On the surface, the term nezirus begs elucidation. Is the Nazir a tzaddik, a righteous person, or is he, on some level, a sinner? The Torah refers to him as a kadosh, holy, to Hashem. Yet, he must bring a Korban Chatas, sin-offering, at the end of his period of nezirus. Surely, someone who is considered kadosh should not have to bring a sin-offering. What sin did he commit? Various opinions are stated concerning the Nazir’s “breach” in holiness. He should not have achieved this pinnacle through the vehicle of abstinence from wine. A person should override his gravitation toward pleasure, rather than avoid it. Wine is used for kiddush. In moderation, wine is good for a person. To abstain completely is an indication of weakness and vulnerability. A holy person transcends weakness and triumphs over frailty. Furthermore, once he achieves this apex of kedushah – he should maintain that level. The fact that he is ending his nezirus indicates a deficiency in his kedushah.
In Drashos Bais Yishai (54), Horav Shlomo Fisher, zl, presents an original insight regarding the Nazir’s kedushah. During the Nazir’s period of nezirus, he is compelled by virtue of the prohibitions placed upon him by his nezirus, to secede from the community at large. He looks different, his unshorn hair is a reminder that he is, to some degree, isolated from the community. He must stay clear of anywhere where he might come into contact with a corpse. The prohibition placed upon him with regard to drinking wine curbs his appetite for social interaction. This is all good, since it avails him the time and opportunity for personal reflection, which is the precursor to holiness to enable him to build his strength and develop. For the period of time that the Nazir is “out of commission” and, to a certain extent, apart from the community, his holiness is actually deficient. A tzaddik should be accessible – not insulated; reachable – not removed. In this context, kedushah aligns with the idea that, by actively contributing to the community, being a source of inspiration for them, one embodies holiness. Kedushah involves living a life of virtue, reflecting the highest standards of spiritual and moral values and virtues. It is about transcending personal pursuits to engage in actions that reflect Divine Principles within the context of community life. It is almost as if to suggest that it is easy to be a tzaddik when one is removed from the Klal.
Horav S. R. Hirsch, zl (commentary to Bamidbar 7:1) presents a similar idea. The Torah writes that, on the day that Moshe Rabbeinu finally set up the Mishkan, Va’yimshach oso va’yikadesh oso, v’es kol keilav, v’es ha’Mizbeiyach v’es kol keilav, va’yimshacheim, va’yikadesh osam; “He had anointed it and had sanctified it, and all its vessels, and also the Altar and all its vessels, and had anointed them and sanctified them.” The Sifri addresses the apparent redundancy of the pasuk. They explain that we are being taught that, while each individual’s vessel was individually anointed and sanctified, until all of them were likewise anointed and sanctified, the earlier ones were not completed. This means: The sanctification of any part of the Sanctuary was achieved only after the sanctification of the whole. It was either all or nothing.
Rav Hirsch explains that the sanctification of the whole Mishkan formed one idea which, as a whole, conferred sanctity on the meaning of every separate part. Each sole part, each individual vessel, lacking combination to the rest, is not in its own right fit to be the symbolic bearer of the kedushah which is its function to represent. Each part’s sanctity is dependent on the complemented attachment to it of all the other parts. Equally so, the whole cannot achieve total sanctity without each and every one of its parts. Nothing is superfluous; each part is vital and necessary. Just as a sentence cannot be missing a word, a syllable, a letter, likewise no sentence, word, syllable or letter conveys any meaning in isolation.
The Ribnitzer Rebbe, zl, Horav Chaim Zanvil Abramowitz, was an otherworldly tzaddik, a man of miracles, whose mesiras nefesh, self-sacrifice, to serve Hashem became legend. He was the address for thousands from all over the world who were in dire need of a blessing. He davened for hours with great intensity. He accompanied his davening with fasting and immersion in the holy waters of the mikveh or any kosher body of water. He did this without fear of man, ignoring the bone-chilling cold of the Russian winter. He lived in this world, but his soul soared in the Heavens. Yet, despite his extreme sanctity, he was highly approachable and friendly to all. Humility was his language, righteousness his persona. The stories about him can fill a book – which they did. I was particularly inspired by the following vignette which demonstrates his openness and utter humility.
During a tefillah, while the Aron HaKodesh was open, the Rebbe did something unusual that previously had been uncharacteristic of him. Turning to those who were with him, the Rebbe spoke in an emotional urgent tone, “Rabbosai,” he began, “I am begging each and every one of you to please daven for me right now! Please daven to Hashem, storm the Heavens, in my behalf. Pray that I, too, be blessed with children of my own!”
The chassidim that were present stood perplexed. Why would the Rebbe, whose blessings had helped thousands, need their tefillos? How could their prayers hold a candle to those of the Rebbe? He is so much closer to Hashem. Why could he not use his own nearness to ask for a child?
The Rebbe did not stop with one request: “Why are you all staring at me? Beg Hashem on my behalf. I beg for everyone else. Now is the time for you to petition for me!” The Rebbe went on, “Now is an eis ratzon (a time especially propitious to receive a positive response), so please daven and beg for me to also have a child. I, too, want to leave my legacy to someone who will remember me!”
Shortly thereafter, the Rebbe returned to his signature demeanor. The people that were present, never forgot their Rebbe’s personal plea.
