Aaron felt left out when he saw the offerings of the tribal leaders. But G-d told him that his role was greater—not because he was outside the celebration, but because he stood at its very center.
The Tribe That Was Left Out
In this week’s parshah, we read about a great celebration in the desert.
A large part of Parshat Naso is devoted to the dedication of the Mishkan, the portable Sanctuary the Jewish people built in the desert. On the first day of Nissan, one year after the Exodus from Egypt, the Jewish people inaugurated the Mishkan as the place where G-d’s presence would dwell among them.
The Torah describes the dedication of the altar, which was really the “grand opening” of the entire Mishkan.
G-d instructed Moses that the leader of each tribe should bring an offering on behalf of his tribe. But this was not only an offering to be placed on the altar. It was much more than that. It was also a gift to the Mishkan itself.
Every two tribes donated one wagon together, which would be used to carry the wooden beams of the Mishkan whenever the Jewish people traveled through the desert. In addition, each tribe brought a silver bowl, a silver basin, and a golden spoon filled with incense. And beyond these gifts, the tribal leaders also brought animal offerings to be sacrificed on the altar.
And here something remarkable happens.
The Torah begins by describing the offering of the tribe of Judah, the first of the tribes. But when it finishes, it does not simply say, “And the other leaders brought the same thing.” Instead, the Torah repeats the entire list again and again, almost word for word, twelve times, including the tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh.
Each tribe brought the exact same offering, yet the Torah gives every tribe its own full paragraph.
But when we finish reading the entire lengthy section, we notice that one tribe is missing.
One tribe did not bring an offering for the dedication of the altar: the tribe of Levi.
And this is surprising. Levi was the tribe closest to the service of G-d. They were, so to speak, “the King’s own legion.” They were the ones chosen to serve in the Mishkan. And yet, when it came to the dedication of the altar, they were left out.
Rashi, at the beginning of Parshat Behaalotecha, addresses this question. He explains that when Aaron saw the offerings brought by the tribal leaders, he felt pained. Neither he nor his tribe had been included in the dedication offerings.
So G-d told him: “By your life, yours is greater than theirs. You will kindle and prepare the lamps of the Menorah” (Rashi on Numbers 8:2).
In other words, Aaron and the tribe of Levi were not forgotten. They were being given a different role—one even greater than the offerings of the other tribes: to bring light into the Sanctuary every single day.
Aaron’s Comfort
Rashi tells us that Aaron was deeply hurt when he saw that he had no part in the dedication of the altar—“neither he nor his tribe.” So G-d comforted him and said: There is no reason to feel left out, because “yours is greater than theirs.” What you do is even more significant than their one-time contribution. You are the one who kindles the lights of the Menorah.
But why was lighting the Menorah greater than dedicating the altar?
Nachmanides explains this with a teaching from the Midrash. G-d told Moses: Go tell Aaron, “Do not be afraid. You are destined for something even greater. The offerings are brought only as long as the Temple stands, but the lights will shine forever.” Nachmanides then explains that this cannot refer only to the Menorah in the Temple, because once the Temple was destroyed, the Menorah was no longer lit either. Rather, it is a reference to the lights of Chanukah, which continue to be lit even after the destruction of the Temple, throughout the long years of exile. (Nachmanides on Numbers 8:2, citing Midrash Tanchuma and Bamidbar Rabbah.)
In other words, G-d was telling Aaron: The tribal leaders dedicated the Mishkan, but the Mishkan itself was ultimately temporary. The altar stood only as long as the Temple stood, and for nearly two thousand years now, we have sadly been without the Temple.
But when Aaron lit the Menorah, he was beginning something that would never disappear.
Because even after the destruction of the Temple, every Jew continues to light the Chanukah candles. Those flames are a continuation of the miracle of the small jug of oil, the miracle that took place with the Menorah in the Temple.
So Aaron was not merely lighting lamps in the Sanctuary. He was beginning an eternal Jewish practice.
Be a Player
However, the Rebbe asks a simple question: True, Aaron was comforted with something beautiful. He was told that he would inaugurate something eternal—the lighting of the Menorah, which would eventually live on through the Chanukah candles. But why was the tribe of Levi left out of the dedication of the altar in the first place?
Why couldn’t Levi bring an offering too? Everyone else brought a gift. Why were they the only ones kept out of the picture?
The Rebbe gives a fascinating explanation.
At a wedding, all the guests bring gifts to the bride and groom. But the bride and groom themselves do not bring a gift to their own wedding. That would be absurd. They are not guests at the celebration; they are the center of the celebration.
The same is true at a bar mitzvah. Everyone brings gifts to the bar mitzvah boy. But it would be very strange for the bar mitzvah boy to present a gift to himself.
I remember that in yeshivah, some students would receive letters from their parents who lived overseas or far away. Whenever the mail arrived, there was great excitement. Each boy would open his letter and read it again and again. And if the letter came with some candy, or a little money, the joy was even greater.
There was one boy in the dormitory—he was slightly unusual—who did not receive letters, for the simple reason that his parents lived nearby. But he was jealous of the other boys who did get mail. So he came up with a brilliant idea: he started sending letters to himself.
Every time the mailman arrived, there would be a letter for him too. And he would jump with joy and dance like everyone else because he had “received” a letter.
The Rebbe explains that the tribe of Levi was not left out. Quite the opposite. They were the “bride and groom” of the dedication of the Mishkan. They were the hosts, not the guests.
The entire celebration was, in a sense, for them. The other tribes brought wagons so the Levites could use them to carry the beams of the Mishkan. They brought bowls, ladles, and utensils so the kohanim and Levites could use them in the service. And in practice, it was the kohanim—the tribe of Levi—who actually offered the sacrifices that the tribal leaders brought.
So it would make no sense for Levi to bring a gift to themselves. At the dedication of the Mishkan, they were not outsiders looking in. They were the ones at the center.
The Rebbe once added a personal memory to illustrate this point. At his own wedding, which took place in Warsaw in 5689/1928, there was a large celebration. During the meal, the Previous Rebbe rose from his place and began going around the room, pouring a little “l’chaim” for the guests.
The Rebbe, who was not only the Previous Rebbe’s son-in-law but also his devoted chassid, could not bear the sight of his Rebbe standing and serving while he remained seated. So he immediately stood up and tried to help, perhaps by holding the bottle or the cups.
But the Previous Rebbe motioned to him to sit down.
The Rebbe tried again. After all, a chassid cannot sit while his Rebbe is standing. But the Previous Rebbe again made it clear that he should remain in his place.
The Rebbe later said that he had no choice but to sit. He added that he was sitting on “shpilkes”—on pins and needles—but he sat anyway.
Why? Because at his own wedding, the groom’s role is not to go around serving everyone else. The groom is the one to whom everyone comes. He is the center of the celebration (Parshat Naso 5747, Hisvaaduyos 5747, vol. 3, p. 459).
Guest or Groom
The Talmud says, “This world that we eventually leave is like a wedding celebration” (Eruvin 54a).
But every person has to decide: What am I in this world? Am I a guest, or am I the groom?
Am I here merely as a visitor, watching from the sidelines and enjoying the show? Or am I here as someone who takes responsibility for the world and helps make it better?
In sports language: Are you a player, or are you just a spectator?
And even if you are a player, what kind of player are you? Are you fully invested in the game—training, pushing yourself, sacrificing comfort, giving everything you have in order to become better? Or are you only enjoying the attention, the applause, and the show?
Source: Based on the Rebbe’s farbrengen, Parshat Naso 5747, Hitvaaduyot 5747, vol. 3, p. 459.
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