The Holy Gaze

by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine

A tragedy had occurred. On the inauguration day of the Mishkan, two of Ahron’s sons proceeded to bring an unauthorized offering in the Sanctuary, and G-d took their lives. In the aftermath, Moshe told Ahron, “I knew that great people would die on this day. I just wasn’t sure who. Now I see that your children are greater than we are.” Moshe’s comment begs the question: Why did someone great have to die on the Mishkan’s inauguration day? And, in what way were Ahron’s sons greater than Moshe and Ahron?

One of the amazing qualities of Torah is that it is compared to fire. Fire burns on and on, and continually provides more warmth and light to those who nurture it properly. But, there is a risk when dealing with fire. If not tended to properly, fire can get out of control.

Sometimes, for example, we see people expressing extreme honor for the Torah by kissing the Torah scroll when it is brought out for reading. But, the thoughtful among us wonder how we should feel when people push each other out of the way in order to kiss the Torah. Hopefully, even if one were to be pushed, they would certainly take it in stride; after all, it is simply an expression of zealousness and love for Torah. But, is it right?

Similarly, I once saw the young son of a Rosh Yeshiva totally engrossed in his learning even as the afternoon prayers began. The boy must have been no more than 9 years old, yet he continued to learn his Talmudic passage even as the Chazan began the repetition. In my mind’s eye, I can still see him distractedly bouncing up on his tip toes as he responded to Kedusha, while he simultaneously reached for some Talmudic reference volumes from the shelves above him. I could only smile at his passion for Torah. I hoped that, with maturity, he would recognize that there is a time for study and a time for prayer.

But, what happens when the passion or zeal goes unbridled by people who should know better? This is what Moshe feared would happen when G-d so generously revealed His Glory on inauguration day. Moshe sensed that some well-meaning, very great people, would get carried away and do something that was unauthorized and out of turn. When he saw that this happened to Ahron’s sons, he declared, “They were very great. Their passion for spirituality caused them to enter G-d’s inner sanctuary without permission. True, this was an act of disrespect and was punished. But it is also an expression of their greatness.”

Often, as humans, we need to make an extra effort to find the proper balance between passion and level-headed behavior. I recall for example a particular shiur that my Rebbe was scheduled to give. He had prepared extensively for it, and we were looking forward. But as he began, the office staff decided to sound a fire drill. Rebbe looked at us with great pain. The passion that he felt and that we shared for Torah was palpable in the room. But, he knew that he could not ignore the fire drill. And so, he reluctantly closed his Gemorah, and we followed him obediently to the outside lawn. The shiur would not be the same. But such is the result of balance and maturity.

It is said that, in one of the great Chasidic dynasties, the Rebbe would allow a few select disciples to pray the final prayer of Yom Kippur with him in a side room. While the majority would pray in the large room and finish Neilah promptly so that people could eat, this select group would extend Yom Kippur in heartfelt, melodious prayer.

Each year, as the final Yom Kippur prayer would begin in this private chamber the Rebbe would look every disciple in the face. Legend had it that if he found one unworthy to be part of his elite group you would be sent away.

One year, though, they discovered the real reason for his holy gaze, when he sent two disciples away to lie down because they look tired and weak. Each year, he had not been gazing at them to discern their saintliness and passion, but rather to make sure that they were indeed healthy and strong enough to add precious minutes to the sacred fast day.

We can and should strive for greatness. But it has to be with balance.

No wonder that Chanah, the mother of Shmuel the prophet, prayed for a son who would be both great and normal (Talmud, Brachos 31b). For it is indeed a task to climb the ladder which has its head in heaven, but has its legs firmly planted on the ground.

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