The Difference: Shemini, Leviticus 9:1-11:47

The Difference
D’var Torah on Parasha Shemini, Leviticus 9:1-11:47
Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
April 10, 2010 26 Nisan 5770

Parashat Shemini is one of the most tragic and disturbing portions in the whole Torah. It is set at the time of the dedication of the Tabernacle—the tent complex that served the Israelites as their Sanctuary during the forty years of wanderings in the Sinai Desert. With the building finally complete, the dedication ritual begins. Moses and Aaron offer sacrifice as per the instruction of God; their sacrifice is accepted as a fire descends from heaven to consume the offering.

Upon seeing this marvelous sign of God’s presence, two of Aaron’s four sons, Nadav and Avihu, decide to emulate their father and uncle—or perhaps to supplant them. Totally unbidden, they offer a similar sacrifice. Then they make an additional, fatal mistake: they bring “a strange fire” to the sacrifice. Whatever the “strange fire” was (and, to no one’s surprise, the ancient rabbis offer several explanations of what exactly made it “strange”), it was definitely displeasing to God, and the punishment was not slow to follow. Once again a fire descends from heaven. Only this time, instead of consuming the offering, the flame engulfs the two young men, and they die “before the Lord.”

It was the unspeakable horror. Why did it have to happen? What was it that Nadav and Avihu did wrong? The Torah offers little in the way of explanation, only the enigmatic phrase, eish zarah, they brought “a strange fire,” one that God did not command them.

The Hebrew word used for “strange”—zarah—also means “outside the pale,” or “beyond bounds.” Without even bothering to explain what exactly was the source of their fire, what Torah makes clear is that Nadav and Avihu brought to the sacrifice a fire that was unsanctioned. What could that be?

Missing links in the Torah fired up the early rabbis’ imagination, inspiring stories and sermons that make up the body of rabbinic literature called Midrash. In the midrashic material accompanying this section of the Torah, the rabbis present several opinions regarding the nature of that “strange” fire. First, because of textual proximity (see chapter 10, verse 9), the rabbis reasoned that the two were drunk. One of the chief functions of the priests was to teach God’s rules of right and wrong. This message must clear as a bell; the fires of intoxication can lead to misperceptions and wrong decisions—certainly with greater consequences in the case of leaders and teachers.
Another opinion offers that Nadav and Avihu’s error was in acting without first consulting Moses or Aaron, who were the only ones authorized to make ritual decisions. In a sense, then, the strange fire was one of rebellion against authority. It was unbounded ambition. The passion of youth and their impatience to replace Moses and Aaron led them to start an open rebellion, with tragic but understandable results.

Worse yet, the rabbis surmise from the text that the two brothers did not act as brothers. “They did not consult with one another,” the Midrash reads. How far from the wonderful example set by their father and uncle—Aaron and Moses! Nadav and Avihu acted from base and selfish motives, inspired by haughtiness and a sense of infallibility. This perhaps was the worst of all. The “fire” that powered them was the impulse to grab power, to wrest it, if necessary, by intrigue and back-stabbing. How alien to the nature of our religion! How far outside the pale of decency, compassion and dignity that Moses and Aaron’s leadership represented and taught!

Parasha Shemini has one overarching moral and lesson. The priests—and by extension, the entire Jewish people—are commanded “to distinguish between the holy and the ordinary, and between the unclean and the clean, and to teach the Israelites all the statutes that the Lord has spoken to them through Moses.” It is an exalted ideal, but one that we must approach with care and foresight. Our zeal may be misleading, even blinding—not only to ourselves, but to all those around us. The fires we stoke can be dangerous. We must be eager, but not impulsive. Upstanding, but not arrogant. And better than that we be driven by our passions—let us strive to be compassionate.

That’s the difference between Moses and Aaron on the one hand, and Nadav and Avihu on the other. It is the difference between right and wrong.

©Boaz D. Heilman, 2010