Edited and Adapted from Ari’s Grill & Torah – April 22, 2017
We’re going to talk about Parshat Shemini, which is actually the original opening of the Tabernacle — the Mishkan — in the Desert.
It should have been a very, very happy and joyous Parsha, because the truth of the matter is, it’s the first time they’re opening up the Tabernacle in the desert, and that is a tremendous connection between the nation of Israel and God. So this should be a very, very happy Parsha.
The Parsha opens up on the eighth day — “Yom HaShemini” — when they open the Mishkan, when they open the Tabernacle for the first time. The importance of the Temple and of the Tabernacle is not just the building itself. The commandments within the Torah say that the Temple must be in the one place that God commands — and that, of course, is Jerusalem. So we are waiting for the Third Temple to be built in Jerusalem.
The Mishkan and the Mikdash are there to give a straight-line communication between the Jewish nation and HaKadosh Baruch Hu — God. It is really our straight line. It’s our speed-dial number, our connection to HaKadosh Baruch Hu. So it’s a very, very joyous day. Imagine the day when we have that power, that straight communication open for the first time — the grand opening. It’s a tremendous day, and one would expect that this day is filled with joy and happiness.
What happens, however, is exactly the opposite. Aaron HaKohen’s two sons — Nadav and Avihu — were righteous people. You can’t make them into resha’im, you can’t say they were evil people. They were Aaron HaKohen’s own children, so obviously they had knowledge and they knew what had to be done and what wasn’t allowed to be done. And they were Kohanim — Aaron’s own children were Kohanim.
So they rushed into the Mishkan, into the Tabernacle, into the Holy of Holies, and they went there to offer a sacrifice to HaKadosh Baruch Hu — to God. Understand that in terms of their emotions and what they meant to do — their intentions were all beautiful. Aaron HaKohen’s sons’ intentions were beautiful. They really had a connection and they wanted to say, you know, hello, or thank you to God, and there was nothing wrong about their intentions.
And what happens to them? A fire comes down from the heavens and burns them to death.
The leader’s two sons — the man who is in charge of the grand opening of the Mishkan, Aaron HaKohen, the High Priest — his two sons are killed directly by God.
Now, the Chazal — and when we say “Chazal,” for those who don’t know, it stands for Chachameinu Zichronam Livracha, the sages of the Jewish people who wrote different explanations on the Torah in different texts — the Chazal write that there are many different reasons that they were killed. One is that they had some wine before they went in, and you were not allowed to go in having had wine. Others say that the Torah says they gave a sacrifice that was not commanded to be given.
But “who cares about laws,” right? Their intentions were good. You’ll hear this often today — “it doesn’t matter about laws and morality and boundaries, as long as they love each other.” We hear that all day long.
So Aaron HaKohen should have screamed out in pain and said, “God, how could You? Their intentions were wonderful! They wanted to build a communication and a connection with HaKadosh Baruch Hu. How could You kill them? And what is this going to do for the whole nation? What is the whole nation going to say?” His two sons — Aaron HaKohen’s sons, the sons of the High Priest — were killed by God Himself.
And what does Aaron do? Vayidom Aharon — he stood silent. In modern Hebrew, he stood at attention. He stood silent.
Rashi — one of the great commentators on the Torah and Talmud — says that Aaron was not just standing silent. He was doing some kind of cheshbon hanefesh — looking inside and saying, “Okay, what did I do wrong?” And Rashi says that because he accepted the ruling of God, he was therefore given the next speech. The very next passage after this whole incident is that HaKadosh Baruch Hu — God — speaks to Aaron and gives the law that you cannot go into the Mishkan when you have been drinking wine.
And I think that’s exactly the point. People say — and if anyone has a right to ask “Where was God?”, it is certainly Aaron HaKohen, because God, with fire from heaven, killed his two sons. But he can’t really ask that, because it was God who actually did it.
Now, what is interesting: after this serious discussion about Aaron’s two sons, what does the Torah address next? The rules of food — the rules of kosher. Which animals are kosher and which animals are not kosher. An animal must have split hooves and chew its cud to be kosher. The Torah also gives examples of animals which only have one of the two signs.
The one animal that has split hooves but does not chew its cud is the pig. And the question is: if we already know the two signs, and any animal that doesn’t have both signs is not kosher, why did the Torah have to specify which animals only have one sign?
The first group of animals — the shafan, the arnevet, the gamal (the camel) — they chew their cud but don’t have split hooves. And the only animal that has split hooves but does not chew its cud is the pig.
Rashi on this spot says something remarkable. The pig walks around very proudly, putting its hooves forward and saying, “Look at me, look at me, I’m kosher!” It puts forward its split hooves. But internally, of course, it doesn’t chew its cud. And Rashi writes that the definition of a “pig” in terms of Judaism is someone who wants to externally say, “Look at me, how holy I am, how righteous I am” — while internally being empty. Not empty by accident, but empty in terms of their thoughts and their thought processes.
I think this is very important, certainly in today’s world. The idea of the kosher laws coming in right here — after we’re talking about death, after we’re talking about two of Aaron’s sons dying at the hands of God — what is the point?
Emotions are very, very important when it comes to prayer, for example. But when making decisions in life, one has to be very careful not to allow their emotions to get in the way. In Judaism we are told lo taturu acharei levavchem v’acharei eineichem — do not go after your heart and your eyes. In other words, when you’re doing something good and positive, yes, of course you bring emotions into it, but the action is not defined as good because of what you’re feeling. It is defined as good because it is good. You should put your feelings into that action because it’s good — not because you feel comfortable with what you’re doing.
That is what differentiates, I think, the approach where my personal comfort zone is not what leads me. For example, I would really want to taste a cheeseburger — I really would. And by the way, according to Judaism, you’re not supposed to say it’s disgusting. Absolutely not. You’re supposed to say it probably tastes very, very good. But I can’t do it, because it is defined as something that’s wrong according to the Torah. It’s not about disgust — shrimp is probably very good, pig is probably very good. But because my moral standards are defined by an objective source and not by my personal comfort, I therefore can’t eat it.
And I think that is the point of this week’s Parasha.