There’s an old (and unflattering) joke that a Rabbi a priest and a minister were arguing about how to distribute a certain sum of charitable donations. The minister suggested that they draw a circle on the ground and throw the money up in the air. Whatever landed outside the circle would go to the poor and whatever landed inside the circle would be divided into the accounts of the church and synagogue. The priest learnedly suggested that it would be better for God to be at the center and the money that landed inside the circle would go to the poor, while the outside money would benefit the church’s material needs. The Rabbi then opined that, since God was everywhere, they had no real need of the circle at all. Rather, he suggested, throw the money up in the air – then, said the (bad) Rabbi, “whatever God wants, He can keep!”

Perhaps this joke is meant to ask a real question about the challenge of deciding what God is supposed to do in this world and what is left to us. Perhaps the priest and the minister were motivated by “Render to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and to God the things which are God’s.[1]” The Rabbi, perhaps by “The Heavens are the Heavens of the Lord, and the Earth He gave to humanity.” But the question is more complex when it becomes: “which responsibilities are ours and which are God’s.?”

When Herzl was building momentum for Zionism, he very much wanted to acquire the support of the Orthodox Jews and the Rabbis. But he came up against the same issue of responsibility. Most Jews (the early Reform Jews a clear exception) could get on board with the idea that the Jews should return to Zion. But whose job was it to bring them there: ours or God’s? Among many of the Orthodox – especially those with a stronger messianic streak – our job was to be “metzapeh li’shua”, to hope and pray for redemption, not to start grass-roots or political movements to accomplish it. Among others, and I count myself among them, anticipating and hoping for redemption has always required partnership between the Jews and God. For the secular, of course, God had nothing to do with it – it was all up to human beings.

To bring the conversation back to the mundane: let’s say you fall in love with a girl, but she won’t give you the time of day. Do you say “It’s God’s will” or do you work hard to try to get her to notice you (or to become worthy of her attention)? If you write a manuscript and it gets rejected by the first 10 publishers you send it to, should you say “Now it’s in God’s hands” or do you keep pushing it until you succeed? When you get sick, do you throw your hands up and say “This is my destiny” or do you go to the doctor and take your medicine? There are times when actions and ambition are required by us.

On the other hand, Judaism also gives us a tremendous tool to deal with setbacks and challenges. When the world comes crashing down around us and things are outside of our control, when despite our best efforts, things don’t work out the way we planned, we can say “gam zu l’tova”, this too will be for the good. King David said: “Many intentions are in the hearts of men, but the plan of God will endure.” We learn to accept what we cannot control.

But the standard operating procedure is to recognize the partnership between humans and God and to accept that as part of God’s plan, we are not mean to be merely servants or proxies of God in this world, but partners. When God endows us with special gifts, like an operatic voice or a set of surgical fingers, like an unusual compassion or an outstanding ability so solve problems – we should accept these gifts and do our part to enhance them. When God gives us fertile soil, w should plant it. We appreciate and enhance what we have. Which brings us to the old joke about Shloime, who prays every day to win the lottery until God finally appears to him in a vision and says “Shloimele, I really want to help you, but you’ve got to buy a ticket!” This idea is found in this week’s sidra as well.

Our Torah portion opens with the strange reference “And God spoke to Moshe after the death of the two sons of Aharon, when they came close to God and died.” Obviously, there is something about what God says to Moshe at this time that is significantly related to and perhaps caused by the traumatic death of Aaron’s two sons. In our Torah portion of 2 weeks ago, we saw how Nadav and Avihu had brought some kind of unauthorized incense offering on the day of the Tabernacle’s dedication and had been burned to death by fire from Heaven.

In this week’s Torah portion, God commands Moshe to command Aharon about the sacrificial procedure of Yom Kippur. It struck me that Leviticus 16:12-13 sounds a lot like Aaron is to do exactly what his sons had done on the day of their death[2] and it must have been very painful for him to perform it:
“and he shall take a shovelful of coals from the altar before God and a handful of incense spices finely ground and bring them inside the curtain, where he shall put the incense before God and the smoke of the incense shall cover the testimony (i.e. the ark and cherubim) so that he shall not die.” cf. Lev 10:1-2
Despite this pain, the Torah nonetheless reminds Aaron specifically of his son’s death to underscore what they had done wrong: they had entered the Holy of Holies without permission.[3] In other words, they violated the partnership between man and God. the Holy of Holies is God’s terrain and we must be invited in even just to visit for the noble goal of atonement of all of Israel’s sins. But to overstep and go into God’s sacred space without invitation, is wrong and destroys the trust and bond of that partnership. Everyone agrees that Nadav and Avihu’s intentions were correct and pure – they sought only to enhance the spirituality and beauty of the day of dedication. But by overstepping their bounds, they brought tragedy instead of joy.

To paraphrase a well-known phrase: May we have the courage to act with God when we need to act, the serenity to accept God’s will when we cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference. Shabbat shalom!

[1] If Caesar is not said to be just secular authority, but the secular realm in general.
[2] According to some commentators (see Rashbam, Lev. 10:2), Nadav and Avihu did not actually go into the Holy of Holies. Rather, they were performing the daily incense service, which is done on the golden altar in the Holy. But, according to Midrash Rabba Lev 20:8, they went “lifnai v’lifnim”, i.e. they were performing the once-yearly incense service of Yom Kippur.
[3] This is only one of many interpretations as to the sin of Nadav and Avihu.