This week, during our staff meeting, we found ourselves asking a fundamental question: Why do we do what we do?

As followers of God, are we simply going through the motions—repeating traditions passed down through generations—or are we truly aligned with what God desires of us? Do we pause to ask ourselves whether the things we’re doing, even if they appear good or noble, are actually things God has asked of us? Are we emphasizing parts of our faith that feel meaningful, while ignoring others that may be more important in God's eyes?

This week's Parashah and Haftarah contain two sobering and tragic stories—each revealing the cost of approaching God on our own terms.

In Leviticus 10:1–2, we read about Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron:

Now Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron, took their respective firepans, and after putting fire in them, placed incense on the fire and offered strange fire before the LORD, which He had not commanded them. And fire came out from the presence of the LORD and consumed them, and they died before the LORD.

The Scriptures do not fully explain why they acted as they did, so we cannot know their motives. Perhaps they wanted to do more for God, to show devotion in a way they thought was meaningful. Or maybe their hearts were rebellious. Another possibility is that they were intoxicated—since later in verse 9, God specifically instructs Aaron not to enter the Tent of Meeting under the influence of wine or strong drink.

Regardless of their intention, what is clear is that they acted outside of God's instruction. They brought what Scripture calls in Hebrew "אֵ֣שׁ זָרָ֔ה"—often translated as “strange fire,” but perhaps more accurately, “foreign fire.” This term suggests something unholy, unauthorized, or even resembling practices of idol worship. This story serves as a powerful reminder to seek God's will above our own assumptions or desires.

We see a similar theme in the Haftarah portion, where another painful episode unfolds—when King David attempts to bring the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem:

When they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, Uzzah reached out toward the ark of God and took hold of it, because the oxen nearly overturned it. And the anger of the LORD burned against Uzzah, and God struck him down there for his irreverence; and he died there by the ark of God. 
2 Samuel 6:6–7

It was a moment of national celebration—music, dancing, joy. And yet, tragedy struck. Uzzah’s instinct to steady the ark may have come from good intentions, but by taking action into his own hands, he interfered with something sacred. His touch, though seemingly justified, was seen as irreverent, and it cost him his life.

Perhaps David and the people acted in haste, failing to give the ark the proper reverence it deserved. Good intentions, again, were not enough.

This brings us to Leviticus 11. After the dramatic deaths of Nadav and Avihu, the focus shifts to what seems like a mundane topic: dietary laws. At first glance, the lists of clean and unclean animals might feel unrelated—but they’re deeply connected.

For I am the LORD your God. Consecrate yourselves therefore, and be holy, for I am holy… For I am the LORD who brought you up from the land of Egypt to be your God; so you shall be holy, for I am holy.
Leviticus 11:44–45

Holiness is not just about grand gestures or emotional worship. It’s also revealed in the quiet, daily decisions—what we consume, how we speak, how we live. God doesn’t only desire passion—He desires purity, obedience, and discernment.

The thread that ties Nadab, Abihu, Uzzah, and the dietary laws together is this:
True closeness with God must be on His terms—not ours.

This isn’t about fear or legalism. It’s about relationship. God rescued Israel from Egypt so they could become a people who reflect His holiness in every area of life. He did not leave us to guess how to worship Him—He revealed it clearly.

So let us ask ourselves honestly:
Am I offering a foreign fire—something that seems spiritual but has not been asked of me by God?
Are my actions truly for His glory—or do they come from my own desire, tradition, or comfort?

Here’s a final, challenging question to reflect on:
If you knew that the holy fire of the LORD would consume what you are doing—even if it’s in His name—would you still continue to do it?

Shabbat Shalom,
Moran