Lessons from the Passing of Aharon

In the beginning of Parshas Masei, the Torah recounts the journeys of the Jewish People in the wilderness. One of their encampments was a place called Hor Hahar, which is where Aharon died. The verse describes the passing of Aharon as follows:

וַיָּמָת שָׁם בִּשְׁנַת הָאַרְבָּעִים לְצֵאת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם בַּחֹדֶשׁ הַחֲמִישִׁי בְּאֶחָד לַחֹדֶשׁ:

He died there, in the fortieth year from the children of Israel leaving Egypt, in the fifth month, on the first of the month.[1]

This verse is noteworthy for a number of reasons:

1. Aharon is the only individual in the entire Torah about whom we are told the date on which he died. This does not happen with any of the Patriarchs or Matriarchs, or even Moshe. Why only Aharon?
2. Aharon’s passing was actually already described in an earlier chapter when it occurred,[2] yet the date was not mentioned there. Why is this information included specifically in this later “retrospective” verse?
3. Given that his passing has already been discussed earlier, why is it mentioned here again at all? This is especially troublesome seeing as this later section, as we mentioned, basically deals with listing the travels of the Jewish People in the wilderness, such that mentioning Aharon’s passing seems to be a major digression!

The order of the months in the Torah begins with Nissan, which makes the fifth month the month of Av. The Torah emphasizes the timing of Aharon’s death more than that of anyone else because his passing on Rosh Chodesh Av marks the beginning of this month and of everything that happens in it.

The destruction, or churban, occurred on the ninth of Av, but destruction does not happen in isolation and does not just come out of nowhere. Churban is not an event; it is a process, and it starts with the loss of someone like Aharon.

What does Aharon represent? Aharon was the embodiment of shalom (peace). Indeed, the well-known Mishnah in Pirkei Avos exhorts us to emulate him in this regard.[3]

When we describe Aharon as a person of peace, we don’t say things like, “He never engaged in conflict with anyone,” or, “It was nearly impossible to insult him.” The peace Aharon represented was not merely passive in nature; he actively sought to promote peace. He was a rodef shalom, a pursuer of peace. If he was aware of a rift between two people, he would actively seek to mend it; if feelings had been hurt, he would seek to heal them.

The essence of Aharon’s message is that our relationship with peace must likewise be proactive. If we cease to be rodef shalom, if we stop actively seeking to foster peace, we create a vacuum. And while nature might abhor a vacuum, human nature specifically abhors within a vacuum. Churban is something that begins when people stop pursuing peace, and it culminates in conflict, where people start pursuing one another.

It is for this reason that the Torah mentions the death of Aharon again in Parshas Masei, moreover informing us that it occurred on the first of Av. Parshas Masei itself is always read just before the first of Av. The Torah is reminding us as we begin this month that the churban that occurred a few days in started with the departure of Aharon and the absence of what he stood for.

Concerning Kamtza and Bar Kamtza

One of the most well-known episodes related to the destruction of the Second Beis Hamikdash is the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.[4]

The Gemara relates how a certain person was friends with Kamtza but enemies with Bar Kamtza. On one occasion, he made a feast and told his attendant to invite his friend Kamtza. However, the attendant mistakenly invited Bar Kamtza, who thus ended up attending the host’s feast. The host was unprepared for his presence and promptly demanded that he leave. Bar Kamtza, desperate to avoid embarrassment, offered to pay for his meal, even suggesting he would cover half or the entire cost of the feast. However, the host refused all these offers and had him ejected from the feast. Scorned and humiliated, Bar Kamtza went to Rome and falsely reported that the Jewish People were rebelling against the Roman authorities. This act ultimately precipitated the destruction of the Second Beis Hamikdash.

The title of the story is “Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.” As far as Bar Kamtza is concerned, we discover quite a bit about him through the course of the story. But who was Kamtza? We don’t know anything about him. In truth, as a result of the mistaken invitation, he wasn’t even really part of the story at all.

Indeed, in light of this, some have asked, why do we say that the Beis Hamikdash was destroyed because of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza? What does Kamtza have to do with it? He is hardly a primary protagonist in the story. In fact, with him having not been invited, he actually did nothing at all! Why, then, is he included in the title?

We might simply say that he is mentioned because the entire mistake in this episode involved the mix-up between Bar Kamtza and himself. But maybe there is something deeper at play.

Who was Kamtza? We are told that he was a friend of the host.

And who was Bar Kamtza? His name sounds very similar to Kamtza. Were they connected in any way? Some say that the answer is yes. The word bar in Aramaic means “son.” Bar Kamtza was the son of Kamtza.[5]

And that changes everything.

The Ben Yehoyada explains as follows: Imagine you are Kamtza. You are good friends with a person who despises your son. They are enemies with each other, yet both of them like you. Is there anything you can do to bridge the gap between them? Did it ever occur to you to try to mend their relationship, to promote better feelings between them, or to bring about some type of reconciliation?

Kamtza’s approach, apparently, was, “No, it’s not my problem. I get along with my son, and I get along with my friend. If they can’t stand each other, that’s OK.” That is why his name is included in the story’s title, because he is part of it! If Kamtza had made more of an effort, everything might have been different.

With this idea in mind, we are beckoned to reflect on the story and ask ourselves, “Does this story relate to me? Of course, I would never act the way the host did, and I would certainly never do what Bar Kamtza did. But is it possible that, in some ways, I might be like Kamtza? If I were to find myself in a similar situation, would I want to promote better feelings, mend relationships, harmonize differences, and provide positivity, or would I just feel indifferent, sit back, and do nothing?”

The message of the story is that, as policies go, doing nothing is not sufficient. Indeed, the presence of enough people like Kamtza in society can create a climate of antipathy that allows for the emergence of someone like Bar Kamtza.

The way back toward redemption begins with us taking the message of Aharon to heart, not only to avoid strife, but to pro-actively pursue and promote peace wherever we meaningfully can.

[1] Bamidbar 33:38.

[2] See ibid., 20:23–28.

[3] Pirkei Avos 1:12.

[4] Gittin 55b–56a.

[5] Maharsha on Gittin ibid.