By Rabbi Dan Lewin
Achrei Mot-Kedoshim
In art, literature and music, the most powerful expressions often emerge from tension — from the contrast between opposite forces. This dynamic, known as binary opposition, is not just a creative tool; it reflects the very structure of existence.
Binary opposition is embedded in the design of the universe. In the first account of creation in the Torah, we find light and darkness, heaven and earth, order and chaos, good and evil, life and death, male and female and more. This dichotomy also lies at the heart of the human struggle.
Among these opposing forces, life and death stand out as one of the most fundamental, shaping how we understand existence, purpose and time.
Song
Moving into popular culture, there’s a line from the song “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen that captures a deep existential angst:
“I don’t want to die,
I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.”
As a child, these lines struck me as a contradiction. On one hand, they express a desire to live; on the other, they suggest regret over having been born. But as one matures, it becomes clear that these emotions can — and often do — coexist.
The will to live is primal: the instinct to survive, the fear of death, the desire to hold on. At the same time, the pain of life can feel so overwhelming that a person might wish they had never come into the world. It’s not a rational conflict but an emotional one — the clash between the burdens of living and the fear of ceasing to exist. That’s what makes the line so powerful and relatable.
Pirkei Avos:
This world or the next
This tension plays out not only in the psyche, but also in spiritual teachings — most pointedly in Pirkei Avos (Ethics of the Fathers), which we study weekly during this season.
Chapter 4 contains a similar theme of paradox: the push and pull between this world and the next, between life and what lies beyond it.
One teaching (4:17) announces the famous principle: “One moment of bliss in the World to Come is worth more than all of this world.” The next world, defined by clarity and divine revelation, is a realm of incomparable delight. Yet the same chapter teaches: “One moment of repentance and good deeds in this world is worth more than the entire World to Come.” Here alone — soul in body — is where free choice exists and true spiritual achievement can happen.
So which should be our primary focus — this world or the next? Do the above messages contradict each other? It depends on whether the focus is pleasure or purpose. The World to Come is the realm of divine pleasure — that’s why souls have an innate longing to ascend. But this world is the realm of divine service — that’s why souls are sent to descend.
It’s not a paradox, but a dual perspective: each world reflects a different aspect of the soul’s journey.
Life and death
Another statement at the end of this chapter (4:22) sharpens the tension with a more direct contrast:
“Against your will you are formed, against your will you are born, against your will you live, against your will you die, and against your will you are destined to give an account…”
Simply put, we didn’t choose to be born, nor do we choose when to die. Both are imposed upon us at different stages. On a deeper level, the divine soul — being a spark of holiness — longs to merge with its source, while the body, bound to the physical universe, seeks to remain grounded. Even within the soul’s consciousness, we are pulled between transcendence and mission, between the desire to escape and the call to engage. It’s a healthy tension — an existential dissonance built into the human experience.
The mystical lens:
Run and return
This tension is beautifully explained through the Kabbalistic concept of ratzo v’shuv. Psychological and spiritual pain stem from feeling distant from the source — a result of the divine light being hidden. That is the defining feature of the physical world.
Ratzo — “running” — is the soul’s longing to escape the confines of the physical world and merge with its divine source. It’s the drive to rise beyond pain, confusion and limitation — to reach for the bliss of the higher (next) world.
Shuv — “returning” — is the soul’s commitment to come back down, to engage the material world with presence and purpose. It echoes the phrase: “I don’t want to die.” Despite the struggle, we cling to life not merely out of instinct or fear, but because something deeper knows: we are here for a reason. We have a mission to fulfill.
These two powers must work together. To appreciate one’s purpose, one must first touch the yearning for something higher (“against your will you live”). Yet, as the Mishnah reminds us, G-d’s will is fulfilled through action — mitzvos in this world. This opportunity is lost in death (“against your will…”).
This inner rhythm plays out on a broader scale throughout daily life, reflected in the cycle of sleep and waking, prayer and work, inspiration and implementation.
Our parsha:
The death of Aaron’s sons
This dynamic unfolds dramatically in the story of Aharon’s sons, Nadav and Avihu. The parsha opens by revisiting their deaths, first described earlier in the Torah. Their passing appears to result from a grave misdeed — bringing “an alien fire” — a deliberately vague term with several parallel interpretations. On the other hand, the commentaries highlight their extraordinary spiritual stature, even suggesting they were greater than Moshe and Aharon. Can both be true?
According to the Ohr HaChaim, the extra words in the verse — “when they came close to G-d” — reveal the cause: they drew too close. Their souls were consumed by an overwhelming ratzo, an intense, ecstatic yearning to elevate. Entering the Holy of Holies, their souls expired in a blaze of passion.
Their death wasn’t a punishment; it was a natural outcome. They generated an exceptionally powerful rapture — but failed to integrate transcendence with mission. Though their desire was pure, their inner fire was not balanced by an equally strong shuv — a commitment to return to purposeful service within the divine framework. The result was tragic. Mystical commentaries explain that we are still rectifying the slip of these great souls.
Takeaway
This biblical episode serves as a primary caution for spiritual seekers: holiness is not just in ascent, but in grounded living — in elevating the mundane. The overarching lesson isn’t to suppress yearning. It’s to channel it — to use spiritual highs to energize our mission, to bring holiness into the world rather than run away from it — making this lowest realm a home for the Divine.
Rabbi Dan Lewin is director of the nonprofit Maayan Chai Foundation. For information, visit www.maayan-chai.org.