Chazal (Makkos 11A) explain why the unintentional murderer’s term is linked to the death of the Kohen Gadol. As the spiritual leader of the nation, the Kohen Gadol should have prayed on behalf of his nation that unintentional murders not occur. I think the value of human life plays a critical role in any form of murder – other than pure accident, for which there is no punishment whatsoever. The Kohen Gadol represents the epitome of life and a Jew’s purpose in living. It is not about the physical, the material, or the mundane. When a person appreciates the greatness of the Kohen Gadol, he will, in turn, appreciate life. Apparently, the role model was insufficient for the unintentional murderer’s appreciation and respect for human life.
The Kohen Gadol should have davened that such a calamity not occur. His failure was not one of action, but of omission. A tragedy occurred within the purview of his responsibility – thus, he had to bear subtle responsibility. This idea reframes the concept of Torah leadership. The Kohen Gadol is much more than the functionary who performs the Avodah, sacred service, in the Bais Hamikdash. He is the heart that must feel for every Jew and the mouth that must plead his cause before the Almighty. A Jew who falls spiritually or physically reflects a flaw in the Kohen Gadol’s shielding prayers in some manner. Prayer works – one must pray with intensity, or no one will benefit from his petition.
Zera Shimshon takes this idea to another level, suggesting it as a reason for considering Aharon HaKohen to have been a participant in the sin of the Golden Calf. We all, of course, know that, if anything, Aharon attempted to delay the inevitable. He stalled as long as possible, to no avail. His intentions were noble. Unfortunately, he was unable to prevent the nation’s descent into the abyss of sin.
There was, however, a deeper expectation of Aharon HaKohen. Moshe was gone. As such, he was the ipso facto leader of the nation. As its spiritual leader, seeing that the people were teetering on the brink of self-destruction, he should have done the expected, the necessary, the critical—davened to Hashem. He should have cried out, “Hashem! Please! We are at the crossroads. The people cannot handle much more. The yetzer hora has them by the jugular. Please intervene!” Sadly, Aharon did not rise to the urgency of the occasion. Thus, just as the Kohen Gadol is held accountable for a murder he did not commit, Aharon is held accountable for a sin he neither initiated, nor participated in; all because he did not pray.
Leadership demands correct, insightful decisions, but, even more, it demands proactive tefillah. When one stands at the helm, silence is not an option; it is not a symbol of neutrality, but rather, of deficiency and shortsightedness.
Zera Shimshon applies this idea to shed light on the tragic episode of the loss of Nadav and Avihu. Since Aharon did not pray on behalf of his generation, Hashem acted middah k’neged middah, measure for measure, and did not accept a father’s prayers (Aharon’s prayer on behalf of his sons). Rather, he wanted to destroy all four of them. Moshe Rabbeinu interceded, and his prayer was partially accepted, allowing the two younger sons to live.
Aharon HaKohen and his descendants, the Kohanim Gedolim, convey a powerful message: One can be righteous, well-intentioned, and even heroic, and yet be called to task for what he did not do. Leadership is not measured only by the barometer of achievement, but also by the benchmark of what he did not do well. To stand by – even with noble intentions, when one could have prayed — is to fall short of the role of Torah leader. I think we can add that the achrayos, responsibility, to daven for a fellow Jew who is confronting a difficult challenge, applies to all Jews –even those who are not gedolim. When a Jew is in need, the nation responds with prayer.
This leads us to another aspect of Jewish responsibility. Once a person has truly davened sincerely, repeatedly, with heart and fervor – and the answer is still “no,” the framework changes entirely. At this point, to feel survivor’s guilt is not part of avodas Hashem – it is a subtle way of misunderstanding our role. Hashem makes the decisions. We must pray that the answer is something that we can understand. The outcomes of our prayers are in the hands of Hashem. No one else. Our attitude must be, “I did what I could. I accept Hashem’s decree.” This is emunah. One whose guilt persists indicates a subtle questioning of Hashem’s plan, as if to say, “Had I been more proactive, I could have changed Hashem’s decree.” Such remonstrations lead to depression which is harmful to him and everyone around him.
Rather than play the blame game, one can elevate the twinge of guilt and use it as a medium for creating within himself a deeper sensitivity to the pain of others. The Torah does not ask us to carry guilt for what we could not control, but to carry responsibility for those things that are under our purview: tefillah, empathy and unity. It is as if he is saying, “Hashem, I do not understand, but it does not diminish my sensitivity. I still daven and stand with my fellow in need.” This is not guilt.
HoRav Matisyahu Solomon, zl, expounds on the responsibility of survivors. Shortly after the tragic, untimely deaths of Aharon’s two older sons, Nadav and Avihu, the Torah writes, “Moshe spoke to Elazar and Isamar, Aharon’s remaining sons” (Vayikra 10:12). The words banav ha’nosarim, remaining sons, seem superfluous. Obviously, if Aharon had four sons, two of whom had died, the two that remained were the surviving two sons. Why does the Torah underscore their survival?
The Mashgiach explains that Moshe sought to impress upon them that they were no longer ordinary people. They had entered a new class: survivors. As such, they were different. Having survived a trauma that took the lives of their brothers meant that they now had the obligation to carry on. They could not take time off, gather their emotions and decide how to tackle their future. No, it was no longer only about them. They had an added responsibility: that of their brothers. Indeed, as the Mashgiach points out, we are a nation of survivors, having seen six million of our brothers and sisters wiped out in the Holocaust. We now carry a dual responsibility which weighs heavily upon our shoulders.
Following World War II, survivors, both in America and Eretz Yisrael, reestablished Torah and laid the foundation for thriving Torah communities. It was not easy for them. Many had lost their entire families, friends, yeshivos. The Nazis destroyed everything in the flames of the Holocaust. They could have easily locked themselves in their homes and been consumed by remorse. The list of survivors who achieved the elite status of builders of Torah is not large. It is comprised of indefatigable warriors who fought for Torah, because it was who they were and it was all they had left. Many of them had lost families and institutions that had constituted their life’s work. Yet, they persevered and rebuilt, taking all of us with them.
The one person who stands out as the primary architect of Torah in Eretz Yisrael, the individual who taught others the meaning of building for Torah, was the Ponovezer Rav, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman. Rav Shlomo Lorencz once asked him how a person in his position – having lost all his family, his community and his Torah institutions – could evince such an extraordinary degree of ingenuity and creativity, to an extent that he overshadowed men much younger and healthier than himself. From where did he derive his energy and enthusiasm?
“Your question is a valid one,” he began. “The truth is, I am engulfed by dejection and despair. Yet this is precisely why I am involved n building. In my situation, I have just two options: either I roam around and break windows; or I build and build without stopping!”
The Ponovezer Rav found that working to reestablish Europe’s devastated yeshivos calmed his tormented spirit after the losses he had sustained. He did not permit the emptiness within him to fester and lead him deeper into despair; rather, he harnessed his pain and employed it as a vehicle for unparalleled creativity.
In his hesped, eulogy, for the Ponovezher Rav, the Rosh Yeshivah, Rav Shmuel Rosovsky, offered a similar idea that further illuminates the Rav’s remarks. Rav Shmuel related that he had once asked the Rav how he was able to maintain such extreme focus on constant achievement without allowing for a moment’s rest or relaxation. The Rav told Rav Shmuel that, essentially, he considered himself to have been incinerated together with the six million kedoshim, martyrs, of the Holocaust, “If, despite that, I still have life within me, it is only for the purpose of rebuilding and restoring the glory of our People.” It is with this thought constantly in mind that he never wavered, never slowed down, until he breathed his last breath. It is what motivated him and imbued him with the energy to continue his noble and holy work on behalf of Klal Yisrael.
