A few weeks ago, Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu, went to offer sacrifices.
But their offering was strange.
Different.
It wasn't what G-d had asked for.
A fire came down and consumed them.
And they died.
This week, our parsha starts by returning to this story.
After the death, acharei mot.
Then the parsha details the elaborate rituals of what we know today as the Yom Kippur service.
And concludes with prohibitions on eating and forbidden relationships.
But, why does this parsha begin by reminding us about Nadav and Avihu?
Perhaps their deaths have a lot to do with the ritual and meaning of Yom Kippur.
Let's explore what's supposed to happen on this day.
Aaron, the high priest, is not allowed to enter the inner most sanctuary, the holy of
holies, on any day except Yom Kippur.
Aaron immerses himself in the ritual bath.
He sets aside different animals for sacrifices.
And draws lots to determine which goat will receive the sins of the people and be sent into the
wilderness, and which will be sacrificed.
He begins the sacrifices and sprinkles the blood in the holy of holies.
He finishes the sacrificial rites and then Aaron removes his separate priestly garments,
bathes in the mikveh, and puts the white garments back on to remove the incense and finish the
day's services.
Aaron's sons didn't do this.
They brought their own offering that wasn't commanded.
They were eager to be close to G-d, but they acted rashly on their own terms.
We do this too sometimes.
We get carried away, ignoring what people really want from us.
Sometimes we love very strongly, like Nadav and Avihu.
But we don't love very well.
It's hard to see how pious priests could screw up this badly.
After reading about their deaths, you couldn't blame yourself for turning off on love, on
closeness, even on G-d.
If these high priests couldn't do it right, how can we?
Nadav and Avihu remind us at Yom Kippur time that there is still a way to approach G-d.
Closeness is not off limits.
Sometimes a measured, patient engagement with those we love is better than bringing fire
of our own.
But even if there is a safe way to approach G-d, it seems strange to take the chance on
Yom Kippur, when we're a mess, publicly broken, and incapable.
Didn't we learn anything from what happened to Aaron's sons?
But this is the gift of Yom Kippur.
We want to approach G-d deeply, and that love goes both ways.
When our frailties are exposed, that's precisely when G-d wants us to show up.
When we're honest about how hard it is to be good, it's safe to come closer.
And through careful engagement in that moment, something amazing happens.
G-d renews our best selves.
As it says, "for on that day, G-d will atone for you and make you pure, from all your sins
you shall be cleansed."
Yom Kippur and this parsha encourage us not to give up on passionate engagement, even
though we have to engage very carefully.
We can deeply love G-d and one another.
Even at those time when we seem least worthy, because that is when we are most loved.