Parshas Shlach – Named to Fame

The penultimate subject of Parshas Shlach Lcha begins with anonymity. “And it was that when Bnei Yisrael was in the Wildreness, and they came upon a man gathering wood on Shabbas” (Bamidbar 9:32). While the Midrash provides details on the who, where, when, and even why, the fact that it is written in such an ambiguous and anonymous manner communicates in itself something profoundly meaningful.

Before exploring the wood-gatherer further, however, let us look at the very beginning of the parsha. “These are their names: For the tribe of Reuben, Shammua the son of Zakkur. For the tribe of Simeon, Shaphat the son of Hori. For the tribe of Judah, Caleb the son of Jepphunneh. For the tribe of Issachar, Yigal the son of Joseph.  For the tribe of Ephraim, Hoshea the son of Nun. For the tribe of Benjamin, Palti the son of Raphu.     For the tribe of Zebulun, Gaddiel the son of Sodi. For the tribe of Joseph, for the tribe of Manasseh, Gaddi the son of Susi. For the tribe of Dan, Ammiel the son of Gemalli. For the tribe of Asher, Sethur the son of Michael. For the tribe of Naphtali, Nahbi the son of Vophsi. For the tribe of Gad, Geuel the son of Machi. These are the names of the men Moses sent to scout the Land…” (13:4-16).

 

The parsha starts out with recounting the journey of the spies, how they went into the Promised Land, looked around, and declared that the land was too difficult and dangerous for them. Ten of these 12 men led Bnei Yisrael into despair, into crying out that they were being led to their death. Their behavior effected not just Bnei Yisrael in the Wilderness, but every generation since.

 

Parshas Shlach highlights two places where people did wrong, where there were actions and punishments and significant consequences. Their crimes were very different, but it is interesting to note that whereas the wood-gatherer is given anonymity, the spies are listed by name. This leads us to two interesting and opposing questions. What is similar about these two situations? What is the difference between them?

 

The two main narratives of Parshas Shlach are connected in a very subtle way. According to tradition, had Bnei Yisrael entered the Promised Land at that time, they would have done so with Moshe as their leader, and they would have been given a situation much as we imagine the forthcoming days of Moshiach (bimhairah b’yameinu). But with all the blessing that includes, it also precludes spiritual growth, and Bnei Yisrael really weren’t ready for that. Similarly, it is a well-known statement that if Klal Yisrael keeps two consecutive Shabbasim, they will bring Moshiach, and, again, they weren’t ready for that. In fact, several commentaries assert that the wood-gatherer acted deliberately in order to break the second Shabbas and to teach his brethren about the true significance of guarding Shabbas because they were not yet spiritually strong enough.

 

Both actions had dire consequences for Klal Yisrael, so why are the spies named but the wood-gatherer left anonymous?

 

The wood-gatherer was a man who sinned. Whether he sinned on purpose, as some commentaries say, or by accident, whether he chose to ignore the warning he received or didn’t understand the consequences of his actions, he was just a member of the kehilla. His transgression was grave. And while there is an idea that except for him Klal Yisrael would have kept a perfect Shabbas, that is also not a foregone conclusion. Someone else might have erred.

 

The spies, on the other hand, were not just members of Klal Yisrael. The Torah wants it made clear that they were men of significance, that they were leaders of their tribes. Interestingly, the Torah describes the wood-gatherer’s actions from the point of being caught, after the act is done; the narrative of the spies, on the other hand, is related from before they acted.

 

The actions of Shammua, Shaphat, Yigal, Palti, Gaddiel, Gaddi, Ammiel, Sethur, Nahbi, and G’uel were compounded by their name. They had influence. They knew that their brethren would listen to them, would follow them. They are named because they were significant people to others.

 

We live in an era where celebrity comes and goes, where too many people are pushing for their five minutes of fame, where everyone and their brother seem to think that if they have a smartphone with a camera they can be touted as experts on something or other. But being known, being famous, being a person people immediately think of and turn to, means that one’s every action has a greater impact on other people.

 

The Torah doesn’t name the wood-gatherer because who he is is not important, and he has the right to privacy and respect. His actions are significant and so must be publicized, but his name does not have to be. Who the spies were, on the other hand, had a direct connection to the impact of their actions, and they cannot be shielded from being named and connected to the great travesty that sent Bnei Yisrael back into the Wilderness.

Parshas Behaaloscha: A Day or Two, a Decade or a Millenia

 We all know that history repeats itself. We all know that there are few constants in world history as anti-Semitism. We all just didn’t expect to be living through the end  of such a short period of a golden age, an era when Jews are able to flourish and thrive. And this golden age has been particularly significant after the drastic devastation of the Holocaust.

 

It is fair to say that while there are other nations who have a history of being oppressed, there is no nation on earth that has experienced anything resembling the cycle of success and persecution as the Jewish people. But even with the knowledge of this history of the world, we, as individuals, are still trying to understand why now – why so soon – and why here.

 

The world is a journey, a march through time. When Hashem made us a nation and set in motion our journey from Mitzrayim, Hashem knew that it would be a long path ahead of us. Hashem told us that we would come into the Promised Land and that we would mess up and be kicked out. Hashem told us that we would transgress and lose our way and that we would face devastating punishment, persecution and exile. The warnings are not subtle.

 

But in His Torah, and in His relationship with the Dor HaMidbar, Hashem also provided the guidance for us to build our Emuna and Bitachon that would allow us to survive thousands of years of challenge. Hashem provided us with all of our needs, our sustenance, our clothing, etc. We wanted for nothing, not even water. Understanding Hashem’s capability to give everything a person needs reassures us in every generation that Hashem does give each person what he needs, on an individual level rather than just on a national level. The key is maintaining Emuna and Bitachon (no easy task).

 

The unceasing cycle of Jewish history, so prominent in our perception right now as we try to understand the seemingly sudden and rampant anti-Semitism, is part of the journey and the unknowable pattern of exile and movement. It is also something we can find allusion to (and take comfort from) in Bamidbar 9:22 - “Whether it was two days or a month or a year—however long the cloud lingered over the Mishkan—the Israelites remained encamped and did not set out; only when it lifted did they break camp.”

 

The Dor HaMidbar did not move through the Wilderness at a steady pace. They did not know how long they would be on the move before they stopped and encamped, and once they encamped, they did not know how long they would stay. They knew only one thing – that Hashem would let them know what they were to do.

 

It is interesting to note the Ohr Hachaim’s commentary that explains, in summary, that Bnai Yisrael were not “anxiously awaiting instructions to move.” The verses in perek tes are meant to demonstrate how the Dor HaMidbar “completely assimilated themselves to what appeared to them to be G'd's wishes in the matter….[they] did not pre-empt G'd's instructions when it came to making or breaking camp…” (as translated by Sefaria).

 

Bnei Yisrael in the Wilderness did not go forward and look at every rock and crag and wonder if this was where they would camp. They didn’t harass Moshe with “Are we there yets?” When they were moving, they were moving with purpose, and when they were told to settle, they settled completely. They were aware that they might have to move, but it did not stop them from unpacking, so to speak. They were not anxious because they understood that everything was up to Hashem.

 

Right now, it feels like an appropriate time to be anxious. However, when we reflect on the core traits of emuna and bitachon that our ancestors fostered in the Wilderness, we realize that anxiety serves no purpose. There are challenges, very real and very scary challenges, as we journey forward. We must, however, be like the Dor HaMidbar and know that our way in this world is all Yad Hashem.

 

Parshas Emor: Spring Charity

 Parshas Emor: Spring Charity

If you’ve been counting the way I’ve been counting, then congratulations on making it this far in Sefiras Haomer. (Trust me, there are years I missed counting on day two!) More seriously, if you’ve been counting the way I’ve been counting, then you are fulfilling a mitzvah from this week’s parsha: “And you shall count for yourselves from the day after the day of rest, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the waving, seven weeks shall be completed” (Vayikra 23:15).

 

It is a fact that we take our holidays very seriously. Vayikra 23 is just one of several places in the Torah where they are listed in detail, which actually makes it easy for one to just glance over them when reading the parsha and sort of nod to one’s self. Yup – Pesach, omer, Shavuos…yup, Seventh month…got it, yes. Tucked in among those perakim, however, is an extra commandment – one that seems to have nothing to do with the holy days. It is the only verse in Vayikra 23 that is, seemingly, unrelated to the holidays. It says: “And when you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not wholly reap the corner of your field, neither shall you gather the gleaning of your harvest; you shall leave them for the poor, and for the stranger: I am the L-rd your Gd” (Vayikra 23:22).

 

The obvious question, of course, is why this verse is here at all since it seems to take away from the general subject. While one can insert basic principals of logic, such as “Seeing that the principal period of harvesting commences around the time of Shavuot, the Torah chose to speak of this season first, when discussing special laws of benefit to the poor connected with the act of collecting the harvest” (Chizkuni, Leviticus 23:22:1), this only answers the question of what is the connection, not of why it was connected here.

 

Shavuos is a strange holiday. In the Torah it has no official date, just that it is celebrated at the end of the count. It is a convocation without any specific rituals. Much of how we celebrate this chag is based on minhagim rather than rules, such as all night learning and eating dairy. If we lived in an agrarian society, as Bnei Yisrael once did, Shavuos might have a more potent impact as we would be right in the middle of the spring harvest. We would have been working for weeks, and we would be highly aware of all the effort that went into the production of the food. If we were running a farm, we might come to feel that all the grain we had brought for the omer offering was enough to lose from one’s hard work. But, “Perhaps the Torah wanted to inform us that the owner of a field from which the barley for the Omer sacrifice has already been taken is still subject to the variety of tithes the farmer is commanded to leave for the poor when he harvests his field” (Or HaChaim on Leviticus 23:22:1). The Or Hachaim goes on to say that the Torah interrupts itself here, in Vayirka 23, so that a person would not think that their barley field would “no longer be subject to the legislation of the various donations which have to be separated from the harvest” (ibid.).

 

This is a very practical and efficient understanding of the verse. Perhaps we can add to that an understanding for the Jewish generations of the 21^st century, most of whom are not agrarian and none of whom yet have access to the Beish Hamikdash.

 

Reaping the harvest of the land is the glorious culmination of hard work. Our chagim are the gathering times that we today, with our long-distance families and our overbooked lives, can look forward to as a time to get back to what is most important – our spirituality and our relationship with God. On all of these holidays, we must stop and be aware not just of how fortunate we are but also on how we can help others in a dignified and meaningful way.

 

This reminder could be inferred for any of the more agriculturally aligned holidays – the shlosh regalim. It is inserted after the commandment of Shavuos, perhaps because Pesach and Sukkot are themselves so full of mitzvot and are therefore busy times for this reminder. Or perhaps it is the other way around. Sukkot and Pesach surround the winter. In the fall, as the temperatures drop, we are all aware of the upcoming need for stocked food and warm clothing. In the early spring of Pesach, we have not yet recovered from the winter, so we are more aware and conscientious of those in need who might have suffered more challenges. But in the late spring/early summer, when warm air and the sunny skies make us all feel joyful and lighthearted and optimistic and we are celebrating a holiday for which we do not have weeks of physical preparation, it is easy to be wrapped up in a sense of ease.  But even if it is warm and sunny, there are still many people who are struggling to get their basic essentials.

 

This probably is not the reason that Vayikra 23:22 is included in the middle of all the chagim. However, with today’s lifestyle being so very different from that of the majority of our ancestors, we need to seek out an application that resonates. The laws of the Torah are laws that can be eternally applied; it is up to us to see a deeper perspective and to recognize that Hashem has made it clear that chesed is always important.

Enjoy the spring. Enjoy our movement toward the celebration of Matan Torah. Have a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Kedoshim: Three Times the Ghost

How much time in your day-to-day living do you spend thinking about Hashem, how to get closer to Him or what He really wants from you? This week’s parsha brings us to the quintessential command for living – holy you shall be. So simple to say; not so simple to implement or even to understand on its deeper levels.

There are many ways that we can think about being holy. Simplistically, one might say it is to be religious, to be part of the community that lives life to a higher standard. Many of these standards, mitzvos and laws, are set down in this week’s parsha, Parshas Kedoshim.

 

There are many fascinating structural elements to this parsha, such as the frequent repetition of Ani Hashem, that are intriguing to explore. One of these interesting elements can be found in the thrice repeated prohibition regarding Ohv and Yidoni, which seems to most often be translated as ghosts and familiars.

 

If this gave you pause, that is not surprising. Most of us knew that there was a prohibition against necromancy; that in itself is not odd. What is interesting is how it flows in and out of the parsha that is generally subdivided into multiple, brief topics. This prohibition is mentioned in 19:31, 20:6, and 20:27 – the last pasuk of the parsha. Allowing for the concept that there are no extra words in the Torah, there is then a question of what distinguishes each of these perakim.

 

Interestingly, when set one after another, the three verses read as follows:

19:31 – Do not turn to ghosts or to familiars, do not seek to be defiled by them. I am the Lord your God.

20:6 – And the soul that turns to ghosts or familiars, to go astray after them, I will set My face against that soul and cut him off from his people.

20:27 – A man or a woman that is within them [meaning divines through] a ghost or familiar shall be put to death. They shall stone them with stones. Their blood shall be upon them.

 

From this perspective, there appears to be a progression from commandment not to do so, to the consequence of seeking such “guidance,” to the punishment for the one who performs those actual rituals of “communication.”  And the verses go from no punishment, to a punishment that is generally considered spiritual, to a punishment that is physical – to death. One might deduce from this progress that the man or woman mentioned in verse 27 has gone beyond negating holiness to being one who destroys the holiness of others.

 

But one still needs to ask why these pesukim are not set one after the other since they are so obviously related. Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsh provides interesting insights, both on 19:31 and 20:6, on deeper concepts that might be drawn from these prohibitions in each of their locations. Verse 19:31 follows a restatement of keeping Shabbas, but, more significantly, it precedes the commandment “You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am Hashem” (18:32). Rav Hirsh points out how this is the “complete positive opposite.” Perhaps we should understand from here that a person who seeks guidance from ghosts and oracles and familiars should do far better to seek that guidance from those who have lived and experience a great deal of life, particularly those who have steeped themselves in Torah.

 

Similarly, 20:6, which describes those people who actually turn to this guidance, comes immediately after Hashem reiterates His feelings about those who turn to Moloch. The worship of Moloch was hideous and included the burning of children. It is also interesting, however, to note the name of this false god and how it so closely reflects the term Melech, king. Hashem is Malachei Hamelachim, and this avoda to Moloch represents the absolute dismissal of Hashem’s reign. Many people turn to idolatry because, perhaps, they have trouble with the distance Hashem needs to keep in order to give us free will. This is the same drive that leads someone to consult oracles and ghosts. Rav Hirsh points out that “The belief in the imaginary power of oracles is closely related to that of the power of Moloch, a power of ill-luck or providence apart from God. It is seeking pronouncement on the desirability of taking action or abstaining from it, and of one’s fate, from other imaginary sources.”

 

The third reference follows the verse “And you shall remain holy to Me, for I, God, am holy and I have separated you from the nations to be Mine” (20:26). Hashem chose us, and it is up to us to make a relationship with Him. That is the very purpose of being kadosh. If we feel the need to seek out ghosts or familiars, oracles and divination [as some translations go], then we, as a nation, have lost our purpose.

 

When we hear that the Torah bans necromancy and communing with the dead, as the wording is often put in the modern modes of language, many of us laugh a bit inside. Who would do such a thing? It is so obviously a contradiction to what we believe. And yet it is so strongly repeated in the Torah because it is a natural inclination in man. But one that has such a desire can react to it by following the path of his elders and learning Torah and connecting to God, or that person can follow the path of ultimate destruction and destroy his or her relationship with the Divine. It is up to us to choose the path, to have the strength to be holy even when we face the vast unknown.

Parshas Acharei Mos: Wandering Thoughts on Civilization

The dictionary definition of the term “civilization” is, in my opinion, rather funny. According to Oxford Words, it means: “The stage of human social and cultural development and organization that is considered most advanced.” Why is this funny? Because it is based on an incredibly subjective reality. Who, after all, gets to determine what “advanced” means? And yet, for centuries Western “Civilization” has done just that.

 

Perhaps the decline started during the era of the enlightenment, but many would say that it accelerated in the 1960s, when the concept of free expression transformed into a cult of personal liberation. Over the last half a century, however, there has been an increased whittling away at tradition and community that has led to a society in which the adulation of “freedom” has become the be all and end all. This is certainly not everyone – quite probably not even the majority – but it is a voluble minority filled with news makers and cultural idols.

 

We have just completed the holiday of Pesach, the holiday of freedom. Our concept of freedom, however, is not about celebrating our individual identities. It’s not about what “I” want or who “I” am above all other things. This is, in fact, a major aspect of this week’s parsha, Parshas Acharei Mot.”

 

Breaking into personal honesty here, this has always been a parsha that made me uncomfortable. In fact, it was one of my son’s bar mitzvah parshas, and I remember worrying that one of the other children had read it too closely (and, indeed, she did tell me that she read it in English, but asked no further questions). An entire perek of the parsha, perek yud ches, is a description of whose nakedness one shall not uncover. On the whole, it is a summation of the Torah’s prohibition against incest, but it goes farther than that. How we behave in our most intimate moments is a basic foundation of a society.

 

The fact that I felt uncomfortable with this perek was a reflection of many things, and among them was the understanding that the general society in which I was raised was filled with an ever-growing counter-culture that abhors the idea of personal limitations. The 21^st century mores of personal rightness make sense in an advanced technological “civilization” wherein we have a sense of being able to control all things. We “make” meat without a cow. We grow plants without dirt. We build machines that can think. Why would we accept ancient dictates of right and wrong when we obviously know better?

 

Our so-called advanced civilization appears, right now, to be calling for support of terrorist organizations. There is a masochistic urge to support ideologies that diametrically oppose Western Civilization. Our society rejects itself and, particularly among young adults, there seems to be a great self-hatred even as there is a vaunting of the ideal of absolute personal expression.

Something’s wrong.

This year I read Perek yud ches with a different perspective. Societal norms for intimacy – whether adhered to by all members or not but that are recognized and accepted as norms – are foundation stones. The term civilization is built from the term civil, as in civil law. The civil laws in the Torah are known as the mishpatim, and they are often defined as the laws that are necessary for a just society (no stealing, no murder, etc.). The laws in Acharei Mot are mishpatim, even if they deal with the most individual and personal choices of life.

 

It is straight forward and honest. To build a civilization, a place of advanced social and cultural development, one must look to tradition. Hashem gave klal Yisrael a blueprint that sets out rights and wrongs because when human beings start to believe that they know best, ego and hedonism play powerful roles in swaying our perception. Granted the ability to make and create, given our inherent power, we tend to forget that He who created the world, and Who creates the world on an ongoing basis, is the One is the one in charge. It’s not us. It’s not about Me.

 

Good Shabbas

Parshas Metzora: The Beauty in Materialism

A beautiful, new set of freshly toiveld silverware sparkles in my hand as I gently dry it in preparation for the upcoming holiday. I smile, humming as I work because I feel happy that my Yom Tov table will look so pretty. Suddenly I start to wonder about redemption and Moshiach and what my joy in my pretty Amazon purchase bodes for my attitude toward redemption. Am I too attached to my home and my possessions? If Moshiach came now and this Pesach we celebrated the true call of redemption, would I be happy to, or even capable of, picking up and leaving?

Don’t get me wrong. It’s a bracha and an honor to be able to make a beautiful Yom Tov. We use the material to elevate us as we focus on the spiritual. The Torah doesn’t promote ascetisism. It’s okay to own and enjoy nice things, and it is even encouraged to fulfill mitzvos in the most beautiful way.

In an interesting way, we even see this in the roots of Pesach. During the ninth plague, Hashem made certain that we had the nice things. The plague of darkness provided Bnei Yisrael with the opportunity to discover the gold and silver that they would later request from the Egyptians, payment for the years of servitude. They later used that gold and silver, each person of their own desire, to build the mishkan.

It is noteworthy to think about the wealth they acquired. It was both payment and fulfilment. Payment, as in compensation for the generations during which the people were enslaved, and thus could be seen as something earned. Fulfilment, as in Hashem promised Avraham that his descendants would come out of the land of oppression with great wealth – a promise fulfilled; but also fulfillment, as in Hashem gives each person exactly what he or she is supposed to have.

So if Hashem gives each person exactly what they need, does that mean I might need new crystal for my Seder table? Maybe…but then it means it is there for a reason, and I should gain something spiritual from it.

The spiritual and material are inherently connected, and this week’s parsha, Parshas Metzora, makes that point in a particularly fascinating way. The parsha talks about the possibility of tzaraas transferring onto one’s possessions. It’s a very difficult-to-understand concept. In this day and age, unless something is designated as a religious object, we don’t think of the possibility of an inanimate object having spiritual modulation.

Our material possessions, however, are connected to us just as much as we are connected to them. My possessions can reflect a spiritual downturn, as in the case of tzaraas, or they can reflect elevation, as when used for a mitzvah. The question, as with many things, comes down to bechira, free will. If I use my wealth to do mitzvot as beautifully as possible, that underlines spiritual growth. If I use my wealth to build myself up to become either arrogant or, on the other hand, my attachment to materialism makes me jealous or avaricious, then that demonstrates a lack of growth.

There is an interesting Midrash (Vayikrah Rabbah 17:6, cited by Rashi on Vayikra 14:34) that explains that quite often the destruction of a house and possessions because of tzaraas led to the discovery of treasure hidden behind the walls (left by the Amorites, according to the Midrash). Hashem’s aim is not poverty and punishment. Hashem’s aim is to help us draw closer to Him.                                                                                                                                                                        In the fall, we celebrate Sukkot by leaving our homes and moving into “huts,” which demonstrates our faith that Hashem is truly in control. On some level, we leave behind our physical and material security. Right now, however, we are about to celebrate Pesach, to celebrate redemption from slavery, and we do so with a lavish and luxurious seuda in which we are taught to recline like royalty and drink rich wine – we surround ourselves with a physical glory in order to honor what Hashem did for us.

In preparing our magnificent seder tables – or while perusing those over-the-top magazine images of the perfect seder table – we are presented with the empowering challenge of being clear in our intentions. These sparkling new knives bring me joy because they will enhance my Yom Tov, not because they will enhance me, and if – no, and when, Moshiach knocks at my door, I could, if required, walk away from it all.

As we enter this auspicious time, I wish you all a gut Shabbas and the ability to focus on what really matters in this world, and I pray that Hashem will send a speedy redemption for those still held by Hamas and for our entire nation from this dire threat.  

Parshas Shemini: The Intentions of Ahava versus Yira

This week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, could be said, if one looks at it broadly, to about honest motivations. Torah Judaism puts tremendous importance on a person’s intention. Indeed, what one has in mind when doing an action can often be the difference between its being a mitzvah or not.

 

The last Perek (chapter) in this parsha talk about non-kosher and kosher animals. It deliberately details 4 animals as being almost kosher, which, of course, is not kosher at all. The camel, the hybex, and the hare are all noted as chewing their cud but having feet that are falsely similar to split hooves. The pig, on the other hand, is noted as having split hooves, but only appearing to chew its cud. Chazal, the sages, speak of it as a deliberate attempt by the animal to deceive one into thinking it is kosher – it is a deliberately false intention. And as we all may have noticed, there are few animals as vilified among the Jewish people as pigs (even if they are just as unkosher as any other non-kosher animal).

 

The pig is a rather drastic example of the intention to deceive. However, let’s be honest – almost all of us have either lacked intention or had the wrong intention while doing a mitzvah, at least once in our lives. That doesn’t mean we had a mean or negative intention, but we just didn’t have the right intentions. Sometimes that is okay. Sometimes that leads to Sheh lo lishma, bo lishma – that wasn’t for the sake of heaven, to being for the sake of heaven. But sometimes, when it is really important, we need to really take ourselves into account; we need to think through our actions before we rush forward.

 

This is one of the lessons of Nadav and Abihu. They watched their father, Aaron, perform the avodah perfectly, and they witnessed that “A fire went forth from before Hashem and consumed” the offering. It was a moment of sheer awe. Indeed, the entire people shouted and fell on their faces (Vayikra 9:24). The very next pasuk, 10:1, then describes the actions of Nadav and Abihu performing the service themselves and being consumed by flame.  

 

Imagine what this must have looked like for Klal Yisrael. These young kohanim jump up to perform a service and are struck down. Their actions looked kosher, but they weren’t.

 

The are a multitude of commentaries about what they did that caused them to be punished so drastically. There are those that say that they were drunk, based on the commandment not to drink when performing the avodah that is written later in the parsha. There are those that say that their rash action was the result of arrogance, of a sense that they were equally important as their father. Or perhaps it was the zealousness of youth. These commentaries all speak to an underlying error in intention. They performed the ritual correctly, although they had not been instructed to do so, but their intentions were more selfishly motivated.

 

On the other hand, there are commentaries that speak of Nadav and Abihu’s good intentions. One could see how these youths brought their offering out of overwhelming love for Hashem. They have just witnessed the success of the inauguration of the Mishkan, the culmination of what the klal had been working toward. They had just gotten a direct and positive response from Hashem. If this, they might have thought, is what Hashem wants, then we shall give Him more.

 

The intention, in that case, was beautiful, and yet it was still wrong because it was lacking a fundamental understanding that living by Hashem’s Torah means we don’t act purely on impulse. The emotion of love, even love for Hashem, is tempered by yira, fear in the sense of the awe of knowing that this world has a right way and a wrong way.

 

The Torah requires us to live our lives under specific rules and guidelines, and as beautiful as the love is, it isn’t enough. Two people cannot always marry just because they love each other, for instance a kohain and a divorcee. There are rules. There are limitations. And they are in place to bring order to the world. The emotion of love can be overwhelming, but as beautiful as that is, the euphoric feelings of doing something good at that moment are a false front.

 

Many of us grew up surrounded by a society that presented an underlying message that if one just lives a good life, that’s enough. And there are many, many people who love God powerfully and who strive to be the best person that they can be because of that emotion, but it lacks a framework. This is one of the messages we learn during Pesach, when we contemplate leaving slavery in Mitzrayim to go out and become avdei Hashem, servants of Hashem.

 

Living our own definition of being a good person, defining our relationships with Hashem based on our inner emotions, or jumping into mitzvos out of Ahava when they aren’t our mitzvos to do, are all false fronts. A “kosher” life, so to speak, is a life that is filled with Ahavas Hashem that is guided by Yira, by awe. That sense of yira is what reminds us that the halachos hand down from Sinai were given to us because only Hashem understands the true innerworking of the world and following His ways is actually the ultimate expression of Ahavas Hashem.