Yair Robinson

Parashat Shemini 2026

4/10/26

There is a famous, apocryphal story about Henry Kissinger, when he was serving in the White House, that an aide, allegedly Winston Lord, brought him a briefing paper, or a speech, or a memo, and Kissinger asked him, “is that the best you can do?” At which point the aide went back and redid it, only to face the same question, “is that the best you can do?” at which point the aide went and reworked it again. According to the story, this went on, back and forth, several times, until the exasperated aide finally said, “Damn it, yes, this is the best I can do!” To which Kissinger said, “fine, I guess I’ll read it this time.”

Much is made of the tragic and shocking death of Nadav and Avihu, struck down amid celebration and ordination, and oceans of ink have been spilled over Aaron’s seeming silence, and we can talk more about them tomorrow at Torah Study. But in this moment, I want to focus on the words that carry that special trope: asher lo tzivah otam: that God did not instruct or command them to do. That is, their bringing of the incense was not something that God commanded them to do. Ibn Ezra tells us that they acted on their own, that this was their idea entirely. What are we to make of this comment, and why the emphasis on whether it was instructed or not? Oftentimes we think of the idea of the commandments as a baseline, a floor, rather than a ceiling. That is, there is what fulfills the mitzvot, but we can always do more, and that, in fact, we SHOULD do more. We have the idea, of course, of hiddur mitzvah, of making the fulfillment of the mitzvah beautiful. So, while any candle holder might do for Shabbat, having special candlesticks elevates the mitzvah. Furthermore, we might have ideas such as the Rambam’s hierarchy of tzedakah in our minds: yes, giving grudgingly fulfills the mitzvah of tzedakah, but isn’t it better to give happily? When we talk about doing our best, are we using that as a cop-out, a way of ducking responsibility, or is it aspirational, where we are really putting our full effort into it, whatever it is? And that is often how we think of things: we should always be giving full energy, full attention, full exertion. And yet, here in our text, with the trope emphasizing lo tzivah otam, God did not command them, we seem to encounter the idea that the mitzvah can also be a ceiling; and that going ‘above and beyond’ in this moment actually diminishes the holiness of the moment rather than affirms it. But how do we square that with our idea that doing more is, by definition, better?

It seems to me that, in this text, we are being taught that more is not necessarily better, it is just more. And more is not necessarily better. We see this in so many ways, where more does nothing to help. Who here has not received a gift from a relative or acquaintance that was way over the top for the nature of the relationship, and as a result experienced embarrassment rather than delight? Who has had the experience of being ‘love bombed,’ where someone gives you so much attention, much of it unrequited and not welcome, that it goes beyond feeling awkward and uncomfortable to even dangerous? We have seen news story after news story that shows that throwing money at a problem is only effective if there’s proper oversight and follow-through. Giving tents to the folks in Christina Park might have been a blessing, had they actually been waterproof, and after all, how does that actually alleviate the homelessness and insecurity people are experiencing? We have not even begun to discuss our political discourse, which has diminishing patience with nuance and reflection, all to our detriment. Sometimes, often even, more is just more.

And that it is Nadav and Avihu, two ordained priests, who are going above-and-beyond, makes it even more fraught. Whatever their goals in the moment, as leaders, they are setting an expectation that ALL OF US somehow ought to do more, perhaps beyond our capabilities; their death, as tragic as it is, perhaps teaches that such behavior can be profoundly destructive. We are living in a time that is very much an ‘all or nothing’ moment: in our work, our advocacy, our politics—even our personal lives. If you can’t give 110% at the office (which, if we actually stopped to think about it, is an absurd idea), if you can’t show up for every rally, if you can’t DO ALL OF THE THINGS, then you might as well do none of the things, because it won’t matter. Everything and everyone seems to be telling us that we need to do more, that we need to give more; case in point, how many donation emails do you get from causes you love every single day, if not every hour? We might think it is meritorious to do more, that that makes it ‘even better,’ but there is a limit to what we can do. “Doing our best,” fulfilling the mitzvah, gives us the room to account for our busy lives, our other obligations, our physical and emotional load. There is a reason we have Shabbat, after all, a day that invites us to rest as a sacred experience, not just leisure time. But even if it were ‘merely’ leisure, without that rest, without those boundaries and limitations, we might find ourselves burned out, unable to serve anyone, least of all ourselves. Whereas doing what we can allows us to stay engaged and active—at work, at home, in our tikkun olam work—pushing all the time, always doing more, always going ‘above and beyond’, means that at some point, the well of inspiration and energy runs dry, and we can’t give of ourselves at all, and may even grow resentful of the expectation, even if we are the ones setting it for ourselves.

Do we want to do our best? Of course we do. But our best does not necessarily mean doing MORE. It means fulfilling our obligations to the world and people around us to the best of our ability, to do what God has commanded us, knowing that it is enough, and that we are enough. May we see in our work, however we contribute to it, the holiness that is present in the moment, and give ourselves the ability to not only to recognize that holiness in our work and ourselves, but in each other as well. And let us say, amen.