Free Will to Serve God - Because We Want To

Parshat Kedoshim 

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 In the days pre COVID and hospitals having their restrictive rules on visitors, whenever I’d visit someone in the hospital or a nursing home facility, patients or residents would see my kippah and ask one of two things. “Is it Shabbos?” or “Rabbi, can you say a prayer for me?” 

 Understandably it was never Shabbos – so that one was an easy No, often followed by an explanation that I wear this all the time irrespective of the day of the week. 

 To the second question the answer is of course Yes, but I’d follow it with a reminder “You know, you are allowed to pray for yourself! In fact, that may be a better prayer than mine, because you know exactly what you need and what you would like to see happen.” 

 The point is simply that you need to do what you want to do, for yourself, rather than pawning it off to someone else. “Pawning” is not the right word – but the idea that some random person who doesn’t know you has more power in Tefillah than you do is not true, and trying to push that responsibility onto someone else to the detriment of one’s own abilities is, in a way, tragic. And while we sometimes ascribe great power to the meritorious tsaddikim who are often enough asked to pray for others, there is no greater example of God hearing the prayer of an individual praying for himself than our Torah reading on the first day of Rosh Hashana, when we hearing of the ill Yishmael crying out to God on his own behalf. 

 While it’s not exactly the same, this memory came to mind when reading the verse (19:5) “On the day when you bring an offering, it should be of your own will” and the commentary of R Yosef Bchor Shor on that verse. He writes, 

“Put all of your desire into it. Don’t have any negativity towards what you are bringing as an offering before the Almighty. There are people who make an offering before the Almighty, but it is difficult for them (i.e. they don’t really want to do it). Yet [since] they see others who are doing so, they feel embarrassed not to follow suit. This (kind of offering) has no value, because God knows what is in the hearts of people. As Koheles said: And I saw all the toil and all the excellence of work, which is a man's envy of his friend; this too is vanity and frustration.” 

 It’s a very simple challenge that R Bchor Shor is placing before us. How much are we defined by the Joneses? How much of what we do are we doing because others are doing it? Do we serve God in any way or capacity because it is socially approved in our little circles? What if it weren’t approved in our circles? Would we still do so? 

 Do we have any hesitation or reticence about our service of God? Our desire to perform Mitzvos and fulfill His will? Do we do anything with reluctance? Prayer? Give tzedakah? Chesed? Speak kindly to others? Hold back from the juicy gossip? Embrace holiday seasons? Engage in Torah study? Listen attentively when someone is teaching us Torah thoughts? Look askance at certain restrictive Kosher measures? 

 Using a very simple example from our Parsha, R Bchor Shor is reminding us that in terms of our commitment to God and Torah, we should be “All in” at all times. We have our difficult moments and difficult days – that may be true. But the real question driving everything is what grounds me and what drives me? If each of us is committed at the deepest levels of our hearts and minds, then we are in a great space and a great place. We know what we want in this life, and we know that much of the outcomes we anticipate are driven by our input and output. 

 When we approach our observant lives through a lens of confidence in our life choices and decisions, as well as gratitude for those who came before us who carried and passed on the torch to us, we are in a great space. 

 Would we have chosen this life if it weren’t handed to us? We all know people who have chosen this life that was not handed to them – either through making changes in their already Jewish life, or through converting to Judaism. 

 All of us could make a similar thought process into a reality when we actively choose this life through going beyond a familiar routine, and elevating all of our experiences into partially spiritual endeavors, guided by the excitement of a meaningful life being lived under the wings of the Divine.

Nadav and Avihu: An Attainable Level of Purity, Unattainable Level of Holiness

Parshat Acharei Mot

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.

The Most Difficult Week is the Most Transformative

Parshat Metzora

by Rabbi Avi Billet

A man who was afflicted with tzara’as was given clearance by the Kohen, but even after washing his clothes, shaving his hair and dunking in a mikveh, and returning to the camp, וְיָשַׁ֛ב מִח֥וּץ לְאָהֳל֖וֹ שִׁבְעַ֥ת יָמִֽים. He still needs to camp outside his own tent for a week. 

 He’s almost there! He’s gone through the transformation! He’s examined his deeds, he’s merited to have the tzara’as disappear. He can go home! His job is done! 

 But he has to wait outside his tent for another week! How could this be? 

 Alshikh explains that it’s true he went through an important process. But the most important process begins when he is on the threshold of his house when he is barred from entry. It’s onlyאחר רבוי ימים יתחיל לתקן העבירות - after the days are extended that he can begin to fix his sins. A process is one thing to begin, but if a real transformation in a person’s approach hasn’t occurred there is no home to which one can return. In other words: Externals are wonderful. I’m not demonstrably speaking lashon hara. I am not exhibiting signs of stinginess. But has my heart changed as well? 

 Alshikh further explains: when a person merits to return to the camp – this is the Holy Camp. However, he is not ready to reenter his own domain. It’s one thing to settle one’s score with others. In a way it is much easier. But how does one settle the score with oneself? The soul needs its own personal tikkun. 

 Back in Parshat Vayetze Yaakov worked 7 years to marry Rachel, and the Torah describes those years as if they were days. Alshikh employs a reverse equation here. That ימי שנותיו שבעים שנה are alluded to in this seven day period. When the seven day period is over, it becomes, in a sense, a rebirth for the person. 70 years – a lifetime! – has passed. You’re outside your home. You see day to day life going on, and you can’t be a part of it. It’s almost like the final scene in Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town.” You’re watching life go on, but you can’t be a part of it. 

Seven days feels like an eternity. But in truth, that seven day period – which is a time of further introspection, of furthering our full commitment to changing beyond the externals and changing the heart – is very liberating. When we finally understand why we’re waiting outside, we know who we are, and we see what real change needs to take place in order to return home. What must I do? And what can I expect of others in order to achieve that coveted return to the home?

Some of the commentaries utilize the gemaras in Moed Katan 15 and Krisus 8 that say his being forbidden from “returning home” is a metaphor to “returning to his wife.” In other words, his inability to return home means that marital relations are forbidden for another week. 

 The Vilna Gaon [as seen in Haktav V’hakabbalah] points to the Mishnah in the last chapter of Negaim that says he is both מנודה מביתו שבעת ימים ואסור בתשמיש המטה. He may not enter his house, and marital relations are also forbidden as his wife can’t visit him outside either. 

Some point out the disparity. If it were a woman who had tzara’as, the prohibition against marital relations would not apply – it says מחוץ לאהלו (he sits outside of his tent) and not מחוץ לאהלה (no reference to sitting outside her tent). It’s only the man who had been a metzora who had this prohibition. The Torah Temimah suggests that perhaps the 7-days that the man waits outside is reminiscent of the 7 days the woman waits in her taharah reality before she actually goes to the mikveh. It is a precautionary preventative to avoid a prohibition. It is to be sure that in case a relapse occurs – in the metzora’s case through the return of tzara’as – they will not have been living in sin. He was tameh for a while, now he is having 7 pure days to prepare for their reunion. 

Why is the additional week-long prohibition only on the man when he had tzara’as, and not on the woman if she had tzara’as? Torah Temimah explains: because we don’t want her to become further denigrated in the eyes of her husband. 

 Why should there be a difference? Don’t the marital relations involve both parties anyway? Perhaps the Torah is suggesting a sociological reality. All of the laws of tzara’as are addressed in the masculine, except for two times when a woman is mentioned (13:29, 38). Both could get tzara’as, but it’s not as pervasive in women. 

Perhaps we can suggest that the attainment of tzara’as was more common in men than in women. It’s almost expected that a man will go through this process. But a woman? Could a woman be as guilty as a man? 

 Speaking in generalities – the sins which the Gemara claim caused tzara’as are lashon hora (slander and gossip), murder, swearing in vain, immorality, haughtiness, theft, and stinginess. Surely women can do these too, but it’s not farfetched to suggest that (again, in general) men have cornered the majority of most of these markets. 

 A man will deal with the embarrassment, the stigma, and may even roll his eyes when it comes around again. He looks good bald and he doesn’t mind having no eyebrows. For her, however, the ordeal itself, plus the removal of the eyebrows is devastating enough! Don’t further bring her down through keeping her separated from her husband, whom she, of all people, may really need after her ordeal, to help her cope with her new reality. This is a wonderful example of the Torah showing sensitivity to a woman’s needs. 

 Most men, on the other hand, don’t put as much stock in their looks as their female counterparts. And if they need to go rugged another week, they accept it as the price to pay, understanding that the transformation is not complete without this week. And so this week becomes a time of thought, introspection, commitment, and real change. 

 The final 7 day period, of being so close and yet so far, is meant to drive home the idea that just because a negative ordeal seems over, it is not over yet until the person has gone through the complete process that was the purpose of the project to begin with.

For a former metzora, it is understanding the real nature of the act that put the tzara’as ordeal in motion and making a real move to change. 

For a husband, it’s a different kind of appreciation of his wife. 

For a wife, her emotional needs become increasingly clear to her husband. 

 And perhaps, to stretch the thought to the coming holiday, the 7 day period when we are out of our comfort zone – with no chametz – maybe it is to help us appreciate what we have throughout the year just a little more.

Infertility Awareness and the Power of Prayer

Parshat Tazria 

 by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 A little less than a year ago, the headline read: “Five Fertility Patients awarded $15 million after failure of freezing tank” 

 This was the follow up to a tragic story from 2018 when an infertility clinic in San Francisco had their freezer (containing thousands of frozen eggs and fertilized embryos) fail, making all of those potential babies no longer viable. 

 From the article from June 2021: 

“Five patients of a California fertility center have been awarded a total of $15m after a freezing tank failed, rendering some of more than 3,500 frozen human embryos and eggs unviable. 

While the extent of the damage from the accidental thaw is unclear, jurors awarded the sum to clients of the Pacific Fertility Center in San Francisco after finding that the storage tank maker, Chart Industries, had known about a defect that prevented accurate temperature monitoring and had not warned the center about the problem. 

The case could have significant consequences for a fertility industry estimated to be worth $37 billion by 2030 and comes amid declining fertility rates and a drop in childbirth, recently described as a Covid baby-bust.” [Regarding that “baby bust,” see here: https://www.brookings.edu/blog/up-front/2021/05/05/the-coming-covid-19-baby-bust-is-here/]

Others settled outside of court. I don’t need to tell you that for people who go this route, there is always a story, whether of rounds and rounds of infertility treatments, of many miscarriages, of taking out healthy eggs before chemo and radiation treatments. 

The 5 patients include women who will likely never have their own child now. This is sad for them – and while I am sure the judgment pays them back for much money they laid out in their treatments and their plans, the money will never replace the chance they had, the dream they hoped for. 

 Our shul is once again participating in the Yesh Tikva Infertility Awareness Shabbos [see more at https://yeshtikva.org/]. We do this because we all know people – for some of us it may be our children or grandchildren – who struggle with infertility. And we also do this to be aware of a sensitivity needed towards those who do not have children – either due to their own struggles with infertility or simply marrying later in life. Yesh Tikva’s goal is to provide resources for those who need help, and also to educate our greater community on how relate to the people who fit either description just mentioned. 

 Some simple examples:

 • Never asking younger people when they are going to start having children, whether they are your children or grandchildren, and especially if they are not your family.

 • Never complain about your children to people who only wish for such a reason to complain

 • Be sensitive to the reality some people live with – even if they seem OK with it. Don’t say things like “You don’t have children so you don’t really know what I’m talking about.”

What CAN we say or do? 

 We can be thoughtful and careful in the things we say, and remember to treat all our children the same, and all of our friends the same, when it comes to relating to them – irrespective of their being-parents or not-being-parents status. 

We can be sensitive. If they are still in the “parsha” of possibly having children, we can reach out and say “I pray for you all the time.” We can wish people that ה' ימלא כל משאלות לבכם – “that God should fulfill your wishes.” 

 What does it mean to pray for others? One of the Torah narratives in which prayer for others plays a role is the story of the pre-destruction of Sodom. Rav Moshe Feinstein asked why God found the need to tell Avraham about Sodom? Even if He knew Avraham would pray, He also knew that Avraham's prayer would have no effect. Sodom was doomed, and not even Avraham could save it! 

Rav Moshe answers that God wanted Avraham's prayers anyway. Avraham's prayers were powerful and needed to be brought to the earth for a purpose – a purpose and design other than to save the doomed city 

Similarly, the Talmud (Sanhedrin 44b) tells us that when Avraham prayed near the city of Ai (Bereshit 12:8), his prayers did nothing at the time, but prevented Yehoshua's army from being routed in the Battle of Ai (Yehoshua 7:5) around 465 years later.

 This is one element of prayer that is beyond all of us. We simply do not know what our prayers do, what merit they serve to advocate for in our world. 

 This is also why we say Tehillim beyond what is in our davening for those who are ill in a state of urgency – whether pre or during surgery, or in an unexplained coma, or whatever the reasons. There is a distinction in Halakha between issuing a זעקה – which is not recommended on Shabbos – and a תפילה – which is absolutely permitted on Shabbos. Praying for others, at any time, is absolutely appropriate. 

 When it comes to having a child, this lesson of praying for someone is even more profound.

The Talmud tells us in Niddah and Kiddushin that there are three partners in creation: Mother, Father, and God. If the contributing factor of one of these partners doesn’t work right, it seems the Talmud is saying, there will not be a baby. And while with modern medical science we can suggest there is sometimes a 4th partner, medical science doesn’t note when God is not contributing His part. That is where the devout Jew needs to pay careful attention to the Talmud’s 3rd partner. 

 Towards the opening of our Parsha, Rabbi Yitzchak Caro (in his Toldot Yitzchak) utilizes a Talmudic teaching to explain how an expectant parent must pray for fertilization to take root in the first three days from the act meant to lead to conception, from day 3 to day 40 pray for a male child, (surely that prayer could be for a female child too!) from day 40 to the end of the first trimester pray that it shouldn’t be a miscarriage, from 3 months to 6 months pray that it should not be a stillborn, from 6 months pray that it should be born in peace. 

If so, he concludes, it seems that the health of the child and success of the pregnancy is dependent on prayer much more than on nature. 

The sex of the child, he claims, is dependent on ואם כן נראה שזה הדבר תלוי בתפילה ולא בטבע - prayer more than a natural outcome. And then while he explains that naturally בטבע - anything might happen, if potential parents specifically want a male or a female, לזה צריך תפילה (prayer is needed). Halevai everyone who wants a child should get to the stage where such an option (prayer) is all they need to worry themselves with.

 In our world of science and rationalism, we tend to aim to find explanations for why things go right, and even moreso for when things go wrong. It’s the man, it’s the woman, the doctor’s approach and system of treatment, etc. 

 But maybe, just maybe, we don’t have all the answers because some causes and cases go beyond the realm of the natural world. An unhealthy woman sometimes gives birth to a completely healthy and normal baby. A healthy woman can’t carry a baby to term. What’s wrong with this picture? 

It’s impossible to answer this question. But Toldot Yitzchak’s suggestion is the solution to the role we can all play. There is a need for prayer that goes far beyond our understanding, and enters the realm of the cosmos in terms of where it sits, lies and waits, and then returns to influence the world. 

Years ago a colleague shared an essay from a project his shul had in which people wrote of what tefillah means to them. One thought, from a mother of a child-diagnosed-with-cancer, impacted me deeply. She wrote, "You don't know what prayer is until you find out your child will not outlive you." Most helpful, she wrote, was when a person who had gone through a similar trial confided in her saying, "There are times when you will be angry at God. You will not be able to pray. Don't worry. The rest of us will be praying for you."

 These are powerful thoughts. It's not just that every individual has the ability to move mountains. It's that we are all in this together, looking out for one another, making a prayer-contribution because somewhere, somehow, it helps all of us, perhaps in ways we could not even consider or imagine. That thought was shared by a mother whose child was not going to live much longer. Perhaps such a sentiment can apply as well to the man and woman who are not yet parents, who are looking at a bleak future, because they have no idea what the future hold for their not-yet-conceived child. Or for their pregnancies that miscarry time after time. 

 The financial settlements noted at the beginning won’t bring back any lost eggs or embryos. But for those who haven’t given up hope (“Yesh Tikva”) the future is a wide open book of possibility, of realities that haven’t been written yet. 

As a mohel I’ve worked with people who have incredible stories: Cancer survivors who had babies, others who through the help of science and medicine had babies after years of tears and infertility, others who after thinking they could only have babies with help were shocked to find a beating heart in a womb they were told couldn’t make it happen alone, surrogates from the most unexpected places, secondary infertility which yielded successful pregnancies, people who were told by physicians they would never have children who defied all the odds and textbooks and built beautiful families. 

When we pray for others we indicate that in whatever ether, whatever cosmos that are beyond our understanding, we are trying to have an influence. We are doing what we can, connecting with the Borei Olam, to show HIM that we believe our prayers are what He wants, and that He uses them how He wants to move the mountains that we care about. Sometimes people need a physical healing. Sometimes people need a spiritual healing. Sometimes people need an emotional healing. Sometimes people need to find methods of coping because the challenges life throws their way can be so so so overwhelming. We think of them and pray for them because we care that they can find a way to enjoy life even with the difficulties life may throw their way – and when healing is possible, that it should be achieved with God speed. 

 We shine our best and most when we do what we can for people – rejoicing with them in good times and being as supportive as we can in rough times. Including the painful struggle of infertility. 

The life we live is not one in which we go it alone and don’t care about others. On the contrary, if we don’t care about others, our lives are hardly worth living.

Is Death Always a Punishment?

Parshat Shmini

by Rabbi Avi Billet

One of the more fascinating, albeit tragic, tales in the Torah surrounds the deaths of Aharon’s two oldest sons, Nadav and Avihu. The Torah records the incidence of their death four times (Vayikra 10:1, 16:1, Bamidbar 3:4, 26:61) and it is also mentioned in Divrei Hayamim I 24:2. In all of the Torah’s mentions of the incident it ties their deaths to their coming close or bringing close to God (בקרבתם לפני ה') while some of these also mention the “strange fire” that they used. The Divrei HaYamim verse and the first Bamidbar verse also connects the depiction of their being dead to their not having children. 

 What the Torah does not do is elaborate much more on the episode, leaving much unsaid, focusing more on the reality (that they are deceased) and the narrative which follows their deaths, which includes the need to continue to get the Mishkan running in this Eighth Day, the day of the Inauguration of the Tent of Meeting. 

 Did they sin? 

On a very simple level, the Torah says they did something they were not commanded to do. Moshe’s immediate response to their deaths is “this is what God said would happen – ‘With those closes t to Me I will be sanctified’” – which is a way of suggesting that this was God’s way of bringing a special sanctification to this moment. In fact, the Torah Shleimah records a passage suggesting that a reason Nadav and Avihu brought the strange fire was because they saw all the Korbanot bringing brought and they didn’t see God’s fire coming down as promised. This would suggest that they were already putting their scheme in place to “help” at the time the last verse in Chapter 9 took place, and they may have missed the fire coming down to consume the offering. 

Further, Rav Kasher writes, “Nadav turned to Avihu and said, ‘Does a person ever cook without a fire?’ and so they brought fire into the innermost area. God said to them, ‘I will honor you more than you honored Me. You brought in an impure fire. I will consume you with a pure fire.” 

This “honoring” Nadav and Avihu is a unique perspective (though shared by Moshe Rabbenu!) because it is anathema to the way we are trained to think. Of course we are sad when someone we know or someone we love passes away. We will miss the person terribly! 

But can we ever presume to know the ways of God? 

 The Rabbis scoured the text of the Torah and suggested a number of reasons Nadav and Avihu died – including that they died because they saw God in chapter 24, as punishment to Aharon for his role in the Golden Calf, for their disrespect towards Moshe and Aharon, wondering aloud when the two old men would die so they could take over (as if!), and that they were either drunk, wearing the wrong clothes, deciding laws for themselves, not seeking advice from Moshe and Aharon, because they did not have children, or because they entered the Holy of Holies. 

To the last one – did they? Seforno and other are of the belief that לפני ה' does not mean specifically entering the Holy of Holies, and that while they were inside the Mishkan, they did not enter the forbidden inner sanctum. 

 Most of those suggestions are based in other Pesukim that give warnings to the Kohanim as to what their Mishkan-conduct is supposed to look like. However, never does it say in the text that they did any of these things, nor is the word Sin (חטא) ever associated with them in the Torah. So while the suggestions may be compelling, in the end all we really have is that God took them as they brought the strange fire. Which leads to a follow up question. 

 Is that a terrible crime that is deserving of death in the realm of punishment? 

 There is no way to answer that question as that is in the realm of what God may decide and is beyond our comprehension. However, we may wonder if they had been warned yet that doing any of these behaviors would bring about a negative repercussion. It is unfair to punish someone for a crime that had never been declared a crime. 

While there is much to focus on if indeed they were guilty of all or some of those errors, the fact that the Torah doesn’t make the connection speaks volumes about what they DID versus what they did NOT. 

 Which brings us back to where we started. Did they sin? Was their death a punishment? To whom? To them? To their father and mother? To their siblings? 

Death isn’t always a punishment. Look at the end of the mortal life of Hanokh in Parshat Bereshit, and Eliyahu as he ascends to the heavens in a chariot of fire. Look at Lemech’s and Methselach’s deaths before the Flood. Look at Avraham’s death 5 years “early” as a mercy so he shouldn’t see Eisav go off on a bad path. [See the comments for a comment of Seforno on B'haaloskha]

 Imagine people we know who were suffering and their suffering ended with their deaths. Imagine an innocent soul being taken by God through illness or accident. Or a baby who dies around the time it is born or shortly afterwards. 

We don’t have answers – we just have a life we aim to make sense of, and to do our best to find meaning in it. 

 We never want to think a person died as a punishment for their deeds, so why should we ascribe such a thought to Nadav and Avihu. 

If Moshe Rabbenu said they died because God was sanctifying the Mishkan it means God viewed them as the purest people, and God desired their souls for Himself because their lives had achieved their purpose in life and it was time for their souls to go on to the next stage of its journey.

Moshe Rabbenu – Always Growing and Modeling Improving Oneself

Parshat Tzav 

 by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 Reading carefully through Vayikra Chapter 8, one discovers that basically all of the service that is done is accomplished through the capable hands of… Moshe. Not Aharon, not Aharon’s sons (the Kohanim). 

Of course, this is certainly understandable as the whole series of procedures is meant to inaugurate Aharon and sons into their new status and their positions as Kohanim. Nothing is more clear about that than verse 8:33 in which Aharon and sons are instructed not to leave the Mishkan for a 7-day period. This is the time of their full-blown-consecration, so there they must be. (Ibn Ezra and Chizkuni note that they must have been able to step out to take care of bodily functions and that their presence there was not a full-blown confinement or quarantine – it was simply meant to help them keep focus on where they were and what they were supposed to be achieving in that space.)

Moshe’s role, however, seems out of character. Meaning, if Moshe were to be the Kohen Gadol, or A Kohen Gadol (sharing the position with Aharon) it would almost make sense, perhaps in a manner similar to how the Parah Adumah ashes would work – those who would handle it, bringing purity to others, would end up becoming tamei until the evening – that Moshe should be able to fill this role, but once the inaugural period is over, he’d return to his regular status.

Since prior to this inauguration time there was no Kohen, how could Aharon and sons become Kohanim through the agency of a Kohen? Clearly that would be impossible! Comes Moshe Rabbenu… and the rest is history…

How does that work?

In general, the role of the Kohen is one of higher sanctification. Subsequent to the consecration of Aharon and Sons to the positions of Kohen, their future generations would not need the consecration as it would become genetic. But the sanctification component of simply being a Kohen would become a calling for every Kohen in every generation. How does a Kohen fill a role he is born into, with dignity, class, and of course, with the proper spiritual mettle? 

This is where Moshe Rabbenu comes in, serving as a model for all time. The Midrash tells us (Vayikra Raba 11:6) that Moshe served as Kohen Gadol not only these 7 days, but also for all 40 years in the wilderness. This, of course, doesn’t follow what the Torah tells us, but it is based in the verse we say on Friday nights in Kabbalas Shabbos – משה ואהרן בכהנו – which indicate an equality between the brothers in Kehunah. At the same time, the Talmud (Taanis 11b) has students of Mar Ukva posing him a question as to what clothing Moshe wore during this time? The Talmud’s conclusion is that he wore a white tunic that had no hems or seams – not his regular clothing, and not clothing on par or in equivalence with that of his brother. 

No matter how we look at Moshe’s role, we can take a valuable lesson from how Moshe went about his business in this parsha.

 If someone is going to play this particular role of being the anointer of the Kohanim, presumably this person will have to be on a level that is worthy of casting such holiness upon them. There is none more worthy than Moshe Rabbenu, of course, but we can certainly ask how we can know that unequivocally. What would have been the criteria to be the anointer and appointer of the Kohanim? 

 In particular through the aftermath of the Golden Calf we see Moshe Rabbenu rise in stature in the way people did not see and could not discern prior to those events. Certainly Moshe had achieved powerful moments of respect and awe in Egypt (Shmos 11:3) and after the splitting of the sea (14:31) but when he was on top of the mountain, people referred to him as זה מה האיש – this man Moshe, seemingly not such a respectful tone – we don’t know what became of him! 

 In retrospect, between Moshe’s time on the mountain AND the events which followed the Golden Calf there was a switch in how people perceived him, between his tent becoming the makeshift Ohel Moed, his face shining, his breaking the Tablets and getting a “Yasher Koach” from God, he is miles ahead of where any other person can possibly be, and therefore ready to be the one consecrating the Kohanim. 

The question we are tasked with is, how could we possibly achieve a similar status?

 Of course the circumstances are quite different. None of us will have a 40 days (or 120 day) chavrusa with God. None of us will preside over a makeshift Mishkan, or bring Tablets down from Mt. Sinai. 

 But we can dedicate ourselves wholly to the Almighty. We can aim to learn from Moshe’s teachings, which all emanate from the Torah he gave to us through God’s hand. We can challenge ourselves to live lives of holiness. And who knows? Is it farfetched to think that these efforts would pay off in our own development were we to grasp the challenge and run with it? 

 הרצים יצאו דחופים בדבר המלך – we just read in the Megillah that the runners ran out hurriedly on the king’s instruction. There is a tradition that when the word המלך appears in the Megillah, we are to imagine that it refers to the King of Kings. We have our challenges before us, our job in life to always be aiming higher in our service of the Almighty, to take the challenge and run with it.

 According to the Talmud, Moshe was able to serve as an erstwhile Kohen Gadol because he had achieved greatness in his life. At the same time, he wasn’t a complete Kohen Gadol with the proper vestments, because not even Moshe Rabbenu can get to such a position. But Moshe was uniquely suited for the task at hand of inaugurating and anointing his brother and nephews because of the things he had personally achieved in his own life. 

We too can achieve greatness. We know what our job is in our service of God. Some of us work at it more, and some perhaps less than we are capable of. May we learn from and emulate Moshe Rabbenu, who even after all he had achieved, always saw that he was incomplete and always aimed a little higher and to do a little more, constantly improving on himself so that, to use our Parsha’s example, he could anoint the Kohanim, even if he would or could never fully be a Kohen himself, complete in the manner that his brother Aharon was destined to become.

How Korbanos Can Very Much Be Part of Our Lives

Parshat Vayikra 

by Rabbi Avi Billet

 This week we are introduced to Vayikra and the sacrificial order. 

 In chapter 4, the instruction comes from God that Moshe is to tell the people “If a נפש (literally ‘a soul,’ though sometimes it simply means ‘a person’) sins accidentally, [doing] one of the [negative] mitzvoth of God that one should not do…” that there is a procedure to follow to achieve atonement. 

 Alshikh explains that the intent of the Torah through this statement is to tell someone of the proper thought process to be experienced. “Don’t think, ‘what have I done? How will my sin be counted? I never intended to sin or to rebel against God.’ The person needs to understand that when this accidental sin happens, there is a flaw in the person’s soul on account of some other sin the person has committed, or even from an errant thought a person has had. The person who is sinless doesn’t come to commit sins by accident, for ‘even the animals of the righteous don’t come to do anything wrong’ (Hullin7a), so certainly the righteous themselves don’t sin accidentally. It is thus because a person sinned through doing a mitzvah one isn’t supposed to do (ie violate a negative commandment) that one becomes prone to committing a sin by accident.” 

In the Rav Peninim Chumash, the editors go on to ask what the purpose of Korbanos was. Quoting Abravanel, the suggestion is made that one reason for Korbanos was to put in check the accidental sinner who is simply not careful, or is actually careless! Being, for most people, a serious financial commitment, the korban aims to hit the person in the pocket to remind the person to be more careful in the future, and to thus avoid the kinds of circumstance that cause the individual to sin. 

 An individual who becomes טמא, in many cases is a person who isn’t careful about the rules of Tumah and Tahara. But someone who takes upon himself to be careful about that – such as a נזיר – and nevertheless becomes טמא is a person who falls into the category of נפש כי תחטא, a soul who has veered from a proper parth. 

 To turn one’s activities in the opposite direction, the Rabbis taught זריזות מביא לידי זהירות, זהירות מביא לידי טהרה, טהרה מביא לידי קדושה, or “Alacrity leads to being careful, being careful leads one to purity, and purity brings one to holiness.” 

 This approach suggests that, at least from one perspective, the sacrificial order is one that is meant to give a person pause to think about what it means to create this kind of connection with God. Certainly not all Korbanos (offerings, sacrifices) come from a place of sin – there were Korbanos for holidays and special occasions, as well as daily offerings in Temple times, which indicate it’s not only about sin offerings and guilt offerings. 

 For us, Korbanos still play a central role in our synagogue service, between the many Torah readings (including many holiday readings and Maftirs) that remind us of Korbanos, as well as the first part of davening that is actually referred to as “Korbanos,” we certainly have regular (think of Shabbos and Yom Tov Mussaf services), even daily reminders of what we are missing. Of course, our daily reminder is a fulfillment of the phrase from Hoshea 14:3 ונשלמה פרים שפתינו, that we “pay” for the bull (offerings) through the words that come out of our lips. 

 This teaches us a few important lessons. 

1. Korbanos as part of our davening is quite significant. They should not be rushed through or skipped. The Talmud even says that when we read all of Korbanos God considers it is as if we have brought them all and to those who recite them He grants forgiveness for their sins. (Taanis 27b) There is a perspective in Halakha that if one only has time for one – either reading Korbanos or Pesukei D’Zimrah – that Korbanos should take precedence. 

2. We have to imagine that we have penalties built into the lives we live when we make errors. Some people may make a public apology or admission and suffer embarrassment in this world. Others will take a self-imposed financial hit through giving a penalty to tzedakah for violating a sin. 

3. The idea of using Korbanos as a tool to get close to God (קרבן and קרוב are quite related) is something we should not dis-count or push aside. 

There are many mitzvos associated with Korbanos, as noted by the Sefer HaChinukh every time a new Korban is mentioned in the Torah, and while we don’t bring the Korban physically in the absence of the Beis HaMikdash, the thought processes and devotions attached to the bringing of these Korbanos can certainly be part of our experience should we choose to make it such. 

In short, Korbanos as an experience is meant to inject an awareness of finding meaning in life. Whether we look at it from the perspective of devotion to God, financial penalty for wayward behavior, or even a concept of how the bringing of the animal itself brings about atonement, we can tap into such concepts in our own lives and experience. 

When thinking of the positive things in our lives that would warrant a Korban, we can donate to Tzedakah in lieu of bringing a Korban. When thinking of incidents we regret in our behaviors and activities, we can think of donating to a different Tzedakah, based on a self-imposed penalty that will remind us that the donations in that direction are on account of vices that we can’t seem to overcome. When we simply want to demonstrate our general devotion to God, as many of us do daily, we can pay special attention to the Korbanos in our davening, and make a commitment to say every word, not rushing through them, as this is our way of essentially visiting or participating in the activities of the Beis Hamikdash with regularity. 

May our lips indeed replace the bulls and other animals as our offerings to God, and may we merit to serve Him in the most ideal way when the Beis HaMikdash is once again rebuilt.