by Rabbi Avi Billet
While our parsha this week is not at all about the sons of Aharon (Nadav and Avihu), the opening verse of the parsha speaks in the aftermath of their deaths of lessons to be learned about the service of God and how it is to be performed.
That opening verse says that God spoke to Moshe “after the deaths of the two sons of Aharon, when they were bringing an offering before God - they died.”
It seems to be suggesting that they died twice!
Some will argue that the first mention is a general comment and the second mention is explaining the when and the how. In fact, Haktav V’hakabbalah suggests that the latter part of the verse is even explaining the why. It was their effort to get close to God (another translation of בקרבתם לפני ה') that brought them to the absolute closest to God. This view in essence rejects any notion of sin which is sometimes associated with their deaths – there was no sin per se, as much as their effort to get close to God yielded results which may have been unintended on their part.
That result, however, speaks volumes of them and their preparedness to go a certain distance in order to serve God at the highest level. That “certain distance” includes being ready to be מוסר נפש (to give up one’s soul/life) for the sake of the Almighty.
Hopefully no one is being asked or being challenged to give up their lives for the sake of the Almighty. But the notion does give us pause, especially in the wake of Wednesday night’s and Thursday’s Yom HaShoah observance. On Yom HaShoah we tend to honor survivors of the Shoah that are still with us. We remember those we knew who have passed away. And of course we remember the 6 million, known to many of us as “the Kedoshim” – the holy ones who gave their lives to sanctify God’s name. And we all know that it doesn’t matter how they died – it is simply that they died because they were Jews, or even that they died because the Nazis believed they were Jews (look up the term “Mischling”).
While we know that some people were given no chance to survive – they were either shot immediately, burned alive in a building, or gassed upon arrival at a death camp (in addition to other horrors) – many who did not survive lived incredible existences in the camps, as attested to by survivors who wrote of them in their memoirs. In many cases, the way these people lived and died is a testimony to their readiness to die, as the “R’vid HaZahav” writes of Nadav and Avihu, with their soul in the ready. Whether those who died in the camps were ultimately executed by the Nazis or succumbed to the almost unsurvivable conditions to which they were subjected, when their time came, they were prepared for the next world. [Of course these are generalities and not meant to be viewed as judgment or irreverent. These are personal reflections based on excerpts from survivor accounts that, upon reflection, speak most admirably of certain memorable individuals who did not survive the camps.] Ironically, Viktor Frankl notes how the end of 1944 brought an uptick in natural deaths, which he credited to people dying of heartbreak – they had told themselves they’d be home by Christmas and New Years Eve, and when that didn’t happen, he felt that contributed to the lowering of their morale which turned them into “muselmen” (there are many spellings of this term), who had essentially checked out of life.
Getting back to Nadav and Avihu, “R’vid HaZahav” suggests that their decision to “get close to God” was the first “death” they experienced, because they were ready to get even further closer to Him, and when they physically died, that’s where the word וימותו at the end of the verse comes in.
The Chasam Sofer would extrapolate an idea based on their experience, attaching it to a teaching from the Talmud in Tamid 32, “One who wants to live should kill himself” which refers to killing off one’s physical desires, while “one who wants to die should enliven himself” which refers to pursuing one’s physical desires.
As he puts it, “Aharon’s sons were most holy, they had ‘killed off’ (eliminated) their physical desires, they nevertheless died through coming too close to God.” Going back to the opening verse of the parsha “God spoke to Moshe after the deaths of the two sons of Aharon” – after they had eliminated their physical desires – “as they aimed to get closer to God, they died” – even though they had gotten rid of their physical desires, because they got TOO close to God, they died.
The message is really a question more than anything else. In what manner do we view our existence? We all want to live! But are we ready to die when our time comes? What are we living for that can be improved upon in a way that can be inspiring to ourselves, our families, others? What of our lives and the way we live our lives has not yet been written? If Nadav and Avihu can essentially kill their yetzer hara, and thus be declared by Moshe to be the holiest people in God’s eyes, isn’t there merit to achieving such a goal? And even if we like our yetzer hara (after all, he is an old friend!), that doesn’t mean we have to listen to him as often as he gives us bad advice!
Rabbi Aharon Leib Shteinman Z’L was once asked by his grandson “You moved around and studied in different yeshivos. Who is considered your primary Rebbe?” His answer was “My primary Rebbe is my yetzer hara, and I’m still trying to get rid of him!”
What we can learn from the two depictions of their deaths is that there is a level of purity that can be achieved in this world, and there is a level of holiness that is too much for this world. Had Nadav and Avihu simply become non-sinners, who knows what may have happened? Their service in the Mishkan might have become the most inspiring scene for all who came to have these upstanding Kohanim represent them in their service. Their deaths came because God “realized” they wanted a closeness that couldn’t be achieved by a human being. They were ready to move to the next world – which is why their deaths happened in an instant, their souls leaving their bodies, their bodies untouched and unscathed.
Most of us likely don’t need to put too many checks on the levels of holiness we can achieve – our yetzer hara is our rebbe for that! – but we can all certainly aim for a higher level of purity, one that is certainly appropo for this world. What would we have to give up to achieve any level higher than where we are? If it’s something that we want for ourselves, there is no time like the present to begin pursuing loftier goals in our spiritual pursuits.
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