The Paradox of Judaism
Judaism is about fusion and synthesis. The goal is the fusion of Divine inspiration with human endeavor.
A Day of Intense Joy and Sadness
The happiest day for the Jewish nation was arguably the day discussed at the beginning of this week’s parsha: “And it came to pass on the eighth day…” This refers to the eighth day of initiating the service in the Mishkan, the portable Temple the Jews built in the desert. This day has been identified as the first day of the month of Nissan, almost a year after they left Egypt.
Why was this day considered to be so joyous an occasion?
It was the day that G-d demonstrated that He had totally forgiven the Jewish people for their worship of the Golden Calf. On this day a fired descended from heaven and consumed the offerings they brought to the altar in the Temple. This was a clear indication that G-d was pleased with their gesture and responded in kind.
Yet, on this very day a colossal tragedy occurred. Aaron’s two eldest sons, Nadav and Avihu, in their zeal to get closer to G-d brought an unauthorized offering. A fire then descended from heaven and killed these two very spiritual people.
At this point Aaron could have protested, or at the very least expressed his grief in ways that would have marred the celebration. Instead, the Torah relates: “Aaron was silent.”
Our Sages marveled at Aaron’s stoicism. G-d even rewarded Aaron, by giving him a special commandment — not to enter the Temple in an intoxicated state — that was communicated directly to him.
Circumcision and Aaron’s Silence
In one cryptic remark, on Aaron’s silence, the Midrash asks rhetorically, “What should Aaron have said?” The Midrash answers that Aaron could have said: “On the eighth day he must circumcise…”
Commentators have expressed bewilderment at this comment. What on earth would have prompted Aaron to speak about circumcision when he heard the tragic news of his sons’ death? (See preceding essay for an alternative explanation of this cryptic remark.)
One answer explores the reason for Nadav and Avihu’s unauthorized offering and why it was so out of place.
The Paradox of Judaism
Judaism is a religion — if it can be called that — of myriads of paradoxes. One paradox that represents perhaps the very core of Judaism is the issue of G-d versus man. Does G-d do everything for us, or do we do things for G-d? In Judaism both are true.
On the one hand, Judaism can be described as a way of life which involves our responding to G-d’s demands of us and then receiving His blessings and rewards. G-d is the Creator, Master, Commander and Father. We are His creations who obediently accede to His commands and derive all that we have from Him. We can either be good receptors and reflectors of His light and energy or instead resist and deflect G-d’s light from us.
On the other hand, Judaism is also about our initiatives and efforts. We are unique creatures who rise to the level of partners with G-d in creation. Indeed, according to many Biblical, Talmudic and Midrashic citations, G-d cherishes every gesture we make and hands the world over to us to fix and elevate. Our efforts have the capacity to affect not only the outcome of events in this world, but, moreover, as the literature of Kabbalah teaches us, our actions can impact the spiritual realms as well.
This second approach is summed up in the Chassidic interpretation—ascribed to both R. Dovber, the “Maggid of Mezritch and R. Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of the Chabad movement—of the words in Ethics of the Fathers: “Know what is above you.” The Chassidic reinterpretation renders this saying as “know that what is above depends on you.”
These two directions of G-dly light shining down at us or shining up at Him were expressed in the daily service in the Temple. When the Jews brought sacrifices to the Temple, a fire would descend from Heaven and consume them. The sentiment expressed here is that our sacrifice is merely a response to G-d’s initiatives and is thus followed by G- d’s fire descending from heaven.
But, in addition to the fire that descended from on High, there is a Biblical commandment to bring our own fire to the altar. Underlying this command is the thought that as much as G-d does for us, He wants our initiative as well. G-d could provide us with the greatest amount of fiery passion, but our small contribution of fire that we generate on our own has much value as well.
This then is what the two sons of Aaron had in mind when they brought the unauthorized offering. According to the Talmud they felt that after the fire descended from Heaven to mark G-d’s role in the process, it was important that they do their part in bringing their own little fire.
Prerequisite to the Fire from Below
Indeed, this would have been a legitimate gesture on their part if it had been done at any other occasion besides the day in which the Temple was inaugurated. Although we were empowered by G-d to bring our own little fire to the Temple; that can only be done after the initial period where we open ourselves to be receptive to and bask in the G-dly light.
What permits us to assert our own spiritual power is the realization that all power derives from G-d. Only after fully absorbing the G- dly light that was generated at the inauguration of the Mishkan could they have entertained the notion that their small gesture had cosmic value, or, for that matter, any value at all.
And here is the paradox of Judaism: Only the person who appreciates that there is nothing but G-d may safely assert his or her own role in this world.
This can explain what the Midrash had in mind when it said that Aaron could have referred to circumcision in response to the tragic death of his two sons. Circumcision, the Talmud tells us, is our way of perfecting G-d creation. In other words, G-d deliberately created a man with a physical anatomical imperfection that reflects a parallel spiritual defect that He told us to remove In short, circumcision is where G-d has given us the power to contribute to the perfection of humanity and the world that G-d created.
Aaron could have used this as a defense of his son’s unauthorized offering. What they did, Aaron could have reasoned, was no worse than circumcision. Isn’t that what G-d wants of us? Doesn’t He encourage perfecting and thereby contributing to His creation? If so, Aaron could have vented some feeling of bitterness at G-d by referring to circumcision.
The Paradox of Moshiach
The same paradox that underlies Judaism in general is also at the heart of the Messianic process. On the one hand, Moshiach is sent by G-d to change the world. And as many of our prayers attest, salvation comes directly from G-d. Moshiach, is G-d;s messenger, who like Moses whose soul resides in him, reaches the level of transparency so that G-d’s energy is channeled through him.
Yet, at the same time, we are told that every Mitzvah we do chips away at the exile and brings us closer to Moshiach and Redemption. Every one of us, the Ba’al Shem Tov taught, possesses a spark of Moshiach. We must search for that spark and ignite it.
But we must simultaneously realize that our Mitzvot are successful because they were ordained by G-d. Had they been man-made ordinances, they could never accomplish anything on their own. And the ability we have to ignite that spark comes from Moshiach.
From the book Light from the Future: Parshas Shemini by Rabbi Heschel Greenberg, published by the Jewish Discovery Center.
