In writing about the sin of Nadav and Avihu which led to their tragic deaths, Rabbi Daniel Bouskila of the Sephardic Education Center offered these comments:

Nadav and Avihu, sons of Aaron the High Priest, offered a “strange fire” on the altar, an offering that had not been commanded by the Lord. As a consequence of this sin, a fire consumed them. This terrible tragedy occurred during the ceremonies dedicating the Mishkan (sanctuary).

What was the nature of the transgression of Nadav and Avihu? Why was their offering of a “strange fire” so serious as to merit the death penalty?

This week’s Parasha begins with Moses gathering the people of Israel and reminding them of the sanctity of the Sabbath. As they are busy with the construction of the Mishkan (sanctuary), they are not to lose sight of the overarching lessons of Shabbat.

The holiness of Shabbat is not observable objectively. Unlike Rosh Hodesh or the seasonal festivals, there is no clear pattern in the natural world which would indicate that the seventh day of each week should be sacred. There is no scientifically observable difference between time on the Sabbath and time on any other day of the week. Shabbat is sacred and special only to those who are spiritually attuned to its sanctity.

On Sunday night, February 9, 2014, I had the honor and pleasure of speaking at the inaugural event of the Centennial celebration of Congregation Or V’Shalom in Atlanta, Georgia. The Congregation dates back to 1914, when two groups of Sephardim from Turkey and Rhodes merged their organizations—Or Hahayim and Ahavath Shalom—into one community. Many of the current members of Or V’Shalom are descendants of the founders’ generation, and many others have joined the congregation, attracted by its warmth and vitality.

After their glorious victory and rededication of the Temple, the Hasmoneans established the holiday of Hanukkah to be celebrated by Jews for all future generations. The festival of lights is an occasion for thanksgiving to God, celebration of Jewish pride, remembrance of the importance of religious freedom.

It wasn't too long, though, before this great spiritual and military victory lost its luster. The Hasmoneans--a priestly family--set themselves up as kings. Once they centralized so much power in themselves, corruption soon set in. Their "kings" became ruthless despots; the high priesthood became a political prize going to the highest bidder.

A story is told about a famous musician who was to perform a violin concert. The orchestra began the program, but just as the musician put his bow to the violin one of the four strings snapped with a loud pop. The audience gasped. The conductor stopped the orchestra.

The violinist immediately signaled the conductor and orchestra to continue with the program. He played the entire concert with a violin of three strings…and he played masterfully. He was able to improvise and compensate so that the missing string was not noticed. At the conclusion of the performance, the audience gave an enthusiastic standing ovation. Everyone was amazed.

God instructs Abram to set out for a new land. God states that He will bless Abram, make him into a great nation, increase his fame, support his allies and curse his enemies. Abram will be a blessing to the nations of the world.

Abram complies with God’s commandment: “So Abram went as the Lord had spoken unto him; and Lot went with him…”(Bereishith 12:4).

Lot? How did Lot get into this scene? God had spoken with Abram and hadn’t said a word to Lot about going to a new land!

The very next verse (12:5) reports: “And Abram took Sarai his wife and Lot his brother’s son…and they went forth to go into the land of Canaan.” But didn’t the previous verse already inform us that Lot was going with Abram? Why is Lot
mentioned again?

Let us try to reconstruct the story.

Shalom uvrakha, I hope your academic year is off to a good start. I wish you all the best for the New Year.

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When I was a teenager growing up in Seattle, our family was affiliated with Congregation Ezra Bessaroth. Our rabbi was Rabbi William Greenberg, of blessed memory.

I still recall vividly a conversation/confrontation I had with Rabbi Greenberg. He taught me a lesson which I’ve never forgotten.

One Shabbat morning, a member of our congregation came to services. Rabbi Greenberg gave him a big smile. The gentleman was given the honor of being called to the Torah, and Rabbi Greenberg welcomed him warmly during his sermon.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to remind us of the transience of life. It might be an illness, the death of a loved one, an accident, a shocking and tragic news report. At these crisis moments, we suddenly and starkly remember that we are mortal, that life on this earth is temporary.

When people confront their own mortality, they often come to the realization that time is precious; that life is too valuable to be frittered away on nonsense; that it is self-destructive to engage in petty feuds or egotistical competitions. It can take a crisis to help us live on a higher, happier level. Facing the transience of life, we take our living moments more seriously.