Of all the imagery found in the tefillot (prayers) of the High Holiday season, none is as pervasive as the image of God as King. The ba'al shacharit (leader of the morning service) begins his prayer with the statement that God is seated on His throne. The essence of the Kedushat Hayom (sanctification of the day) blessing in the Amidah of both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is the statement that God is Melekh al kol haaretz (King over all the earth). Of all the additions we make to the Amidah throughout the days leading up to Yom Kippur, the only one that is essential – that we have to repeat the prayer if we omit – is the blessing that denominates God as the Holy King.
Did you ever wonder why the central image of God during this season is as King rather than as Judge? Our prayers do, after all, depict God as sitting in judgment, with the books of life and death open before Him. Yet while we repeatedly refer to God as king, rarely do we specifically denominate Him as judge.
The essential job of the judge is to adjudicate, to do justice in the case before him. The essential job of the king is to rule, to protect the well-being of his dominion. A king, as part of his duties, may judge individual cases, but his primary concern, the focus of his attention, is on the welfare of all his subjects, not merely the ones who are standing before him for judgment. Sometimes, for the benefit of his kingdom as a whole, he may have to decide individual cases in a manner that, taken by itself, seems less than perfectly just.
Being a judge, it would seem, is a lot easier than being a king. Most of us probably believe, deep down – and sometimes not so far down – that we could fulfill God's judicial role. Most of us probably believe that we could do justice to all those individuals who will appear before God on this day of judgment. Indeed, though we hesitate to articulate it, some of us probably believe that we could do a better job of doing justice in many cases than God does, that our rulings in at least some cases would be fairer and more just than are His.
Yet who among us really believes that we could fulfill God's role as King? Who among us really believes that we understand the myriad details of this world well enough to undertake responsibility of assuring its well-being? God's answer to Job out of the whirlwind, his response to Job's questioning of divine justice, still rings true for us: "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundations? Speak if you have understanding. Do you know who fixed its dimensions or who measured it with a line?" (Job 38:4-5, JPS translation).
The beginning of the Torah reading for Yom Kippur morning, the first section of Parshat Acharei Mot, reinforces that distinction. Before detailing the procedure that the Kohen Gadol was to follow on Yom Kippur – in the days when sacrifices could be brought to the Beit HaMikdash (Temple) in Jerusalem – the Torah reading (Lev. 16:1, JPS translation) starts with a puzzling introduction: "The Lord spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron, who died when they drew too close to the presence of the Lord."
The puzzle here is twofold. (1) Why does the Torah introduce the detailed commandments of the Yom Kippur service with a reference to the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, Aaron's two sons? (2) Why does the Torah here explain the reason for their deaths as drawing too close to God's presence rather than as "offer[ing] before the Lord alien fire, which He had not enjoined upon them" (Lev. 10:2, JPS translation), which is the explanation it offers when, in Parshat Shemini, it initially tells the story of their deaths and which it mentions again in Parshat Bamidbar (Numbers 3:4), apparently as an explanation for why they both died childless?
Moreover, the use of this verse to introduce the Yom Kippur commandments is all the more puzzling for appearing to be utterly superfluous, since the next verse (Lev. 16:2) begins with the words "the Lord said to Moses." It is clear that, even without the prior verse, we would know what follows is God's words to Moses. Why then do we need that first verse at all?
The initial story in Parshat Shemini of the deaths of Nadav and Avihu is difficult to understand even by itself. The words describing the manner of their death (Lev. 10:2) are almost identical to the words used two verses earlier (9:24) to describe the consumption of the burnt offering that Aaron brought as part of the ceremony of his inauguration as High Priest. And Moses' first words to Aaron after the tragedy (10:3) only add to the difficulty: "This is what the Lord meant when He said: ‘Through those near to me I show myself holy, And gain glory before all the people."
Despite the efforts of commentators throughout the generations, we still don't really understand why Nadav and Avihu died. Even if they sinned by bringing "alien fire" into the sanctuary, their intentions were apparently good. The Torah's wording suggests that they were in some sense sacrifices to God, but why? From our human perspective, they seem to have died precisely for the reason the Torah gives us here in Acharei Mot – because they tried to draw too close to God.
But perhaps that's the point. One of the obstacles to our whole-hearted repentance during this season is our inability to perceive God's justice in the world. Are there any of us who cannot point to someone we know who appears to be suffering in this world far more than justice would dictate? If we're not always sure that God gets the individual cases right, then why should we so meticulously search our consciences to atone for the things that we got wrong?
The first verse of the Yom Kippur Torah reading doesn't exactly answer this question, but it may help us to put it perspective. As God's words to Job make clear, we cannot put ourselves in God's place because our understanding of the world can never come close to His. Our actions must be dictated by our best understanding of Torah, and when we fall short, as we inevitably do, we need to use this season for teshuva – for examining our deeds and changing, to the extent our human frailty allows, those that violate our duty to God and Torah.
By introducing the detailed commands of the Yom Kippur service not only with a mention of Nadav and Avihu but with an acknowledgement that they died while trying to get closer to God, the Torah is warning us that while we may sometimes doubt God's justice, that doubt can never be allowed to supersede our obligations as Jews. Even in the face of our greatest trials and tragedies, both individual and collective, we need to respond to the call of this season in the only way we can – with repentance, with prayer and with acts of tzedaka (righteousness). Ruling the world is God's job; we have enough to do in trying to rule ourselves.
Gmar chatimah tovah, and an easy and meaningful fast to all.