God said to me with kind of a smile,
"Hey-would you like to be God a while,
And steer the world?"
"Okay", say I, "I'll give it a try.
Where do I go?
How much do I get?
What time is lunch?
When can I quit?"
"Give me back the wheel," says God.
"I don't think you're quite ready yet."

This poem, entitled "God's Wheel", is quite amusing. As a children' poet, Shel Silverstein uses playful humor to touch on significant issues.

The search for what God wants is a timeless quest. Through centuries of struggle, exaltation, even denial, we strive to answer this most profound question.

This week's Torah portion, Shemini, presents such a question. It contains what I would call a Hard Text: a passage that makes our quest for understanding God's expectations more challenging.

As we enter the story, Aaron, the priest, had finished making the ritual sacrifices to honor the now completed sanctuary. God's presence was manifested through a fiery response, accepting the ritual sacrifice. Aaron, and his sons, Nadab and Abihu, have been consecrated as priests, which was affirmed through God's flaming validation. Then Moses and Aaron stepped down from the altar to bless the people. All in all, it was shaping up to be a wonderful day. Life was pretty great. Until we read of Nadab and Abihu's unacceptable actions found in the next chapter of Leviticus. We read: "Each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense in it and they offered before the Lord strange fire which God had commanded them not. And fire came forth from the Lord and consumed them. Thus they died in the very presence of the Lord". (10:1-3)

In a few short moments, the flame of acceptance descended upon Moses and Aaron—and the flame of rejection destroyed Nadab and Abihu. The flames consumed—and leave us confused. God's will –and how we are to act—seems even more remote and contrasting after reading this passage.

For thousands of years, our ancient rabbis have been prolific in trying to make sense of this Hard Text. While there are many answers created by the rabbis, this evening we will only review a few. The ancient rabbis observed that they brought forth a sacrifice "which God commanded them not". ( Leviticus 10:3) Nadab and Abihu acted badly by doing something that God had not requested, in what was considered a highly cherished and important ritual. Therefore the rabbis believed their death was just punishment.

This answer seems an oversimplification. There are examples in the Torah that prove that one could disobey God—and live. For example, to produce water, Moses struck the rock twice. God had told him to speak to the Rock, not to hit the Rock. This leads me to conclude that there has to be another, more satisfying answer to this puzzle.

Secondly, our rabbis believed that Nadab and Abihu's sin was one of ego. They were enjoying their status as young priests a little too much. A midrash- a legend-tells us that Nadab and Abihu were so self-confident and arrogant that they were too choosy when picking a wife. Thus, they never got married! In another midrash, from the Babylonian Talmud, we learn that, as Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu and the other elders accompanied Moses toward the Mountain, Nadab and Abihu were overheard saying, "When will these older leaders die and you and I get to lead the next generation?" To which God answered, "Do not exult prematurely. Let us see who will bury whom".

In other words, God was taking the opportunity offered by Nadab and Abihu's unsolicited offering to punish them for their arrogance.

While these responses of disobedience and arrogance provide answers to Nadab and Abihu's behavior, they do not satisfy our quest toward understanding God wants from us. What could God have wanted from Nadab and Abihu?

Perhaps there is another way to unravel this incident. Perhaps, as Rabbi Samuel Karff describes in a sermon he wrote on this text, Nadab and Abihu's sin was "religious enthusiasm." Nadab and Abihu were so eager to experience God's presence that they felt compelled to bring a sacrifice prematurely.

Nadab and Abihu were guilty of wanting to feel God's nearness. They sinned because they craved a religious experience and behaved in the only way they knew how. They hoped to find God's tangibility in their lives. So they performed a fire offering, that, only moments ago had brought God's divine presence closer to them and to Moses and Aaron.

Perhaps if we return to our Torah portion, the text itself can help clarify and understand what God wants from us.

In the previous scene, the Tabernacle had been recently dedicated and the priests consecrated. Moses and Aaron prayed for the "glory of God to appear" (Leviticus 9:6). And, God's glory did appear—as their offerings were accepted through fire. Moses and Aaron received a gift: God's presence on the altar. Whereas Moses and Aaron followed the will of God without expectation, Nadab and Abihu believed they could control God's tangible presence in their lives. Their religious zeal was to embrace God's presence whenever they wished. Their fault lay not in their intent, but in their motive.

We, too, sometimes demand God's presence in our lives when God seems absent. A few years ago, a small book was put together containing Children's Letters to God. This book compiled young children's personal letters to God on all subjects. One, from Johnny, reads as follows: "Dear God, How come you didn't invent any new animals lately? We still have all the old ones." This poignant note reiterates our desire for God's active presence in our daily lives.

In reality, however, we must accept a God whose reality is both hidden—and revealed. We are on a tightrope, suspended between our desire to demand that God answer our needs directly, and understanding that God's presence will only come as a gift. We remain stuck in the tension between the two models for understanding God we have been offered in this portion: Nadab and Abihu, and Moses and Aaron. From Nadab and Abihu, we learn that the journey to God is fraught with difficulty, and yet somehow we yearn for their enthusiasm. From Moses and Aaron, we know that God's presence can be gracious and awe inspiring.

We must listen, carefully, to the voices echoing in the past for direction. They continue to teach us: God is both known and unknown, hidden and revealed. Our prayerbook, often so eloquent, illustrates this tension beautifully:

"O God, how can we know You? Where can we find You? You are as close to us as breathing, yet You are farther than the farthermost star.

You are as mysterious as the vast solitudes of the night, yet as familiar to us as the light of sun." After thousands of years of study, of quest—we, like Nadab and Abihu, Aaron and Moses, are still journeying towards a God who is both near and far, hidden and revealed. We are still learning that we are not quite ready yet to take the wheel with God, but we must never surrender our quest. There are no sure final answers. Our task as Jews is to keep questioning—and seeking.

*Much of this sermon has been inspired by Rabbi Samuel E Karff, in a sermon entitled "Silence and Weeping before the Song", found in Preaching Biblical Texts: Expositions by Jewish and Christian Scholars. Additionally, many thanks to Rabbi Samuel S. Stahl for his guidance.

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