Here we are, this Shabbat Shemini, marking the 11th day of the Omer. 38 more days of counting, checking off the days until reaching the final summit at Sinai. 38 more days until the next festive celebration, Shavuot. It takes patience to count our days of wandering. It takes patience to sit back and wait for the harvest to grow. It takes patience to prepare for a moment as significant as revelation is understood to be.
I admit, I am probably the worst person to give this sermon. I need to hear it, to heed it – and take it to heart, for one of my greatest faults is my impatience. I am impatient to the point of being labeled ‘impulsive’ at times; though, to my credit, impulsivity implies not thinking through an action, and believe me, I think through my actions (perhaps over think – just ask those closest to me) despite my impatience at getting those deeds done once I’ve set myself on a course of action.
But I, as all of us, can learn from this biblically mandated period of counting. Counting the Omer reminds us not only of the value of patience and thoughtful attention as opposed to active doing and celebration but of the challenge and indeed stamina required for such attentive patience.
Parashat Shimini contains one of the more disturbing stories of our Tanach, the story of Nadav and Abihu. Perhaps they too could have learned something significant from this idea of biding time through steady counting.
The story is familiar. Aaron and his sons are at the end of their week long ordination period. Bayom ha-sh’mini, on the eighth day, from where the name of our portion comes, they are commanded to bring up offerings to the altar in a ritual which will conclude the ordination procedure. Aaron, assisted by his sons, brings up the various offerings, blesses the people with what we assume is the priestly blessing, after which: ותצא אש מלפני יהוה ותאכל על המזבח את העולה, “fire came forth from Adonai and consumed the burnt offering upon the altar.” Powerful stuff and the text is clear to remind us that this fire-ry scene of Divine presence was not for Aaron, nor his sons, alone, rather it was a moment – וירא כל העם to be seen by all of the people.
Apparently two of the sons who witnessed this dramatic and very public episode - didn’t appreciate such attention paid to Moses and Aaron (or at least their offerings) during this heady ritual and attempted to offer up their own gifts – not of calf, lamb, he-goat, ram, ox, or even meal such as was required of Aaron, but of אש זרה – commonly translated as ‘strange’ or ‘alien’ fire. No sooner had Nadav and Abihu lifted up their pans of incense and fire, and again, ותצא אש מלפני יהוה, fire come forth from Adonai. But, instead of consuming the offering itself, the אש זרה offered up by Nadav and Abihu, ותאכל אותם, God’s fire consumed them.
The nature of Nadav and Abihu’s crime has been a source of Rabbinic discussion and commentary since the earliest days of Rabbinic scholarship. What did they do that was so wrong, that warranted such violent punishment? Was it their evil intentions that laid at the heart of their crime – a desire to undermine Moses’ and Aaron’s authority and assume the mantle of leadership for themselves? As Samson Raphael Hirsch, for example, summarizes, perhaps it was Nadav and Abihu’s desire to have their offering used as a tool to fulfill their own self-centered needs and wishes as opposed to using the offering to serve God and by extension the greater community (see citation in Leibowitz, p. 125).
Many traditional commentators argue that the root of Nadav and Abihu’s crime lay, however, not in their intentions, but rather in their choice of offering – this אש זרה, an offering that was ‘strange’ in that it was never asked for, never commanded by God. Their fault lay not in the fact that they were moved to make offerings to God, but how and what they offered – these triggered God’s rage.
אש זרה, alien fire. A grammatical analysis allows us another avenue for understanding this אש זרה. זרה in this context is commonly assumed to be derived from the root ז-ו-ר, meaning ‘strange’ ‘alien’, or even ‘illegitimate’; but what if we read, זרה as rising out of the root, ז-ר-ה, a root which connotes the idea of ‘scattered’, ‘spread out’, maybe even ‘haphazard’. The offerings for Aaron’s ordination ritual involved painstakingly detailed procedural functions. There was nothing disorganized or scattered about the procedure: bring the offering, make expiation upon it, slaughter it, deal with its blood in a specific ritualistic fashion, burn certain parts into smoke on the altar, burn other parts outside the camp; and ‘rinse & repeat’ for each successive offering. The tasks of the offering required physical effort, olfactory stimulation, and a messy face off with the death of a living and breathing creature all experienced within a clearly organized structure and pattern, one that we can assume for all of its detail ensured a level of safety for all involved.
Compare these cumbersome (and perhaps tedious) procedures with Nadav and Abihu’s fire offerings. They each took a pan, lit a fire on it, placed some incense on top of the fire and poof, they were consumed. There is no evidence of any patient procedure of precautions taken to ensure the fire remained contained. Perhaps the word zara was chosen to teach us that what made the fire zar, illegitimate, was its capacity to zarah spread (and consume) due to the impulsivity by which it was offered with no regard for public safety. Moreover, their choice of fire is interestingly in and of itself. Fire is never presented in our biblical text as an appropriate offering in and of itself. Offerings are burned routinely, but it is not the fire that God finds pleasing; it is the smoke and odor. So soon on the heels of witnessing God’s fire consume Aaron’s offerings, it appears that Nadav and Abihu’s choice of presenting fire was less about challenging Moses’ and Aaron’s authority but God’s through mimicking God’s miraculous fire show.
There is no question which offering is presented as most pleasing to God. Hands down the offering created out of intense focus and intimate effort; the one that required attention to detail and ultimately more patience. Nadav and Abihu’s passion may appear to be good intentioned on the surface, but the kevanna, the intention God demands of us requires far more than eager passion. Reading this story during our period of patient waiting and counting underscores the tragedy of Nadav and Abihu’s succumbing to their own impulsive behavior.
Our offerings, too, require thoughtful, even disciplined, patience. Without thoughtful attention to content, even the most energized and flashy worship productions can easily remain vapid. We must learn to pour our spontaneous passion into well-intended kevanna. Parashat Shemini reminds us that even the most well intended spontaneity becomes not only meaningless but ultimately harmful, deadly even without proper patience and attention to substance.
It is no easy task for those of us so accustomed to the value of immediate gratification so commonly forwarded in our culture to calm our ‘do it now’ impulse. Moreover, we need the passion and glow of spontaneity in our worship offerings, but true kevanna, meaningful intention, requires patience and attention as well as spontaneity.
Kevanna, proper intention, is vital to worship; it has always been viewed as a necessary counter to the keva, to what is fixed in tradition. Indeed, Jewish midrash and folklore remind us repeatedly that God responds to intention as readily if not more so than content. Yet, charismatic spontaneity without regard for tradition or for others in the community is not typical of mainstream Judaism and is not a model promoted by the biblical authors – certainly not the Priestly writer of Leviticus. Here we are reminded that proper intention is a learned skill that can and must be nurtured.
Does spontaneous charismatic prayer ever have its place in Jewish life? Perhaps. Our mystics of course would say so. And the biblical voice might say so as well. The editorial references to the story of Nadav and Abihu found in the book of Numbers indicate that Nadav and Abihu’s error lay in the timing of their offerings, בהקרבם אש זרה לפני יהוה in ‘when they brought this aish zarah.” Accordingly, there can be a time and place for such expressions, but certainly not in a public moment tied so closely to the ordination ritual, a ritual whose intent was to confer leadership on an individual as means of centralizing and solidifying the community.
In our modern world, most of us are offered too few moments to simply sit back and count the days that pass allowing ourselves the necessary breathing space required for true kevanna and ultimately spiritual growth. Nadav and Abihu in their haste to act missed out on the opportunity to step back and reflect, a mistake that cost them dearly. This period during which we count, when we mark time between two festive occasions, gives us an amazing gift. It gives us the opportunity to step back, observe, and reflect on the planting and learning season that has passed as we continue to step forward with impassioned intention as we seek to bring our gifts into the world.
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