Devotion Can’t Be Selfish.

This week’s Torah portion describes the intricate rituals of Yom Kippur. On this singular day, the High Priest entered the Holy of Holies five times, the only occasion in the year when such entry was permitted. The Torah introduces these instructions by recalling the tragic passing of Aaron’s two sons, Nadab and Abihu. Why did they die? They entered the Holy of Holies unbidden, driven by a yearning to experience sublime closeness with G-d. Their intent was lofty, but they failed to wait for G-d’s summons. They went on their own initiative—and paid with their lives.

Die to Live

The Talmud records a striking exchange between Alexander the Great and the sages of the Negev. He asked them, among other things, the secret to longevity. They replied, “One who wishes to live should deaden himself.” Alexander then asked, “What is the fastest way to die?” They answered, “By focusing on life” (Tamid 32a).

While Alexander seemed to grasp their meaning, later commentators struggled to explain it. The Maharsha, Rabbi Shmuel Eidels, offered a compelling interpretation: one who fixates on physical pleasure ultimately undermines their own well-being, while one who tempers such desires and pursues meaningful, spiritual goals will enjoy a longer life.

Our sages consistently warned that indulgence in physical pleasure is a losing pursuit. Desire only leads to more desire—one who has one hundred wants two hundred, and one who has two hundred wants four hundred. It is an endless cycle that drains rather than fulfills. To truly live, one must step off this hedonic treadmill and cultivate restraint. To chase pleasure is, paradoxically, the quickest path to depletion.

Worthy—or Unworthy?

Nadab and Abihu were not hedonists. They were deeply pious, wholly devoted to spiritual life. Yet they carried the same pattern into their spiritual pursuits. Instead of serving G-d for the sake of connection, they sought ever higher spiritual experiences. Their devotion became an endless ascent, pushing them to take increasing risks in pursuit of transcendent moments.

This mindset may have been subtly shaped by their upbringing. Our sages relate that on the day the Tabernacle was inaugurated, their mother, Elisheba, experienced unparalleled joy: her brother-in-law was king, her brother a tribal prince, her husband the High Priest, and her sons his deputies. At the height of this celebration, her sons entered the Holy of Holies and died (Yalkut Shimoni, Kohelet 2:2; Zevachim 102a).

Her joy was natural—but it carried a subtle danger. Instead of humbling her, these honors elevated her sense of self. Unintentionally, this perspective may have influenced her sons. They did not become arrogant—far from it—but they came to see spiritual achievement as something personally gratifying, something to be pursued and accumulated.

But the Holy of Holies demands the opposite posture: not elevation, but humility.

When Moses encountered G-d at the burning bush, he hid his face, afraid to look upon the Divine (Exodus 3:6). Though invited, he recoiled in awe and unworthiness. The Talmud teaches that precisely because Moses felt unworthy, he merited a level of prophetic vision unparalleled by any other (Berachot 4a).

A well-known story—often told about the Chafetz Chaim—illustrates this idea. He once urged a student to accept a rabbinic position. The student declined, insisting he was unworthy. The rabbi responded, “Should I appoint someone who considers himself worthy?”

Feeling worthy is not necessarily arrogance—it can be something subtler: overconfidence, a lack of self-effacement. Such a person may rely too heavily on their abilities, react defensively to challenges, and turn disagreement into conflict. True leadership requires a sense of inadequacy, paired with the willingness to serve nonetheless.

Moses felt unworthy and, therefore, was worthy. Nadab and Abihu, by contrast, were comfortable in G-d’s presence. At Sinai, they gazed upon the Divine with a sense of familiarity, even eating and drinking in that state (see Rashi on Exodus 24:11). They were not overwhelmed; they took it in stride and moved on to their next spiritual ambition.

The Torah notes that they left no children (Numbers 3:4). Immersed in personal spiritual striving, they neglected to build families. Nor did they cultivate students. Their energies were directed inward, toward their own growth. Their spirituality, though sincere, became self-focused.

With This

Against this backdrop, the Torah instructs: “Tell your brother Aaron not to enter the Holy of Holies at any time . . only with this shall Aaron enter . . .” It then details the Yom Kippur service—the garments, the offerings, the incense.

Conventionally, “with this” refers to those prescribed rituals. But one commentator offers a striking reversal: “with this” refers to the words that come before. Aaron must not be like his sons. He must enter with this—the awareness that one does “not enter at any time” he desires. Rather, he must approach with an awareness that he is unworthy of entering.

Indeed, the Torah testifies that Aaron never entered the Holy of Holies for self-aggrandizement. He always entered because he was instructed—in humble fulfillment of the king’s decree (Sifra, Leviticus 16:34).

Paradoxically, that very sense of unworthiness is what qualified him.

If one seeks the experience for oneself, one is unfit to represent the people before G-d. But if one enters solely because G-d and His people require it, then one becomes the proper vessel.

Thus, the High Priest did not enter the Holy of Holies for personal elevation. He entered as a servant and a messenger. He brought the incense not to fulfill a personal longing, but because it was needed to bring atonement for the people. His prayers were for others, not for himself. In that sacred space, it was not “him” who stood there, but the representative of the people before G-d.

The Enduring Message

Judaism calls upon us to make our lives an altar for serving G-d—not a platform for self-perfection. Our relationship with G-d is not about personal achievement or spiritual gratification. It is about humility, reverence, and service.

We approach G-d with a sense of awe, aware of our smallness—and it is precisely this awareness that makes us worthy of standing and of praying before Him.[1]

[1] This essay is based on Toras Moshe (Sofer) on Leviticus 16:1.