The Torah portion of Acharei Mot, meaning “after the death of,” opens with the verse, “And the L-rd spoke to Moses after the death of (acharei mot) Aaron’s two sons, when they drew near before the L-rd, and they died.”1

Several portions back—in the parshah of Shemini—we read about the tragic passing of Aaron’s two eldest sons, Nadab and Abihu, on “opening day” of the Tabernacle. After all of the effort that went into creating the Tabernacle, it was finally open for business. Everything seemed to be going flawlessly, but then the unimaginable happened: Nadab and Abihu took the initiative to prepare incense and place it before G‑d, without being instructed to do so. This was a “foreign fire which G‑d had not commanded,”2 and resulted in a fire coming forth from G‑d and consuming them.

Spiritual Escapism

Aaron had four sons: Nadab, Abihu, Elazar, and Itamar. All four were righteous, and along with Aaron they merited to be the first Kohanim (priests) to serve in the Tabernacle. However, as we delve into the teachings of Kabbalah and Chassidism, we see that Nadab and Abihu may have been too righteous for their own good.

What exactly was the “sin” that led to their deaths?

There are many opinions found in the Talmud and the commentaries. A common theme among all of them is that their fervor for G‑dliness was so great that they did something in the Tabernacle that they shouldn’t have done.

Suggested causes of death include: they entered the sanctuary in a state of intoxication; they rendered a halachic ruling in the presence of their teacher (Moses);3 they never married (and remaining single for no good reason is a sin);4 they acted too self-assured and did not seek the advice of their elders (namely, Moses and Aaron).5

The teachings of Chassidism offer a different perspective, echoing a famous teaching of Rabbi Chaim ibn Attar, the 18th century Talmudist, Kabbalist, and Jewish leader, commonly known as the Or Hachaim after his popular commentary on the Torah. The Or Hachaim explained6 that Aaron’s sons did not sin in the literal sense. Instead, their intense desire to cleave to G‑d became so overwhelming that their bodies could no longer contain their souls. “They drew near to the L-rd”—with such passion—that “they died.”

Using Chassidic vernacular: they had too much ratzo and not enough shov.

Ratzo (lit. “run”) is a state of longing to cleave to G‑d; the passionate desire of the soul to transcend its material existence, to “run forward” and cleave to its Source. On the other hand, shov (lit. “return”) is the soul’s sober determination to “return” and fulfill its mission in the body; the resolve to live within the context of our material reality, based on an awareness that this is aligned with G‑d’s ultimate intent.

As Jews, we must divest ourselves of material concerns and focus on spirituality. However, when we reach the pinnacle of spiritual ecstasy, we must return to the work our souls are meant to do within the physical world.

Our souls are sent into this world to impact and transform it, not to escape it.

When we ascend to lofty spiritual heights and become intoxicated with spirituality, we must remain focused on our task: return to earth, marry, have children, work, give charity, and be G‑dly. But be G‑dly in G‑d’s world; don’t seek to escape it.

Banishing Evil

The parshah of Acharei Mot begins with a detailed description of the Yom Kippur service of the High Priest. This is the Torah portion that we read on Yom Kippur, and it includes a number of beautiful life lessons.

A key aspect of the Yom Kippur service involved the High Priest taking two identical goats and, via a lottery, randomly selecting one to be sacrificed to G‑d on the Altar and one to be sent to Azazel—a rocky, hilly terrain outside of the city walls—where it would be pushed off a cliff to its death.7

The Sixth Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Shneerson, of righteous memory, taught8 that everyone contains tendencies and characteristics that can be described as “not so good.” What can we learn from the scapegoat sent to Azazel? We must all banish our less-than-good parts to “an uninhabited place.”

The goat offered to G‑d and sacrificed on the altar symbolizes righteousness, while the second goat sent to the cliffs of Azazel represents sin, wickedness, evil, and negativity.

We all have good and bad within us; that’s a fact. Our goal is to identify the good, maximize it, and use it in the service of G‑d.

At the same time, we must identify what’s not good and send it far, far away—into a desert, away from others, pushing evil off a cliff to its demise. That’s how you deal with evil.

Evil should not be nurtured. We shouldn’t rationalize by saying, “Since G‑d created me with good and evil, I will serve G‑d with my evil side too.” That approach doesn’t work. Evil—the Azazel scapegoat—must be sent far away into a desert and pushed off a mountain.

Once evil is banished, we serve G‑d with the good.

Beautiful Scapegoats

My first cousin, Rabbi Yossy Goldman—shliach (emissary) of the Rebbe in South Africa since 1976, and longtime rabbi of the iconic Sydenham Shul in Johannesburg—shared a profound teaching on this topic.

There’s a fascinating aspect to the law of the scapegoat: halacha requires that the two goats must be identical in size, appearance, and cost. Both must be unblemished and, so-to-speak, “good-looking.”

This begs the question: It makes sense that the goat offered to G‑d should be the best and the nicest, but why does the scapegoat need to be perfect if it’s destined to be pushed off a cliff? Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if it was ugly?

There’s a deeper meaning here:

Azazel represents our physical, selfish desires and needs. How do we treat the Azazel within us? We often treat it very well! We want upgrades, we want first-class, we want bigger, better, and nicer things. But when it comes to G‑d’s needs, we aren’t as particular.

My father, Rabbi Sholom B. Gordon, of blessed memory, often emphasized the ideal way to budget for an etrog for Sukkot, or a new pair of tefillin: it should be (at least) proportional to what you spend on your car. If you drive a modest car, you can get a second- or third-tier etrog or pair of tefillin. But if your car is top-of-the-line—if you drive a Mercedes or a Cadillac—you should invest in top-of-the-line tefillin and a top-tier etrog. The way you cater to G‑d’s needs must be at least as good as the way you cater to your own selfish desires.

The goat for G‑d—the spiritual aspects of your life—should be at least as beautiful and perfect as the goat of Azazel—the physical pleasures in your life.

The Quintessence of One

At the conclusion of the description of the High Priest’s service on Yom Kippur, the verse states, “This shall be as an eternal statute for you, to effect atonement upon the children of Israel, for all their sins, once each year.”9

Rabbi Isaiah Halevi Horowitz (1558-1628), known as the Sheloh after his mystical work Shenei Luchot HaBrit, taught that the Hebrew word for the smoke of the incense offering, ashan—spelled ayin, shin, nun—is an acronym for the concepts of space (olam), time (shanah), and soul (nefesh).

The smoke is raised by the High Priest—the holiest person; in the holiest place—the Holy of Holies; in the Temple—which is in the holiest city, Jerusalem; on the holiest day of the year—Yom Kippur. This smoke is raised “once each year.” So, each year, there is one day, one space, and one person who can perform this one very special service.

The Rebbe taught that just as there is “one” in time (Yom Kippur), “one” in space (the Holy of Holies), and “one” in souls (the High Priest), there is also the aspect of “one” within each Jew—the very essence of our souls—the inextinguishable spark of Judaism. No matter how far a Jew may stray from the path of Torah observance, they still retain their connection to the “one,” the spark of the oneness of G‑d within.

This parshah is often read in proximity to the Passover season. At the Seder, we address the four sons—the wise son, the wicked son, the simple son, and the son who doesn’t know how to ask questions. Interestingly, when we read about them in the Haggadah, we say, “The Torah speaks of four sons: one is wise, one is wicked, etc.”

The Haggadah could very well have said, “The Torah speaks of four sons: wise, wicked, etc.” That would have been much more concise. And if we needed to count them, we could have said, “the Torah speaks of four sons: the first is wise, the second is wicked, etc.” So, why this phrasing?

In truth, however, we are not counting, nor are we being wordy.

The Rebbe explains that saying “one” before each of the sons underscores the fact that each contains the spark of “one”—the One G‑d. The wise son, the wicked son, the simple son, and even the son who doesn’t know how to ask—they all have the “one” within, the essence of their soul, the inextinguishable spark of Judaism. Each son, indeed every Jewish man, woman, and child, has a spark of pure goodness within them.10

Let us always remember that each of us carries the essence of “one” within us, a guiding light that unites us with our Creator and each other. May we strive to always see the good in ourselves and in one another, and may we merit to witness the era of ultimate goodness with the coming of our righteous Moshiach, may it be speedily in our days. Amen.