As he was preparing for Passover one year, Rabbi Aaron Lopiansky wrote a letter to his son, intending to share a message as the holiday approached—a time when Jewish families around the world commemorate their ancestors’ journey from slavery to freedom, and when parents are especially obligated to pass on the enduring wisdom of the faith to the next generation. After a long day of cleaning, with his child asleep and himself getting ready for the Seder night, the rabbi found himself reflecting on the words he wanted to share—words that captured the essence of what this ancient tradition truly meant. Concerned that his message might not come across clearly in conversation, he felt compelled to write down the thoughts and emotions stirring in his heart.
“It has been 3,300 years since we received that freedom in Egypt. If we imagine the average age of having a child to be about 25 years, there are four generations each century. This means there are 132 people, stretching from our forefathers in Egypt to us today. Each of these 132 individuals had to pass on this heritage flawlessly, with a devotion and single-mindedness that could not falter.”
The letter continues, reflecting on the generations of ancestors who endured unimaginable hardships—Nazi death camps, Cossack whippings, and Roman persecution—while safeguarding the precious legacy of Torah. Despite the trials they faced, they passed on a divine truth and sacred responsibility that transcended cultural trends and political circumstances.
This theme of sacred responsibility echoes profoundly in the beginning of the Torah portion of Acharei Mot:
This verse immediately references the deaths of Nadab and Abihu, Aaron’s sons, who brought “strange fire” before God (Leviticus 10:1). What follows, however, is not a discourse on mourning, but a detailed set of instructions for the Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) service and the proper way for Aaron, as High Priest, to enter the Holy of Holies.
Why connect these two seemingly unrelated subjects? Why mention the death of Aaron’s sons before describing the sacred service?
Rashi, the preeminent Torah commentator, offers an illuminating parable. He compares it to a patient visited by two doctors. The first doctor advises, “Don’t eat cold food and don’t sleep in damp places.” Later, a second doctor repeats the same advice, but adds, “so that you won’t die like so-and-so did.” The second warning, Rashi explains, is far more effective.
The Torah, then, reminds Aaron of his sons’ tragic fate not to wound him further, but to emphasize the seriousness of the instructions that follow. The message is clear: approaching the Divine presence requires careful adherence to God’s commandments. Failing to follow them could result in tragedy.
But why would Aaron need such a warning? Unlike his sons, who brought an offering that they weren’t allowed to bring, Aaron was known for his faithful adherence to God’s laws. What was the concern?
Rabbi Yehuda Amital offers a thoughtful explanation. Aaron’s sons were young, energetic, and passionate in their desire to connect with the Divine. According to the Talmud, they reasoned that although fire had already come down from Heaven, people themselves should bring fire. They longed for active participation in the Divine service and closeness with God. It’s not that they weren’t interested in a relationship with God; rather, as Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehudah Berlin explains, they had a burning passion of love for God. Out of this burning desire to come close to God, they brought their offering. Yet, despite their love for God, trying to approach Him in a way that He had not commanded was unacceptable.
Rabbi Amital explained that their enthusiasm for the sublime—for communion with the Almighty—led them to overlook what they may have considered “smaller” details: the precise garments required, the prohibition against entering after drinking wine, and the commandment to wash hands and feet. In their fervor to approach God, they neglected God’s explicit instructions on how to do so. This, God warned Aaron, is what must be avoided. Even when you enter the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur and reach a level of closeness with the Divine that is unparalleled, you must still follow the rules and worship God in the way He wants to be worshipped.
This speaks directly to contemporary religious experience. How often do we elevate emotional connection over adherence to specific practices? How often do we prioritize spiritual feelings over religious obligations? The deaths of Nadab and Abihu remind us that God desires both our hearts and our obedience. As King Solomon wrote, “Guard your steps when you go to the house of God” (Ecclesiastes 4:17).
Like Aaron’s sons, we may sometimes burn with the desire to draw close to the Divine, to experience spiritual transcendence. This desire is laudable—even beautiful—but the Torah cautions us to approach on God’s terms, not our own.
This brings us back to Rabbi Lopiansky’s letter. The treasure passed down through generations isn’t merely emotional fervor or abstract spirituality. It’s a comprehensive way of life—one that encompasses both a sublime connection with God and meticulous attention to His commandments.
“That the truth of an Almighty G-d does not depend on public approval, and no matter how many people jeer at you, truth never changes. That the quality of life is not measured by goods but by the good. That one can be powerfully hungry, and yet one can forgo eating if it is not kosher. That a penny that is not mine is not mine, no matter the temptation or rationalization.”
Our ancestors didn’t sacrifice merely to pass down feelings of spirituality, but a divine framework for living. They understood what Aaron’s sons learned too late—that true connection with God comes through embracing both the spirit and the letter of His law.
The lesson of Acharei Mot is that approaching the Holy of Holies—entering the inner sanctum of divine communion—requires both passionate longing and careful adherence to God’s instructions. In this balance, we honor our heritage while ensuring its transmission to future generations, preserving not just religious emotion but the divine wisdom that gives it form and substance.
