A common occurrence when a guest arrives at shul is what I like to call the gabbai interrogation. The gabbai makes eye contact, begins walking over, and the guest begins to pout his chest a little, awaiting the honor he is surely about to receive. The gabbai begins his questioning:
Are you a Kohen? No. are you a Levi? No. The guest awaits a third question which he and the gabbai both know the answer to, but alas, the interrogation ends. The gabbai begins to walk away, and the poor, dejected Israelite returns to his davening, realizing he will not receive an aliyah today.
At the end of last week’s parsha, the tables are turned, and it’s the Kohanim and Leviim who are left with that empty feeling.
At the end of Sefer Shemot, the Jewish people are commanded to build the mishkan to house G-d’s presence. After much description of the beauty of the mishkan’s parts and its architectural structure, finally the day arrives. This stunning structure in the middle of the desert is finally complete. In last week’s parsha, the Torah records each and every one of the inaugural offerings: Nacshon ben Aminadav, the Nassi or leader of the tribe of Yehuda, brings his offering. Then Netanel ben Tzual, the Nassi of the tribe of Yisachar brings his offerings. The Torah spends seventy verses going through each and every one of the tribe’s offerings. While these verses may seem repetitive to us, to the Jewish people in the wilderness you can imagine the excitement of finally using this beautiful mishkan to serve G-d.
In the course of the drawn out repetitious reading of the offerings, one can easily overlook the missing tribe- the tribe of Levi and its Nassi, Aharon the Kohen Gadol.
At the beginning of our parsha, Rashi relates from the Midrash that Aharon felt distraught. All of the tribal leaders, all of his colleague, were bringing these inaugural offerings, and here he stood left out, presumably as a result of something he had done wrong.
The Midrash explains that it is at this point that the Torah introduces the commandment to light the menora as a reassurance to Aharon: Shelcha gadol mishelchem, your role is greater than theirs, as you and your tribe are tasked with the daily lighting of the menorah. And as you would expect, Rashi and the Midrash tell us that Aharon was consoled, feeling proud of his honorable role in lighting the menorah.
I would like to pose two questions on this Midrash.
The first question is a challenge the Ramban raises: Why was Aharon feeling so bad? Granted, each tribe’s Nassi may have had his one day to shine in the limelight, but every single one of these twelve inaugural days, Aharon brought an offering: he brought the korban tamid twice daily. In fact, he will be bringing this offering, as well as the daily incense in the mishkan every day for the rest of his life. If that is not enough, Aharon would merely need to look at his outfit to remind himself that he is the one and only Kohen Gadol. It is he and he alone that will enter the Holy of Holies on the Holiest Day of the year. Does he really need to light the menorah to overcome feeling inferior to the the other Nissim?
My second question is based on the nature of the mitzvah of lighting the menorah. The gemara in Yuma 24b states that hadlakah lav avodah hee, the lighting of the menorah is not one of the formal services entrusted to the Kohanim. Unlike most services in the Beit Hamikdash, lighting the menorah neither a kohen gadol, a regular kohen, nor even a levi. Even our guest in shul, or any other ordinary Israelite, can light the menorah. So why is Aharon so enamored by the consolation prize of lighting the menorah? It is not even something special to him or his tribe! Anyone can do it!
So we have two questions: Why does Aharon, the kohen gadol, who has more responsibilities in the mishkan than anyone else, need the consolation of the menorah; and secondly, how does kindling the menorah reassure him when it is not even a role that is specifically unique to his tribe?
The Meshech Chochmah provides an insight at the beginning of our parsha which I think can answer both questions. The Torah introduces the commandment to light the menorah with the phrase “daber el Aharon” speak to Aharon. Yet the gemara we just cited explains the lighting the menorah is something that anyone can do. The Meshech Chochmah explains that while it is true that anyone can light the menorah, initially, only Aharon could light the menorah. It was only after Aharon performed the inaugural lighting that the lighting could be performed subsequently by any other person.
This insight of the Meshech Chochmah certainly answers our second question: when Aharon was feeling jealous of the other nessiim, he was consoled with the honor of lighting the menorah, as this initial lighting at this point in history was a special privilege for him and his tribe.
But I believe this idea can answer our first question as well: it is true that Aharon was the Kohen Gadol. And yes, he and only hie can enter the kodesh kodashim on Yom Kippur, and he had the honor of being involved with the daily service each and every day in the dessert.
But in the eyes of Aharon Hakohen, lighting the menorah was something more significant.
We may feel that being the Kohen Gadol, having the honorable title, the royal garb, the special privileges, the unique opportunities, would provide Aharon the ultimate satisfaction. But no.
If you would ask Aharon what meant most to him, what he would list first on his resume, what he would inscribe in his epitaph, he would tell you lighting the menorah. And even if he had only lit the menorah that first day, that inaugural lighting is what made him feel content.
Why?
The gemara in Yuma told us that the kindling of the menorah was not a formal service entrusted to the kohanim. Society generally associates high honor with something exclusive, but for Aharon, the greatest honor is an inclusive honor. Most of Aharon’s individual honors and accolades could not be shared with others, but when Aharon raised his candle to light the menorah, he was beginning a daily process that all of klal yisroel could be a part of. Only Aharon could do this inaugural lighting which would subsequently allow any other Jew to perform that same lighting. This honor was most dear to Aharon.
B’haalotcha et haneirot literally translates as raising the candles. Not b’hadlakatcha et haneirot, lighting candles, but raising them up. Aharon lighting the menorah raised others up to the point that they could subsequently light themselves, and he considered this his crowning accomplishment.
The Mishna in Pirkei Avos charges us hevei mitalmidav shel aharon: we should be among the students of aharon. Ohev shalom v’rodef shalom, love peace pursue peace. None of us will reach the fame and honor of Aharon Hakohen, but we all leave an impact on those around us, our families, our community, and the world at large. To truly become a student of Aharon, we must appreciate the significance of our own flame and its ability to spread to one another, as we follow in his footsteps of pursuing peace.
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