state of religious intoxication. The desire of their souls to fuse with the divine was so overpowering that they no longer made decisions in which their powers of conscious perception were involved...When we think of the other extreme of man's emotional range, his love for his source, i.e. his Creator, and the overpowering desire to be united with that source, we may have an inkling of what possessed Nadav and Avihu at the time.
(15)...due to their love for G'd these people came too near the celestial source of light which has a deadly effect on man. This is the mystical dimension of what is commonly known as "death by Divine kiss," the kind of death experienced by both Aaron and Moses eventually. The deaths of Nadav and Avihu were similar to the death of all other completely righteous men. The only difference was that in the case of the deaths of people such as Moses and Aaron G'd's "kiss of death" approaches them, whereas in this case Nadav and Avihu approached "the kiss of death."...
(16)...though these righteous people felt that they were approaching an area which would result in this "kiss of death" they did not flinch and kept getting closer. They attained a state of religious intoxication. The desire of their souls to fuse with the divine was so overpowering that they no longer made decisions in which their powers of conscious perception were involved...When we think of the other extreme of man's emotional range, his love for his source, i.e. his Creator, and the overpowering desire to be united with that source, we may have an inkling of what possessed Nadav and Avihu at the time.
Rabbi Jonathan Kligler, "Shmini: What Happened to Nadav and Avihu?
Torah instructs Aaron that henceforth no one should enter the Tent of Meeting in an intoxicated state. Again, I think this is a metaphor for spiritual rather than physical intoxication. One can be so “God-intoxicated” that when entering the rarified realm of the Tent of Meeting one could lose one’s bearings, drunk with Divine love. One could become confused that our purpose and goal is to remain in this dissociated state, rather than to remember and understand that the purpose of this bliss is not for self-satiation, but rather to become a channel of blessing so that one can be a source of satiation to others. To be a source of blessing to the world one must learn to remain simultaneously grounded and elevated, bridging both realms. Nadav and Avihu never learned how to keep their feet on the ground. As a result, they were “blown away” by the holy fire. It was not their bodies that were consumed by that metaphorical flame, but their souls.
The tale of Nadav and Avihu is indeed a cautionary one, but I think it is especially directed to spiritual seekers. Judaism does not privilege the spiritual realm over the physical realm. Or, as one might say in more traditional God-language: God didn’t create the world in order for us to transcend it, but that we might bring godliness into it.
Torah instructs Aaron that henceforth no one should enter the Tent of Meeting in an intoxicated state. Again, I think this is a metaphor for spiritual rather than physical intoxication. One can be so “God-intoxicated” that when entering the rarified realm of the Tent of Meeting one could lose one’s bearings, drunk with Divine love. One could become confused that our purpose and goal is to remain in this dissociated state, rather than to remember and understand that the purpose of this bliss is not for self-satiation, but rather to become a channel of blessing so that one can be a source of satiation to others. To be a source of blessing to the world one must learn to remain simultaneously grounded and elevated, bridging both realms. Nadav and Avihu never learned how to keep their feet on the ground. As a result, they were “blown away” by the holy fire. It was not their bodies that were consumed by that metaphorical flame, but their souls.
The tale of Nadav and Avihu is indeed a cautionary one, but I think it is especially directed to spiritual seekers. Judaism does not privilege the spiritual realm over the physical realm. Or, as one might say in more traditional God-language: God didn’t create the world in order for us to transcend it, but that we might bring godliness into it.
Rabbi Shefa Gold, Torah Journeys, Parashat Shemini
THE BLESSING
THE STORY OF THE STRANGE FATE of Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu can be read as a warning… or as a promise.
On the face of it, it looks like they did something very wrong and were punished for it, thereby leaving us with a stern warning: You must play by the rules… or else! The text states that they, “offered strange fire which God had not commanded them. And fire came forth from God and consumed them and they died before God.” (Leviticus 10:1-2)
But perhaps Nadav and Avihu did not do anything wrong, but instead did something extraordinarily right. Perhaps death was not a punishment, but instead a passionate Divine embrace of beloveds.
Moses conveys God’s explanation of the event to Aaron with these words: “Through them that are near Me, I will be sanctified; and upon the face of all people I will be glorified.” (Leviticus 10:3)
These are not the words of an angry God. Those who were close to Nadav and Avihu are forbidden to mourn them. Is this because God is celebrating their return?
WHEN I RECEIVE this story as a blessing, Nadav and Avihu’s death becomes a demonstration of the power of transformation. I look for the place within me that is willing to offer up everything, directly from the impulse of the heart, without being asked, without conforming to what is deemed normal. The fire that I give seems strange because it is unmediated by religious convention. I give the strange raw essence of my passion, my fire, and then I am transformed through my giving. God takes me, rather than my gift. And isn’t this just what I had intended? I ask to be taken, used, transformed by the force that is constantly re-creating the world. I surrender self, form, knowledge, even religion that I might be returned to my Divine essence.
Shemini blesses me with this possibility, this promise: There comes a moment when all rules, procedures, methods, even my spiritual attainments are stripped away from me, and all I have left to give is my self. In that moment my giving is entirely unselfconscious. It is a gesture of pure soul yearning to return to its essence. In that moment of selflessness, the glory of God appears upon the faces of all people. In fact it is everywhere.
THE SPIRITUAL CHALLENGE
AFTER RECOUNTING the story of Nadav and Avihu, which is about ecstasy, wild abandon, supreme intoxication, Shemini goes on to describe the path of discernment, responsibility and sobriety. Our spiritual challenge is to embrace the wisdom of both of these paths.
THE PATH OF SOBRIETY requires that I do everything possible to keep myself clear so that I may be of service. I must clear myself of prejudice, distortion, pride, despair… anything that might cloud an accurate vision of the truth of this moment or weaken my power to respond.
I must be careful about what I consume and what words I say. I must monitor my state of consciousness because it is the lens through which I perceive the world.
The path of sobriety requires an impeccability that is inspired by knowing that this day might be my last.
THE PATH OF ECSTASY requires that I be willing to surrender everything so that I might be held in the Divine embrace. On this path my sense of separateness dissolves. There is a happy confusion of subject and object.
It is necessary to learn to walk both these paths in the realization of holiness. Our sobriety gives us the strength and wisdom to hold and channel the ecstasy. Our ecstasy challenges rigidity and brings vitality to the heart of our sobriety.
In Shemini the reason that is given for our quest for holiness is that we must become like God, our Source. Becoming holy is, then realizing who we truly are. Towards the end of Shemini we are given this spiritual challenge:
I am YHVH (the Ground of Being) your God;
Sanctify yourselves and be holy
For I am holy.
THE BLESSING
THE STORY OF THE STRANGE FATE of Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu can be read as a warning… or as a promise.
On the face of it, it looks like they did something very wrong and were punished for it, thereby leaving us with a stern warning: You must play by the rules… or else! The text states that they, “offered strange fire which God had not commanded them. And fire came forth from God and consumed them and they died before God.” (Leviticus 10:1-2)
But perhaps Nadav and Avihu did not do anything wrong, but instead did something extraordinarily right. Perhaps death was not a punishment, but instead a passionate Divine embrace of beloveds.
Moses conveys God’s explanation of the event to Aaron with these words: “Through them that are near Me, I will be sanctified; and upon the face of all people I will be glorified.” (Leviticus 10:3)
These are not the words of an angry God. Those who were close to Nadav and Avihu are forbidden to mourn them. Is this because God is celebrating their return?
WHEN I RECEIVE this story as a blessing, Nadav and Avihu’s death becomes a demonstration of the power of transformation. I look for the place within me that is willing to offer up everything, directly from the impulse of the heart, without being asked, without conforming to what is deemed normal. The fire that I give seems strange because it is unmediated by religious convention. I give the strange raw essence of my passion, my fire, and then I am transformed through my giving. God takes me, rather than my gift. And isn’t this just what I had intended? I ask to be taken, used, transformed by the force that is constantly re-creating the world. I surrender self, form, knowledge, even religion that I might be returned to my Divine essence.
Shemini blesses me with this possibility, this promise: There comes a moment when all rules, procedures, methods, even my spiritual attainments are stripped away from me, and all I have left to give is my self. In that moment my giving is entirely unselfconscious. It is a gesture of pure soul yearning to return to its essence. In that moment of selflessness, the glory of God appears upon the faces of all people. In fact it is everywhere.
THE SPIRITUAL CHALLENGE
AFTER RECOUNTING the story of Nadav and Avihu, which is about ecstasy, wild abandon, supreme intoxication, Shemini goes on to describe the path of discernment, responsibility and sobriety. Our spiritual challenge is to embrace the wisdom of both of these paths.
THE PATH OF SOBRIETY requires that I do everything possible to keep myself clear so that I may be of service. I must clear myself of prejudice, distortion, pride, despair… anything that might cloud an accurate vision of the truth of this moment or weaken my power to respond.
I must be careful about what I consume and what words I say. I must monitor my state of consciousness because it is the lens through which I perceive the world.
The path of sobriety requires an impeccability that is inspired by knowing that this day might be my last.
THE PATH OF ECSTASY requires that I be willing to surrender everything so that I might be held in the Divine embrace. On this path my sense of separateness dissolves. There is a happy confusion of subject and object.
It is necessary to learn to walk both these paths in the realization of holiness. Our sobriety gives us the strength and wisdom to hold and channel the ecstasy. Our ecstasy challenges rigidity and brings vitality to the heart of our sobriety.
In Shemini the reason that is given for our quest for holiness is that we must become like God, our Source. Becoming holy is, then realizing who we truly are. Towards the end of Shemini we are given this spiritual challenge:
I am YHVH (the Ground of Being) your God;
Sanctify yourselves and be holy
For I am holy.
Rabbi Yael Levy, Directing the Heart
Shemini: The Eighth Day
Moses spoke to the people:
Today the Infinite One will appear to you.
Our ancestors brought offerings of calves and goats,
Lambs and oxen,
Rams, incense and oil.
They drew close and stood together before the One.
Aaron and his sons took these offerings
And laid them upon the altar.
The fires rose,
The flames swirled,
The altar was engulfed by heat and smoke.
All day, the offerings smoldered.
Fat sizzled,
Blood was dashed upon the altar.
The flames kept rising
And everything that was brought to the altar was consumed.
After some time, Aaron lifted his hands toward the people
And blessed them
And the Presence of the One appeared to all.
A consuming fire came forth
And the people fell on their faces in awe.
Out of this moment,
Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu, stepped forward.
They placed incense on their fire pans
And offered aish zera, a strange fire.
Then a consuming fire came forth
And Nadav and Avihu died
In the Presence of the One.
We do not know the meaning
Of strange fire
Or if Nadav and Avihu were being punished
Or blessed by the consuming flames.
And we ask:
What do we do when faced with mystery,
When faced with what we can never understand?
What do we do when faced with catastrophe,
When even the best intentions and heartfelt actions
Bring forth results that leave us trembling and afraid?
There is no easy answer,
No sure way through.
There is, though, the power of presence.
Let us remember to draw close to each other
And make an offering of our presence.
With words,
With a touch,
With silence, with a glance,
Let our presence appear.
Let our presence go forth.
Let our presence to each other be sturdy and strong.
Let our presence be an offering in the face of the Mystery
And a balm for the consuming fires of pain, devastation, hardship and fear.
Shemini: The Eighth Day
Moses spoke to the people:
Today the Infinite One will appear to you.
Our ancestors brought offerings of calves and goats,
Lambs and oxen,
Rams, incense and oil.
They drew close and stood together before the One.
Aaron and his sons took these offerings
And laid them upon the altar.
The fires rose,
The flames swirled,
The altar was engulfed by heat and smoke.
All day, the offerings smoldered.
Fat sizzled,
Blood was dashed upon the altar.
The flames kept rising
And everything that was brought to the altar was consumed.
After some time, Aaron lifted his hands toward the people
And blessed them
And the Presence of the One appeared to all.
A consuming fire came forth
And the people fell on their faces in awe.
Out of this moment,
Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu, stepped forward.
They placed incense on their fire pans
And offered aish zera, a strange fire.
Then a consuming fire came forth
And Nadav and Avihu died
In the Presence of the One.
We do not know the meaning
Of strange fire
Or if Nadav and Avihu were being punished
Or blessed by the consuming flames.
And we ask:
What do we do when faced with mystery,
When faced with what we can never understand?
What do we do when faced with catastrophe,
When even the best intentions and heartfelt actions
Bring forth results that leave us trembling and afraid?
There is no easy answer,
No sure way through.
There is, though, the power of presence.
Let us remember to draw close to each other
And make an offering of our presence.
With words,
With a touch,
With silence, with a glance,
Let our presence appear.
Let our presence go forth.
Let our presence to each other be sturdy and strong.
Let our presence be an offering in the face of the Mystery
And a balm for the consuming fires of pain, devastation, hardship and fear.