(1) Now Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before the Eternal alien fire, which God had not enjoined upon them. (2) And fire came forth from the Eternal and consumed them; thus they died at the instance of the Eternal. (3) Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what the Eternal meant when God said: Through those near to me I show myself holy, and gain glory before all the people.” And Aaron was silent.
(16) Then Moses inquired about the goat of sin offering, and it had already been burned! He was angry with Eleazar and Ithamar, Aaron’s remaining sons, and said, (17) “Why did you not eat the sin offering in the sacred area? For it is most holy, and He has given it to you to remove the guilt of the community and to make expiation for them before the Eternal. (18) Since its blood was not brought inside the sanctuary, you should certainly have eaten it in the sanctuary, as I commanded.” (19) And Aaron spoke to Moses, “See, this day they brought their sin offering and their burnt offering before the Eternal, and such things have befallen me! Had I eaten sin offering today, would the Eternal have approved?” (20) And when Moses heard this, he approved.
The death of Nadav and Avihu is devastating, and Aaron finally finds a way to express himself to Moses. How do we make sense of a loss such as this?
Most of our commentators place blame on Nadav and Avihu (see Rashbam for a differing opinion).
A few other notable biblical texts (Job 8, Lam 2) also do not imagine a world in which God could have made any type of mistake.
(1) Bildad the Shuhite said in reply: (2) How long will you speak such things? Your utterances are a mighty wind! (3) Will God pervert the right? Will the Almighty pervert justice? (4) If your sons sinned against God, God dispatched them for their transgression. (5) But if you seek God and supplicate the Almighty, (6) If you are blameless and upright, God will protect you, And grant well-being to your righteous home. (7) Though your beginning be small, In the end you will grow very great. (8) Ask the generation past, study what their fathers have searched out— (9) For we are of yesterday and know nothing; Our days on earth are a shadow— (10) Surely they will teach you and tell you, Speaking out of their understanding. (11) Can papyrus thrive without marsh? Can rushes grow without water? (12) While still tender, not yet plucked, they would wither before any other grass. (13) Such is the fate of all who forget God; The hope of the impious person comes to naught—
(6) God has stripped God's booth like a garden, God has destroyed God's Tabernacle; The Eternal has ended in Zion Festival and sabbath; In God's raging anger God has spurned King and priest. (7) The Eternal has rejected God's altar, Disdained God's Sanctuary. God has handed over to the foe The walls of its citadels; They raised a shout in the House of the Eternal As on a festival day.
Modern perspectives help us understand and draw out the possible responses. Perhaps the poetry of Job and Lamentations are a salve within themselves. The poet who wrote Un'taneh Tokef asked a similar question.
The great poet who wrote Un'taneh Tokef knows that some are called "not at their end" (line 16). He is asking our deepest question: Why? What can faith mean when the young are taken before their time, when senseless tragedy abounds? Why do some reach old age and some but a few moments? On one side of the scale is justice, on the other that searing "Why?" How can we be persons of faith when consumed by this mystery of life and death, fairness and injustice? These mysteries can be too enormous for us to bear. We fall back on ourselves and are nearly broken by our own weakness, our limitations - physical, emotional, spiritual, conceptual.
Our poet too, I believe, was confounded. "Their origin is from dust and their end is to dust" (line 27), and between dust and dust lie lives of impossible struggle. Unable to bear the enormous cost that life extracts from deep within us, the poet sums up the burden very simply, in just a few words: "At their peril gathering food" (line 28). I read this line more poetically: B'nafsho avi lachmo, "at the risk of our souls, we earn our keep." Death comes without explanation, but life is an inordinate effort. This prayer leaves no stone unturned, no question unasked.
....
"[Our poet] finds it with a final burst of hope, calling out to whomever in the universe might listen: "Your years are boundless and the length of your days is endless. Your glorious chariots are priceless and the eternity of your name is limitless. Your name suits You and You suit your name. You named us after You" (lines 32-34).
This is true faith: the proclamation, despite it all, of God's greatness, and the assertion that God's name is included in ours. We are somehow linked to God; being so linked is our definition. God shares God's holiness with us. We are God's image, God's partner. We are God's helpmate from the dawn of creation. And the poet says it is through our names. When we cry out God's name, we voice our own as well."
- Rabbi Danny Zemel, "The Moral Challenge of Un'taneh Tokef," p. 78-80, from Who by Fire, Who by Water, Un'taneh Tokef, edited by Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman, Ph.D.
After the death of a child in our neighborhood, I called one of my rabbinic colleagues who was supporting the bereaved family. "What can I do to support you?" I asked. "Go home and hug your kids," he said. And I did. For an instant, I felt the weight, the privilege, and the burden of having a love so rich in the world. I understood the capriciousness of life.
- Rabbi Sharon Brous, "At the Edge of the Abyss," 143, from Who by Fire, Who by Water, edited by Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman, Ph.D.