As usual, a story is told but the messages are hinted. The Torah is exclusively a book of Godly intelligence and savoir that every word is intended to direct us on the path of life. Therefore, the repetition of the story of the unfortunate death of Aaron’s son is surprising. Parashas Shemini [3 Parashas ago] recounted the event already, why is it then repeated here? Our Parasha starts by saying: “Hashem spoke to Moshe after the death of the two sons of Aaron who died when they drew too close to the presence of Hashem. Hashem said to Moshe: Tell your brother Aaron that he is not to come at will into the Shrine behind the curtain, in front of the cover that is upon the ark, lest he die; for I appear in the cloud over the cover.” [Vayikra 16:1-2] The Chasam Sofer wonders what the need was to remind Aharon about the death of his sons? Behold, the Mitzva that he is being instructed could have been easily taught without the painful mention of this sad event. Moreover, Aaron being the Kohen Gadol had to be in a constant stage of joy, especially before entering the Shrine and appear before Hashem. Is the preamble reminding the death of his sons that he could not mourn help that purpose? Obviously not! So, what is the Torah trying to teach us? Interestingly, the other time this Parasha is read is on Yom Kippur, a day Chazal call “a very happy day”, as the sins of the Bnei Yisrael are forgiven. Again, why such a sad event is mentioned during a happy time? It is not a coincidence that the death of the sons of Aharon is mentioned during two critical times where happiness is required. There is obviously a deep insight behind this. The Talmud [Tamid 32a] recounts the 10 questions Alexander the Great asked the Sages of Israel. Here are couple of them: “He said to them: What must a man do and thereby ensure that he will live? They said to him: Such a man must [figuratively] kill himself, by living modestly and not indulge himself. Alexander further inquired: What must a man do and ensure that he will die? They said to him: Such a man must keep himself alive, i.e., lead an extravagant and indulgent life.” The Chasam Sofer explains that the death of Aaron’s sons occurred because of their extreme will to elevate themselves and gain closeness to Hashem. They had nullified their own will and body needs in order to elevate themselves and serve Hashem like angels. Their will was so pure and poignant that they indeed elevated themselves to the rank of angels and therefore could no longer remain in a physical body. So, Hashem ordered Moshe to instruct Aharon, who was about to enter the Shrine for the first time, and could be tempted to also go the distance, to not do it. In order to understand this message a little retrospective is required. Nadav and Avihu were Aharon eldest sons; where had they learnt their Torah and been taught that a Jew’s life purpose is to live under Hashem’s wings? By their father Aaron and their uncle Moshe. Who lit their burning desire to deny all bodily indulgence and exclusively seek proximity to Hashem? Again, Aaron and Moshe. This reveals that Aaron and Moshe had themselves this burning desire in them. Since Aharon was about to enter the Shrine for the first time and would naturally seek to gain extreme proximity to Hashem, Hashem instructed him of the process to follow before entering the Shrine that would naturally cool his desire, by performing himself the offerings. The blood of the offering is the reminder of the purpose Hashem “installed” us in this lowly world! Our purpose is to sanctify our most bestial instincts. The Arizal reveals that especially through these means one can gain tremendous sanctity, turning eating or drinking into a Holy matter rather than a bestial one, is one of the Holiest offerings that could be brought to Hashem. How to do it? By carefully reciting the blessings prior and after. King David says [Psalm 121]: “Hashem is your shadow; Hashem is your protection at your right hand.” If one puts up a finger before the sun, the shadow too will show only one finger. If he puts up his hand, the shadow will show a hand. This informs us that we control our lives, we decide how much of Hashem we let in our lives. So, if one feels in the dark, open the door to let Hashem enter your life! Here is a beautiful story about the Saint Noam Elimelech: Every night, Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov, [The Noam Elimelech], conducted Tikkun Chatzos (the midnight liturgy lamenting the destruction of the Holy Temple) in a small synagogue near his home. That late at night, most of the synagogue’s candles had already burned out and no one else was ever there. Hunched over in the gloom, he would sit on a low stool in his usual corner, reading the prayers with tears that stopped only at dawn. Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech occasionally remarked, “When Israel is persecuted to the ends of the earth and the Shechinah (Divine presence) lays trampled in the dust, how can one muster the audacity to curl up beneath the covers and sleep soundly?” Not once did he miss a night. His custom was no secret; anyone could walk over to the small synagogue and peek through the windows to see him mourn the destruction of the Holy Temple. Only a few of his Chassidim allowed themselves to do so, however. One evening, Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech sat with his close Chassidim sharing teachings of Torah. It was nearing midnight, which meant Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech would soon excuse himself from the room. But much to the Chassidim’s confusion, that is not what followed. Their Rebbe appeared to be so engrossed, he simply continued speaking, even as the clock ticked closer to midnight. Knowing how conscientious their Rebbe was regarding Tikkun Chatzot, the Chassidim began to eye each other. Perhaps in the course of his words he had failed to observe the time? No one dared, however, to speak up or even hint to Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech. Surely, the chiming of the clock would call his attention to the hour. The hands struck 12. Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech, the focus of every eye in the room, ignored the chimes in the background and continued to sit. “There once lived a wealthy man,” he began, causing the Chassidim to lean forward in anticipation, “who oversaw many rewarding business deals and owned multiple estates and vineyards.” Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech took his time painting a picture of the man’s life and fortune in vivid colors. The Chassidim sat spellbound; the passing of minutes momentarily erased from their minds. “The day came when the man stumbled upon hardship and his affairs quickly sunk. Inundated by debt, he was forced to sell everything and, eventually, declare bankruptcy. As his life slid into further ruin, he struggled to find bread to eat. He tried his hand at menial work, but his unfamiliarity with it meant he couldn’t hold a job for long. Unable to earn a single coin, he scrounged his livelihood from knocking on doors with his palm outstretched. “At first, the sight of the wealthy man walking around in rags melted the townspeople’s hearts. Hoping to restore some of his dignity, they responded when they could with a donation, a meal, or an encouraging word. Eventually, memory of his past was lost to time, and he became estranged from his family, taking up the wandering staff of an ordinary beggar. The man, an empty and miserable shell, turned to roam the country. “Whichever town he chanced upon; the whereabouts of the local synagogue was usually his first question. It was there he spent his days, stretched out on a bench, eating his few slices of bread, and begging for his next meal. “But Friday night was something he always looked forward to. Eyes downcast, he would linger by the exit, hoping to be invited to join a family at their Shabbos meal. When he was, he would enjoy his only hot food of the week. “One Friday night, the synagogue teemed with an influx of guests. After the prayers were over, the man watched as one by one, the guests followed their hosts out for the night, and the synagogue grew emptier and quieter. When the last voices finally faded, he was left alone in silence. Uninvited and forgotten, he had nowhere to go. “The man sighed, painful sadness searing his heart. The rejection had hurt him deeply. He pulled out a ratty handkerchief filled with the last crumbs of dry bread, washed his hands, and proceeded to say Kiddush over the morsels. Within a minute, his Shabbat meal was finished. Not feeling tired, he glanced around the empty synagogue, looking for something to occupy himself with. The signs decorating the walls seemed interesting enough, and the man strolled around studying them. A prayer for the reading of the Torah. Modim Derabbanan. Someone’s memorial. The man would peer at each one for a moment before moving on to the next. As he turned away, something made him stop and look at one last notice. “Master of the Universe… “Only the first four words, barely legible, remained. The rest had long faded away. The words twinged his heart, and he pursed his lips into a bitter smile. “Master of the Universe, the man thought, I see your circumstances fare no better than mine…” Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech finished his story and burst into tears. The Chassidim watched, eyes moist, as it dawned on them: their Rebbe never forgot nor missed Tikkun Chatzos, and this evening was no different. Instead of mourning alone, he had chosen to include them, poignantly using the analogy of the pauper to emphasize just how bitter G-d’s exile is. Hashem too seek our very proximity, it is our choice to open the door and invite Him in!

By Rabbi Shimon Fridmann * [email protected] * 305.985.3461

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