24 Nissan 5786  ·  11th April 2026

Parashat Shemini

A Devar Torah by Ben Eaton

There's a maths joke in which a young boy comes from school and his mother asks him what he learnt that day. He says, "I learnt that if I have 5 apples and you give me 4, then I have 9 apples". His mother asks him what else he learnt. He responds, "if I have 12 pears and you take away 5, then I have 7 pears". So, his mother asks him, "if you have 3 bananas and I give you 10 bananas, then how many bananas do you have?". The young boy responds, "I don't know, we haven't done bananas yet".

Numbers are an abstract representation that we use to make sense of mundane but concrete things in the real world. Thanks to universal education in developed countries, we take many aspects of mathematics for granted as axiomatic. Yet the polymath Bertrand Russell wrote an entire book, Principia Mathematica, in which he spent several pages proving that 1+1 = 2 (the rest of the book is similarly riveting). The number zero, which comes to us from the Hindu-Arabic numeral system, did not enter European mathematical discourse until the 11th century. The modern microprocessor can't count past the number 1. So, even in the abstract, numbers have special qualities.

This week's Parsha is Shemini - which means "eighth", because it starts on the eighth day of the ordination of the Levitical Priests. As numbers go, eight really is rather special. In Chinese culture it is considered the luckiest number - symbolising wealth, prosperity, and good fortune. The Artemis II mission (which flew around The Moon this week) followed a figure of eight pattern in its route, as that provided the optimum momentum thus using minimal fuel. The symbol for infinity, a concept very related to the parsha, is the number eight rotated through 90 degrees. Like the Artemis II, the human pelvis follows a figure-of-eight pattern in its movement – the extension of which forms the basis for many athletic disciplines. My own 15-year study of the Japanese martial art of Aikido, has shown me the importance of the figure-of-eight pattern in blending with force and redirecting it.

The Significance of Eight in Judaism

The number eight has particular significance in Judaism. Things involving an eighth day are somewhat out of the ordinary in the Torah. Most things in Judaism work in cycles of seven: six days of work followed by the seventh day of Shabbat, six years of planting and harvest followed by the Shemita year (in which the land lies fallow and Jewish slaves are freed), and seven weeks following Pesach culminating in Shavuot. Pesach lasts for seven days (although Orthodox communities in the diaspora celebrate an additional day, the Torah only mandates seven).

Other than the ordination of the priests in this Parsha, there are only two other occasions in the Torah where the eighth day is mentioned. The first is the Brit Milah ceremony, which we are first commanded to observe in Parshat Lech Lecha (Bereshit, chapter 17, verse 12), which is why we circumcise boys on the eighth day after they are born:

וּבֶן־שְׁמֹנַ֣ת יָמִ֗ים יִמּ֥וֹל לָכֶ֛ם כָּל־זָכָ֖ר לְדֹרֹֽתֵיכֶ֑ם יְלִ֣יד בָּ֔יִת וּמִקְנַת־כֶּ֨סֶף֙ מִכֹּ֣ל בֶּן־נֵכָ֔ר אֲשֶׁ֛ר לֹ֥א מִזַּרְעֲךָ֖ הֽוּא

"And throughout the generations, every male among you shall be circumcised at the age of eight days. As for the homeborn slave and the one bought from an outsider who is not of your offspring."

The second mention of the eighth day is in the commandment to celebrate Sukkot, in Parshat Emor (Vayikra, chapter 23, verse 39):

בַּיּ֤וֹם הָֽרִאשׁוֹן֙ שַׁבָּת֔וֹן וּבַיּ֥וֹם הַשְּׁמִינִ֖י שַׁבָּתֽוֹן

"The first day must be a day of rest and the eighth day must be a day of rest."

In Progressive congregations we celebrate it as Simchat Torah, while in Orthodox diaspora congregations it's celebrated as Shemini Atzeret (literally "Eighth day of Assembly") and Simchat Torah is the day after. But according to the strict letter of the Torah, it is both the eighth day of Sukkot and a festival in its own right.

There is also Chanukah - although this is a later Rabbinic festival, not one commanded by the Torah. However, I make mention of it because it ties to the significance of the number eight. A miracle occurs – that beyond the natural world. As summarised by Rabbi Yehoshua Gordon, of blessed memory:

"The number seven signifies the natural world and the perfection that is attainable within its bounds. The number eight, by contrast, symbolizes that which is beyond nature and its inherent limitations. Eight is otherworldly; it is miraculous; it transcends the confines of creation.

And that is why [in Parshat Shemini] it was on the eighth day that the physical world transcended its limitations and became holy enough to be a dwelling—an abode—for G‑d Almighty.

Thus, while everything natural and normative in life and in Judaism is connected to the number seven, everything transcendent in Jewish life is connected to the number eight."

— Rabbi Yehoshua Gordon, of blessed memory

Three Strands of the Parsha

So how does this connect the three strands of our Parsha - the appearance of the Divine Presence, the death of Nadav and Avihu, and the laws of Kashrut?

Let's start with the appearance of the Divine Presence – this is a transcendent, supernatural event. We have followed the commandments to create the Mishkan (Tabernacle), the dwelling place of the Divine Presence in the mundane world, which began all the way back in Parshat Terumah (which we read in February with an IKEA-themed D'var Torah from Clara). Moses has ordained the Levitical Priests through specific ritual and sacrifices, and so G-d appears to us. None of this is within the domain or capability of the individual Jew. It requires a very specific skillset from the whole House of Israel - all the artisans who built the Mishkan who were imbued with that skill by G-d Himself, Moses who is commanded to assemble the Mishkan for the first time and ordains the first Priests, and Aaron and his sons who are commanded to form the lineage of the Priests – not a privilege afforded to anyone else (Parshat Korach is devoted to what happens when anyone from outside the Priesthood attempts to appropriate it). It happens on the Eighth day – a specific point in space and time.

This is not something that forms part of Halacha, our everyday Jewish practice. Were we to find the Mishkan and the Kohanim tomorrow, it would still not form part of Halacha for the majority of Jews. Rabbinic Judaism, which originated in the Babylonian Exile, comes out of a time when we had neither Temple nor Tabernacle. In fact, the whole priestly ritual of the Mishkan almost stands in direct contradiction to the words of Parshat Nitzavim (Devarim, Chapter 30, verses 11-14):

"For this commandment about which I am commanding you today, is not remote from you; it is not far away.

It is not in heaven, that you should say, 'Who will go up to "heaven" for us and fetch it for us, to expound it to us so that we can fulfill it?'

It is not beyond the sea, that you should say, 'Who will cross to the other side of the sea for us and fetch it for us, to expound it to us so that we can fulfill it?'

Rather, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, so you can fulfill it."

The steps to Shemini are, metaphorically speaking, "in heaven" and "beyond the sea". So how do we reconcile this transcendent experience with our own observance? We'll come back to that question but first, let's look at the last section of the Parsha – the rules of Kashrut.

Kashrut: A Miracle Hidden in Plain Sight?

Laying out the rules of Kashrut after everything that has happened, seems like an anticlimax – incongruous almost. Kashrut is something that has become so embedded in the Jewish consciousness and cultural life of Judaism that we almost take it for granted. Even among less observant Jews, there's almost an epigenetic aversion to eating treif. Yet here it appears in a parsha concerned with the miraculous. Is it out of place or is Kashrut a miracle hidden in plain sight? A clue to an answer may be found in verse 45:

"You must obey these commandments because I am G-d, who brought you up from Egypt on the condition that I be your G-d. Thus, you must be holy, because I am holy and command you to be so."

This is about holiness. Anything within the bounds of the Mishkan becomes holy. In fact, there's a whole other discussion that could be had about the layered levels of holiness in the Mishkan. But the Mishkan is the domain of the Priests, and for over two millennia we have had no idea where it is – so the Kohanim cannot observe the rituals, and the ordinary Jew cannot operate there anyway. Whereas the laws of Kashrut are an accessible means of making ourselves holy in the everyday. They are a restriction that we accept upon ourselves in an everyday activity – eating – that we need to survive. The rules are quite specific - it's not an ascetic restriction or one for which there is scientific rationale.

Nadav and Avihu

Here we have a parsha bookended by the transcendent and the mundane with the common theme of holiness. So how do the mysterious deaths of Nadav and Avihu, two of the sons of Aaron, relate to this? This is probably one of the lesser-known events in the Torah. Most people (even among the irreligious) will be familiar with the Garden of Eden, Noah and the Flood, the Tower of Babel, Sodom and Gomorrah, the Ten Plagues, etc. In fact, my first introduction to this episode was the title track from the debut album by the American folk rock duo, Indigo Girls - which I heard some time before I began my regular annual reading of the Torah. The song, "Strange Fire", opens with the lyric:

"I come to you with strange fire
I make an offering of love
The incense of my soul is burned
By the fire in my blood"

— Indigo Girls, Strange Fire

This is consistent with one of the interpretations of this event (which is no less than I would expect of a group from the Deep South that learned the art of harmonies in their Church choir, one half of who is the daughter of a Methodist pastor and theological scholar). It is not that Nadav and Avihu sinned and were punished for it, but rather that they acted out of love and a desire to be closer to G-d. Rashi explains thus:

Moses said to Aaron, "When Gd said, 'I shall be sanctified by those close to Me,' I thought it referred to me or you; now I see that they are greater than both of us."

— Rashi

There is a boundary that is crossed here, between the transcendent and the mundane, and it comes with a cost. Dying through such actions is not what I would call sustainable Jewish practice. It stands as a warning about the importance of boundaries in Judaism. There's an incident mentioned in the Babylonian Talmud (Megillah 7b) between two Rabbis at a Purim feast which illustrates this concept – I'll quote here directly from Tablet magazine's "The Purim murder that wasn't":

Commanded to drink copiously on the joyous day, the two [Rabbis], the Talmud tells us, knocked back a few, until, in his drunken stupor, Rabba somehow got around to killing Zeira. Waking up the next morning with a massive hangover, a repentant Rabba prayed for Zeira's soul, reviving his friend. The following year, as Purim rolled around, Rabba once again invited Zeira out to dinner, but Zeira declined. "No thanks," he said. "After all, miracles don't happen every day."

— Tablet magazine, "The Purim murder that wasn't"

There are specific restrictions in the Torah around familiar spirits, attempting to reach the dead (through mediums), and witchcraft. Whether or not one believes these things to be true or superstitious nonsense, they are "off-limits" for us. Judaism mandates restrictions to the exercise of human power, both as individuals and as a nation.

For example, Abraham is told (in Parshat Lech Lecha, Chapter 15, verse 18) that the greatest extent of the borders of Israel will be "from the Euphrates to the Wadi of Egypt". This would cover an area incorporating the whole of modern-day Lebanon, most of Jordan, bits of Iraq, Syria, and the whole of the Sinai Peninsula. This is reiterated, in a slightly modified form, later in the Torah. Whether or not you believe this will happen – and surely it would require a miracle as great as that which brought about the founding of the modern State of Israel - it's interesting that that there is a Halachic limit placed on territorial expansion. Particularly as the only constraint on imperialism through history has been other empires.

Other examples include the prohibition in Parshat Shofetim against a king of Israel owning too many horses or taking too many wives. Restrictions on military power exist in Parshat Ki Teitzei, where soldiers are explicitly prohibited from sexual misconduct with captive women – long before the Geneva Conventions existed.

The Paradox at the Heart of Judaism

So, within its three-act narrative, Parshat Shemini wrestles with the paradox at the heart of Judaism. Which is that we are given the Torah in order that we may be closer to G-d – the transcendent, infinite, and unknowable, Eternal source of all creation - yet we achieve this closeness to the Divine by observing everyday commandments –the seemingly mundane. We rise, we wash, we pray, we work, we study Torah, we eat only permitted foods, we rest one day out of every seven, we pray, we sleep. It is a contradiction that out of the routine and self-imposed limitations, comes a way of life that is freer than most humans in history have experienced.

May we always observe the commandments and know the joy of freedom.

כֵּן יְהִי רָצוֹן

Shabbat Shalom