Achrei Mot
Lev 16:1-18:30
Malachi 3:4-24
The Torah reading Achrei Mot features the dedication of the wilderness
sanctuary and the ordination of Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu. That is followed, however, by unspeakable sorrow: Aaron’s sons died because they “drew too close to the presence of the Lord” (Lev. 16:1), suggesting that they were punished for religious fanaticism.
Earlier (Lev. 10:1), their deaths are attributed to punishment for offering esh zarah (alien fire), leading some commentators to suggest that the two boys were involved in avodah zarah (idol worship), forbidden in Lev. 18:21, 20:2 and Deut. 18:10.
Whatever the reason, the heartbreak that befell Aaron is understood, at times, as a lack of justice. For example, in Vayikra Rabba, Rabbi Aha wondered how Titus, the Roman procurator, could enter the Temple with the express purpose of defiling it, even sticking his sword into the curtain of the Holy of Holies, and still emerge unscathed, whereas Nadab and Abihu, dedicated priests, perished in a ritual act performed in the service of God.
Nevertheless, the rabbis justified the deaths of Aaron’s sons because they were uncomfortable with a punishment that did not fit the crime. Thus, in order to explain this tragedy, they blamed the victims by charging Nadab and Abihu with the sins of arrogance, insolence, alcoholism, jealousy, idolatry and disrespect for their elders, in addition to fanaticism.
Others interpreted Nadab and Abihu’s religious fervor as a warning not to be overly fanatical, thereby violating the boundaries between man and God. Such was the warning to Moses when, standing before the burning bush, he heard the voice of God calling: “Moses, Moses … do not come closer. Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground” (Ex. 3:4-5).
This warning, “Do not come closer,” finds currency in the rabbinic period, as demonstrated by the legend of the four who entered Paradise — the orchard of intense mystical self-absorption. All but one of the participants met with madness, apostasy or death. The first three were overwhelmed by unmitigated passion and the search for ecstatic mystical union: Ben Azzai “looked and died”; Ben Zoma “looked and was stricken”; Elisha ben Abuyah was tortured by his pursuit of the absolute and became an apostate. Only Rabbi Akiba entered and exited in peace (Chagigah 14b).
Jewish tradition provides additional examples of unwavering ecstatic absorption and overzealous participation in spiritual matters. There was Abraham, hearing the word of God that demanded that Ishmael be cast out and Isaac be sacrificed. And the prophet Samuel, speaking in God’s name, ordered King Saul to kill Agag, a neighboring ruler taken captive by Saul. However, Saul showed mercy and spared Agag’s life, thereby infuriating Samuel who hacked Agag into pieces.
In the Roman period, Bar Kochba claimed to be the Messiah. His rebellion was brutally put down by the Romans.
In more modern times, other false messiahs such as Shabbetai Zevi and Jacob Frank, cast gloom over Jewish life when their objectives failed.
The antithesis of extremism finds currency in the story of the rabbi who was warned that his severest opponent, armed with a powerful argument, was headed for his home, ready for a confrontation. When the adversary burst into the home of the rabbi, full of absolute certainties, the rabbi raised his hand and uttered one word: “Efshar — perhaps. Perhaps you’re wrong, maybe I am right; maybe you are right and perhaps I am wrong.” At that they fell into earnest conversation.
British historian Lord Acton once said, “Every institution tends to perish by an excess of its own basic principle.” The antidote to fanaticism is the word efshar — perhaps. Not being blinded by zealotry allows another point of view to be considered. The tension for the modern Jew is to draw close to the fires of faith and truth but not by being so strident as to be singed by the flames.
Stephen S. Pearce is senior rabbi at the Reform Congregation Emanu-El in
San Francisco.